42
“Don’t touch the radio,” I warned.
“I was trying to figure out the heat,” Addy said, voice almost apologetic. She leaned forward, staring through the windshield at overcast sky peeking through heavy tree canopy. Back to wearing her own sweatshirt and pants, she tugged the sleeves over her hands.
I’ve spent enough time on the road to be an old hand with rental car climate controls, though windshield wipers still sometimes give me fits. I flipped a switch, adjusted a dial and heard the rumbling rush of warm air, followed by Addy’s soft, Thanks.
I tried not to be angry with Addy. And I wasn’t. Not really. She was a pain in the ass (and an excellent argument for using birth control), but I would have done the same thing in her circumstances. And yet, my mind kept returning to Roger maki
