“So why don’t you turn your side down?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out how for an hour. Your car has more buttons than a Victorian overcoat or an elevator in a building with five hundred floors.”
“What?”
My Dad had said that once too, concerning the newest cable company remote. “Nothing.”
“If you’re too damned stubborn to ask, freeze, then.” He reached over and closed the vent on my side anyway.
“If I’d driven up myself—window up, window down—it wouldn’t have been that complicated.” My dad’s car had AC, of course, but I felt the need to get in one more dig at the Webber fortune. Judging by the total number of matching bags Mathias had crammed into the back of his 2012 silver Infiniti—a going-away gift—it was evident the son of a Webber didn’t do anything partway. Plus, he’d shipped e
