Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Vivian
I don’t understand what’s going on. “It’s raining, Jonah.”
“No shit.” His body is tense, and he’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing holding him down.
“You can’t shut the window?” I ask, needing clarification.
He’s driving, so we can’t angry-text. And can I just say, fighting by text is my new favorite thing.
“No. What part of that is hard for you to understand?”
“The part where you can’t fix it,” I mumble.
Jonah fixes things. That’s what he does.
“I can fix it. But not until we stop.”
He glances at me, and our eyes catch for a second. It’s long enough for me to see the worry in his eyes. I don’t like it. I’m the one who worries.
Sitting in the front seat, where I can see everything, is already stressful. There’s no reason for it. This is nothing like what happened with Uncle Henri. Jonah doesn’t take unnecessary risks. Jonah wouldn’t drive a hundred and fifty miles an hour just to see if he could.
But every bump. Every car that gets too close—I trust Jonah. He’s a good driver. Careful. I just need to be reminded sometimes.
The window makes everything worse.
He relaxes his hands. “It’s fine, Vivian. This van is over ten years old. It’s bound to have some issues.”
The rain plinking on the window is relaxing. Or it would be relaxing if I wasn’t worried we were going to die.
“It isn’t raining that hard. And I’m the only one getting wet.” He’s still trying to explain things. What he doesn’t get is that he can’t fix everything. He can’t fix my fucked-up brain.
“I don’t like driving with the window down.” And for a second, I consider explaining why. How the sound—the vibrations—bother me. Is that part of my anxiety around driving? Or something else? I open my mouth, but Jonah beats me to it.
“Jesus. Your hair will be fine, princess.”
Why did I even consider confiding in him? Whatever. It’s still a little warm in the van, but I put my hood over my head. Let him think it’s to protect my hair. Which is ridiculous. I check the app on my phone. Two and a half hours until we stop for the night.
Slumping in my chair, I pull the ends of my drawstring. I don’t usually hide, but I need a moment without people. Without cars racing around us. Without Jonah. I scroll through my phone, watching random videos, and then text my bestie.
If I accidentally murder Jonah, will you help me bury the body?
Frankie
Accidentally?
“How close are we?” Jonah sounds irritated, as if I’m somehow neglecting my duties by texting with my friends. Not that I chose this particular duty in the first place.
I check the map app on my phone. “About a hundred and twenty miles. So, two hours or so.”
Jonah lets out a frustrated sound. His left hand is on the wheel, and his right hand is pressing into his forehead.
“Jonah? What’s wrong?”
With both hands on the wheel, he straightens his arms and then relaxes them. But his knuckles are white. “We’re not going to make it that far.”
“What?” But then I hear it. The rain is coming down even harder. Sure, he’s getting wet, but I know he’s driven in worse weather than this.
“What’s the next town?”
I check the map again. “Um…Ashland. Why?”
“I’d rather not sit on the side of the road waiting for the rain to stop if I can help it.”
That’s when I realize the wipers aren’t on. The harder the rain comes down, the more difficult it is to see the road. “Jonah?”
“The wipers are broken. Stopped working completely. Just like the window.”
“Why is this happening?” I ask, and the question is mostly rhetorical.
Jonah snorts and checks the rearview mirror. Then he says in a low voice, “Because my dad bought an old piece-of-shit van.”
“Oh God.” All my dreams are dependent on us getting there. “I hope we make it to Cali.”
Jonah laughs, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “I hope we make it to Ashland.”
Cars race by us. Jonah is barely going the speed limit. He’s just being careful. But I’m anxious. And irritated. Thankfully, the rain has slowed down. My head is pounding and my body aches from being so tense. I just want to be somewhere for the night.
“Seventeen miles to Ashland.” Jonah nods at the road sign.
I pull the drawstrings through my fingers and swallow, trying to relieve the thrumming in my ears. Why didn’t I bring gum with me?
“We need an auto parts store,” Jonah says, giving me a pointed look.
“Okay…but it’s close to five. Will anything be open?”
“I don’t know.” He gestures to my phone with quite a bit of attitude. “Maybe you could check?”
His bristly tone irritates me. “You’re barely going the speed limit—”
“Vivian.” His voice is like steel, and my body jumps to attention. Or a certain part of my body, anyway. Jonah grips the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles are white. “Check. Now.”
Heat rushes to my face as I open my phone. God, he’s such a dick. He thinks he can just boss me around. I tug the bottom of my hoodie to cover my reaction. God, please don’t let him notice. “Ashland has an AutoZone. It’s right off the first exit.”
“Thank you.” His voice is hard, like it pains him to speak the words. And it only makes my situation worse.
Why do I want to be bossed around? And why does it have to be Jonah?
“What’s going on?” George asks from the back. His voice is gravelly, like he’s been sleeping.
“Nothing, Dad.” Jonah grips the steering wheel like he wants to tear it off. But his voice is even. “Just a problem with the wipers. I’m pulling off in Ashland to check them.”
The rain slows to a trickle, so we make it in record time, but then we stall at a red light that seems to last forever. I direct him to the AutoZone, but when we arrive, the closed sign is on the door.
“Fuck,” Jonah mutters, jumping out of the van and slamming the door. The glass rattles, reminding me we have more than one problem to fix. Jonah walks up to the store and peers in the window as if checking for an employee hiding inside. He runs his hand through his wet hair and shakes his head.
Stomping back to the van, he checks the wipers.
His fingers trace the edges of the blade, and my problem from earlier returns.
What would it feel like to have Jonah touch me like that?
To have that intense focus directed at me?
Drops of water cling to his lashes. I should look away, but I can’t.
He drops the blades and closes his eyes.
He blames himself. As much as he complains about his dad getting an old van, he still blames himself. I can see it in the set of his jaw. The guilt in his face. He blinks, and our eyes catch.
We stare at each other. Seconds at most. It’s an opening. A peek into Jonah Baker and the way he takes responsibility for everything. And then he blinks and his mask is firmly back in place.
Everyone’s awake now. Maisy squirms in her seat. Mom stretches, and George is watching his son. The driver’s side door opens. Jonah ignores me completely as he pulls the hood release and slams the door closed.
Should I offer my assistance? Not that I would be any help. I have no idea what to do. And Jonah would probably just snap at me.
“I’m gonna see if he needs help,” George says, getting out of the van.
Maisy starts to whine. “It’s okay, sweetie,” Mom says as she brushes Maisy’s hair back.
Jonah and George are frowning when they return to the van.
“We think the fuse is blown, but it could also be the motor,” George says as Mom hands him a towel. “It’s supposed to rain off and on, so it looks like we’re stopping for the night.”
I’m more than ready to be out of this van, but it also puts us a day behind.
As Mom searches for a hotel, Jonah tries to manipulate the window but finally gives up. It bothers him when he can’t fix something. But I refuse to feel sorry for him. He brings it on himself.
When we reach the hotel, Jonah and I wait in the van with Maisy while George and Mom get our rooms. It’s not until we’re grabbing our stuff that I realize there’s a problem.
“Here’s the key cards,” Mom says, holding out the set. “Who wants them?” Her gaze shifts from Jonah to me and back.
I stare at her. “What?”
“Wait, we have to share a room?” Jonah asks, catching on quicker. To be fair, my head feels like it’s splitting wide open.
“You guys can get along for—” George starts, but Mom touches his arm.
“We’re not opposed to you each having your own room.” She gives us a tired smile. “As long as you’re willing to pay for it.”
Jonah opens his mouth and closes it again. He glances at me as if he expects me to offer. I raise a brow, and he sighs. “Fine.”
“Fine?” Is it too much to hope that he’s offering to pay for his own room? “What does that mean?”
He takes the keycards from Mom and smirks. “It means I get the shower first, princess.”