“Wieners.” I open my window wider and cling tighter. I am ready for more food now. Diesel’s toenails dig into my thighs as he suddenly shifts, jerking forward. “Rouff, rouff!” Alert! I can smell a long-eared thing out there somewhere.

“Leave it, Diesel!” I tell him in a soft voice. “Live and let live.”

He sneezes, turns toward me, and licks my face — I love you, love you — till I finally have to push him away. Still, I’m smiling, and if it works on me, it could work on Mom. I turn to Dad. “You could try telling Mom you love her.”

“You think that would do it?” He continues to watch the road ahead.

“It might. Plus you told me you would help Mom pack.”

“The way she helped me?” He grins. Grinning is good — means he isn’t angry about it anymore.

“I don’t think so.” I remember how Mom flung his suitcase out the door because of the egg experiments. “Wait a minute. Did you see that sign?”

“What sign?”

I turn around. “That one!” I point. “It says SCHOOL BUS DRIVERS NEEDED. FREE TRAINING.”

“That’s been up forever. I don’t even notice it anymore.”

“Well, you could check into it.”

He reaches over and ruffles my hair. “What makes you think I haven’t already?” He’s smiling again. Something’s up.

Everything lifts inside me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Just finished my training. It’s why I’ve been so busy lately. Between the classes and driving practice —”

“Dad, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell Mom?”

“I was afraid I might not pass. I still have to do the Saint John’s Ambulance course this week. But when school starts, I should be driving. It’s only another part-time job. She won’t be impressed.”

“I think she will.” I smile back at Dad, lifting a hand to high-five with him. His hand meets mine.

Once we arrive at Uncle Leo’s, the celebration continues. Uncle Leo sets up his portable fireplace in the backyard. Yay!

Even before the drought, outdoor fires were banned in our city and Mom sure wouldn’t let Dad start one. But here we are now, picking up dead branches that the last windstorm blew from the trees.

Even Diesel helps. Sticks, so many sticks. I love chewing sticks.

In exchange for a treat, he occasionally drops them near the fireplace.

When we’ve collected a stack, Dad crumples a section of old newspaper, piles on some of the twigs, and adds a squirt of lighter fluid to the mix. Leo throws a match in and a magic pop bursts open into orange flames.

“Rawf!” Diesel leaps back.

Dad hands me a stick and a wiener. “Fresh from the Willow Farms outlet.”

Diesel, eyeing the wiener, draws closer again.

“You applied there, too?” The smile on his face is all the answer I need. “Seriously? You should tell Mom.”

“Nah. I left my resumé, that’s all. What if nothing comes of it? I can’t keep doing that to her.”