Read Dog Gone for Free Online

to see you home at a decent hour, son.”
    â€œYeah, I know,” Lyon grumbles over the toothpick that pokes out from between his lips. He’d almost started smoking again, a year ago, when the doctors told us that Mom was sick, but she’d made him promise that he’d never go back to tobacco. Instead, he chews through forests of toothpicks.
    â€œI’m making dinner,” I tell him, sounding too hopeful.
    â€œSmells good.” But he throws me a weak half smile that tells me he won’t be sticking around for dinner. I can almost hear him say I’m sorry, kiddo —words he used to offer up whenever I got sad or disappointed, words that always made me feel better. Almost as soon as that half smile appears, though, it disappears. Faster than a shy rabbit.
    Lyon thumps to the counter where we keep the mail. “I can’t stay.” Charcoal crescents hang like hammocks under his bloodshot eyes. Shadows that weren’t there a year ago. But then, a year ago, before Mom started going to the hospital for treatments, his black hair hadn’t been edged with so much gray.
    His latest toothpick slides to the opposite side of his mouth as he flips through envelopes. “I left some orders here, need to get them back to the store.”
    Of course he does.
    â€œWhere’s our favorite dog?” Lyon glances right, and then left, his gaze pausing on Dead End’s rumpled fleece dog bed lying neglected in the kitchen corner.
    â€œWith Cub,” I spit out as if lying is something I do every day. “He took him for a long walk.”
    Lyon’s forehead crinkles, probably from confusion since Cub has never taken Dead End anywhere without me. But Lyon leaves my lie alone, doesn’t poke holes in it. A year ago, he’d have picked up on this fib in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. Because he knows me inside and out. But he’s stopped paying attention to what I do, or stopped caring.
    Shaking his head, G.D. looks away from me, grumbling his disapproval. “Sarah Doyle called again,” he tells Lyon after a minute that feels more like a week. “She wants you to get back to her.”
    Lyon gives me a smug look that I’ve come to hate worse than canned peas. It says, You and I both know why she’s calling. Then he tips his head down, as if focusing on me over the top of glasses, and silently asks, “You ready to go visit your mom’s place under the dogwood tree yet, Dill?” He’s thrown this question my way too many times already in the last three months. It always makes me tight. And my continuing refusal to go within ten miles of Fairfax County makes Lyon tight. I’d like to say that this makes us even, but it only makes me miserable. Before Mom got sick, Lyon and I went everywhere together.
    â€œWhy don’t you both visit the Doyles this weekend and…” G.D. pauses before hitting the issue smack in the center. He glances sidelong at me as I get ready to cram my fingers into my ears.
    â€œSounds good to me,” Lyon says. “We’ll go see where your…”
    I mutter a solid “No” that cuts him off.
    With a sigh that shows I’m exhausting him, Lyon flips more envelopes. “Apparently, Sarah Doyle and I are going to need a tow truck to drag Dill to Fairfax.”
    I clear my throat. “I’m making G.D.’s southwestern chili,” I tell Lyon, hoping to change the subject while also tempting him into staying home. “I made cornbread, too, with corn off the cob mixed in. The way you like it.” The way Mom always made it.
    Of course, he keeps sorting stupid envelopes. “I’m sure it’s delicious, Dill.” Lyon drops the remaining mail on the counter. “Maybe I’ll have some when I get home tonight.” Before I can offer up an argument, he turns to G.D. “How you feeling, Pop?”
    â€œNever mind me. What’s the latest with that new