“No.”
He lets out a frustrated sound. “Seriously?”
The traffic is getting heavier now. I can fix it the next time we stop.
“Jonah—”
Jesus. “I can’t roll it up.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Is he serious? “Get the fuck over yourself, Vivian. I can’t.” I push the button to show him and the window slips again with a clunk.
He slumps in his seat with a huff. “This is not happening.”
I rub my forehead. Why does everything have to be so dramatic? “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” His voice gets higher and louder.
“Shh.” I glance in the rearview window. No movement. Everyone still seems to be sleeping. “We’re three hours away. I’ll fix it when we stop.”
We just have to make it there without waking up Dad or Carolynda. Or Maisy. They’ve been stressed. I don’t want to add more to it.
“Jonah—”
“It’s fine. We’re fine.”
But twenty minutes later, it starts to rain.
