Raymond gave a short laugh, more out of habit than amusement, because humor had always been his way of controlling situations before they turned uncomfortable. He nodded toward the stalled car and said, “Looks like we need volunteers today,” while the small crowd responded with growing interest.
He folded his arms and added lightly, “I will give you one hundred million dollars if you can fix my car,” and the number itself triggered louder reactions from those watching. People nearby turned their heads, phones lifted, and someone repeated the amount as if disbelief made the joke even better.
June did not laugh or smile, and she only looked briefly at the front of the car before lowering her gaze again and saying, “I cannot.” One of the young men leaned forward and asked, “What was that,” clearly enjoying the moment more than necessary.
She tightened her grip on the plastic bag and repeated, “I cannot,” then stepped back slightly as if hoping distance would end the interaction. The men shifted just enough to remain in her path, not aggressively but enough to make the space feel smaller and harder to leave.