“Good girl!” I yell. She trots up to the bucket and looks inside, then starts to eat.

“See? All you had to do was wait. You didn’t waste a single drop this time!”

Lucy ignores me and keeps eating. I wait for her to finish so I can retrieve the dirty bucket. When she’s done, she lifts her face to me and grunts.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

She turns and flicks her tail as she walks over to her corner, then flops down in the sun.

I reach over the railing and take her bucket.

“We’re going to be friends soon!” I call to her. But then I remember her days are numbered. And the more we become friends, the harder it’s going to be to say good-bye.

“You’re not all bad,” I tell her. “I bet you’re nothing like Mr. Townsend’s sister-in-law.”

She watches me for a little while, as if she’s considering whether or not that’s true. The longer I stand here, the worse I feel. “I really do wish I could save you,” I tell her.

She grunts, rolls over, and closes her eyes.

Before I cross the street, a car I don’t recognize pulls out of our driveway. I start to wave, but the driver seems to look the other way from me on purpose. When I go in, my mom is sitting at the dining-room table with a thick envelope in front of her and her back is shaking the way a person’s back shakes when they are sobbing so hard no sounds come out.

My dad’s van wasn’t in the driveway. They should both have left for work by now.

“Mom?” I ask quietly.

I can hear SpongeBob whining on the TV in the other room.

I step closer. “Mom? Why aren’t you at work? Where’s Dad?”

She doesn’t seem to hear me. Her back keeps shaking, as if her whole body is revving up to let out the loudest cry ever.

My heart begins to beat faster, but it feels like more than a hummingbird trapped in my chest. It feels like a woodpecker.

I stand behind my mom. The letter looks very official. At the top it says THE PEOPLE’S BANK in green ink. The words Notice of Acceleration are typed in big bold letters. And below that, something about foreclosure.

I’ve heard my mom say the word foreclosure when she and my dad fight about money, and it always sounds like this possible threat. Something about the house. But my dad always comforts her and tells her banks don’t like to do that. They help people find a way to avoid it.

But here it is. A letter with that word.