kibble in one hand, always the dog tag in the other, and make him sit again. He obeys. But when I hand him the kibble, it falls on the ground like it didnât even touch his lips.
Sky pushes it with his nose, tries to bite it, but the kibble doesnât move an inch. He stares up at me as if heâs asking, too. Why isnât the kibble magic like the pheasant?
âIâm sorry, boy. Maybe ghost dogs donât need to eat. I donât have all the answers.â I fold the bag of kibble and leave it on the porch.
Sky runs off toward the beach. A swim seems like a great idea, so this time I follow.
Sky can run a lot faster than I can, even when Iâm not feeling queasy, so he stops every now and then and looks backâwaits for me to catch up.
Such a good dog. My heart soars. Itâs me and Sky. Off to the beach. Together again.
Â
12
A D EATH AT S UNSET
I follow Sky to the beach where the old pier once stood. Yasmine and Gomez knock their pink rubber ball between the paddles like it doesnât bother them they nearly died in this spot. Gomez catches sight of me and misses the ball.
âYou dummy!â Yasmine yells. She scoops up a crab from the sand. It dangles from her hand, and she chases her brother with it. They run this way and that over the sand. She catches up to him, and Gomez snatches the crab away and throws it at her. She screams bloody murder.
I look down and Sky is tugging at my shorts, or trying to anyway. I canât feel him. I can only see. He wants to pull me toward Yasmine and Gomez, like he sees that pink rubber ball and thinks it looks fun. âNo,â I say. âI donât want to play with them.â
He keeps trying to tug me toward the ball.
âLetâs go swimming!â I say. I kick off my shoes and run for the ocean, clothes and all.
Sky stands on the beach, not following. He stares at the Hatterask kids.
âCome, boy. You love swimming,â I insist.
Finally Sky follows me into the ocean. He doesnât make a splash, so I make one big enough for both of us. I donât care that Yasmine and Gomez will think Iâve lost my mind. I love swimming with Sky.
Itâs still hard to believe he would go swimming alone. âWhyâd you do it?â I ask him. But he just keeps looking back at Yasmine and Gomez like they have a juicy treat he canât resist.
âIgnore them,â I say firmly. I crawl into the waves, determined to get as far away as possible. I squeeze Skyâs dog tag tight in my hand, willing him to come. Reluctantly, he follows.
We swim way out, diving under the waves until we get to where itâs calm and still, like a lake. We pass where the pier would have ended, where Yasmineâs screeches are too far to reach us.
I flip onto my back and float. I relax, but Iâm careful not to lose my grip on Skyâs tag. The cool water curls around my hair and into my clothes. Sky dog-paddles around me. His wet-dog odor is strong. But he doesnât look wet, and his body doesnât make waves. I donât need the raft. I donât have to worry heâll get tired and drown.
The sun is setting. The red and orange light up the ocean like a fire. The clouds turn into purple silhouettes. They float above like a moving quilt. Itâs a perfect moment.
So perfect it takes me a few minutes before I hear Skyâs barking. My head rests deep in its water pillow. Even in the stillness, the ocean laps noisily in my ears. When I finally hear, I know Skyâs been barking awhile, because his jaw strains open so wide I can see the back of his throat. Itâs his guard-dog-danger bark.
I sit up in the water so fast I nearly drink in the whole ocean. I cough it up, but Skyâs left me, like he just couldnât wait any longer for me to get a clue. He swims to shore as if the red and orange waves are flames he must escape. I follow, one hand a tight fist over Skyâs tag. My arms and legs
Sky pushes it with his nose, tries to bite it, but the kibble doesnât move an inch. He stares up at me as if heâs asking, too. Why isnât the kibble magic like the pheasant?
âIâm sorry, boy. Maybe ghost dogs donât need to eat. I donât have all the answers.â I fold the bag of kibble and leave it on the porch.
Sky runs off toward the beach. A swim seems like a great idea, so this time I follow.
Sky can run a lot faster than I can, even when Iâm not feeling queasy, so he stops every now and then and looks backâwaits for me to catch up.
Such a good dog. My heart soars. Itâs me and Sky. Off to the beach. Together again.
Â
12
A D EATH AT S UNSET
I follow Sky to the beach where the old pier once stood. Yasmine and Gomez knock their pink rubber ball between the paddles like it doesnât bother them they nearly died in this spot. Gomez catches sight of me and misses the ball.
âYou dummy!â Yasmine yells. She scoops up a crab from the sand. It dangles from her hand, and she chases her brother with it. They run this way and that over the sand. She catches up to him, and Gomez snatches the crab away and throws it at her. She screams bloody murder.
I look down and Sky is tugging at my shorts, or trying to anyway. I canât feel him. I can only see. He wants to pull me toward Yasmine and Gomez, like he sees that pink rubber ball and thinks it looks fun. âNo,â I say. âI donât want to play with them.â
He keeps trying to tug me toward the ball.
âLetâs go swimming!â I say. I kick off my shoes and run for the ocean, clothes and all.
Sky stands on the beach, not following. He stares at the Hatterask kids.
âCome, boy. You love swimming,â I insist.
Finally Sky follows me into the ocean. He doesnât make a splash, so I make one big enough for both of us. I donât care that Yasmine and Gomez will think Iâve lost my mind. I love swimming with Sky.
Itâs still hard to believe he would go swimming alone. âWhyâd you do it?â I ask him. But he just keeps looking back at Yasmine and Gomez like they have a juicy treat he canât resist.
âIgnore them,â I say firmly. I crawl into the waves, determined to get as far away as possible. I squeeze Skyâs dog tag tight in my hand, willing him to come. Reluctantly, he follows.
We swim way out, diving under the waves until we get to where itâs calm and still, like a lake. We pass where the pier would have ended, where Yasmineâs screeches are too far to reach us.
I flip onto my back and float. I relax, but Iâm careful not to lose my grip on Skyâs tag. The cool water curls around my hair and into my clothes. Sky dog-paddles around me. His wet-dog odor is strong. But he doesnât look wet, and his body doesnât make waves. I donât need the raft. I donât have to worry heâll get tired and drown.
The sun is setting. The red and orange light up the ocean like a fire. The clouds turn into purple silhouettes. They float above like a moving quilt. Itâs a perfect moment.
So perfect it takes me a few minutes before I hear Skyâs barking. My head rests deep in its water pillow. Even in the stillness, the ocean laps noisily in my ears. When I finally hear, I know Skyâs been barking awhile, because his jaw strains open so wide I can see the back of his throat. Itâs his guard-dog-danger bark.
I sit up in the water so fast I nearly drink in the whole ocean. I cough it up, but Skyâs left me, like he just couldnât wait any longer for me to get a clue. He swims to shore as if the red and orange waves are flames he must escape. I follow, one hand a tight fist over Skyâs tag. My arms and legs
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