Getting Diesel out of the car takes a bit of wrangling and lots of scratches on our bare legs from his nails and collar. I unbuckle Luanne but slide out on Morgan’s side as Mom lifts Luanne out. Dad pops the trunk and hauls out a beat-up old cooler.

Diesel scrambles over, ears perked. Alpha Male brought the food box?

“You actually brought a picnic?” Mom seems just as surprised.

“Well, yes. Much as I enjoy the fish and chips here, I know how you like my egg salad.”

“You made us sandwiches?” Mom’s eyes pop wide as Dad carries the cooler to the table.

Cold bread with meat stuffing? Diesel barks.

“Egg salad,” I correct Diesel out loud.

“Yes, I didn’t know if Luanne could eat eggs yet, so I brought her a banana and some yogurt.” He plunks the cooler on the picnic bench.

On the blue expanse of water, I spot sailboats, four of them, white-winged dancers skimming the lake. All different than the way it happened last time. I breathe a little easier.

“Did you bake something for dessert?” Morgan asks.

I elbow her.

Mom spreads the red tablecloth over the grey wood.

“No,” Dad says. “For dessert I thought I would treat everyone to an ice cream cone. Nothing quite as delicious on a hot day.”

Icy, creamy, tasty stuff! Diesel pants happily. The pack celebrates.

Dad reaches inside the cooler and pulls out a bunch of daisies in a plastic pop bottle. They look a bit wilted, half sad, half cheery, like Dad’s attempt at being romantic. She loves you, she loves you not. “These are for you,” he tells Mom.

Diesel’s head tilts. Do these blossoms taste good?

“Just pretty,” I answer out loud.

“Like your mom,” Dad answers, as if I were talking to him.

Mom smiles as she sets the bottle of daisies on the table.

Dad pulls out more of those cheap paper plates he used at Uncle Leo’s cookout and piles the sandwiches on top. The sandwiches looked slightly squished in the middle. He takes out Luanne’s banana and yogurt and a roll of paper towel. From the bottom of the cooler he lifts out a bag of baby carrots and a plastic container of grape tomatoes. Vegetables? Opens them up and dumps them on one of his paper plates. Then he pours white sparkling grape juice into plastic glasses for all of us.

“Ladies, and dog, I have an announcement to make. Just recently I completed bus driver training and the required Saint John’s Ambulance course —”

“Does that mean you can perform artificial resuscitation on a dead person?” Morgan asks.

I elbow her a second time, harder. She is interrupting his big speech.

“Yes, it does, Morgan, among many other things, like the upper thrust, wound management, and general first aid, all usually performed on live people.” He looks around at us and raises his glass to start again: “Wednesday, I passed my B-class driver’s licence. Starting September I will be driving a school bus for the morning and afternoon run.”