Page 39 of One Wrong Step
“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.
