The three bars of my rocket, red, white, and blue, disappear in no time. I lick the melt from my hand as we continue together past the rows of townhouses, past the bars and restaurants.

The air starts to smell fishy. A short stroll along the shore road and we turn onto the beach, which is where it hits me like a tsunami.

An image of Diesel chasing a stick that I’d thrown for him.

I loved watching him gallop into the water, churning up waves like a motorboat. Then when the water turned deep, he calmly paddled toward the stick. He never brought it back. He just tore around on the beach, grinning and panting at me. I can see him. I want him back so badly.

My heart turns into an anchor, and my feet stutter to a stop.

“What’s your problem now?” Morgan calls. “Look at that, they’re all out there. Tom, Tara, Su-Ling, Brenna, Francesca … Simon.” Her voice teases me with the last name. “All the cool kids from high school.”

But everyone is not out there. Most people are celebrating at the other side of the lake, away from downtown. There are no boats and no dog, either. No long lineup for ice cream — that was Morgan messing with me again. Not even a flag in sight. Just a small plane dragging a pathetic Happy Canada Day banner. But there is nothing at all happy about this Canada Day. A hot wind blows and the water wrinkles and folds roughly. Morgan runs ahead and I inch along slowly, dragging memories of Diesel with me.

When I reach the water’s edge, I kick off my flip-flops and wiggle my toes in the wet muck. In the distance I can see those older kids who graduated ahead of us grouped at the foot of the long temporary dock that stretches from the beach in front of Zorba’s Patio Bar. Like a mirage, their image shimmers in the heat. The dock can fit three boats on either side, but none are tied up there today.

As we get closer, I see Simon approaching the halfway point of the dock. His hair looks slick and wet already, and beads of water sparkle on his chest. He takes three long running strides and a powerful leap off the end. The water bursts open in applause.

Then Tom, the gangly, red-haired goof, runs and jumps. A big cannonball splash that drenches the girls. They shriek. One by one, they jump in after him. Francesca with cat-like grace. Tara, beach-waved hair flying. Brenna, pouty lips open in a squeal. Finally Su-Ling, holding her nose and giggling. Long-haired, long-legged, smooth-skinned girls. Everyone looks great; everyone can swim.

I desperately want to do that, to be part of all that fun. To belong. The water can’t be that deep, can it? Not if they’re bobbing up so fast and running back up the dock again.

Tara waves. “Come on in. The water’s fine!”