“Holy shit, Mom, that was close!”

“Adam, what did I say about cussing,” Meredith Greene took her eyes off the wheel to stare daggers at her fourteen year old son, “If you can’t keep it clean …”

“Then keep it quiet,” Adam rolled his eyes, “But, it’s not my fault that you can’t drive.”

“I am driving just fine,” Meredith snapped, as she returned her eyes to the single lane road that was bordered by enormous hedgerows on both sides, “And it’s easy for you to talk, mister, considering that you can’t even drive.”

Adam snorted, “I bet I could drive better than you, though.”

Meredith clenched her hands around the steering wheel and silently counted to ten, which was something she resorted to more and more frequently these days. She was seriously questioning her sanity at thinking this trip back to France was going to be idyllic, especially with a teenager in tow.

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