New Tricks (Sean)

[Joshua Bernstein]

Joshua had, up until now, been perfectly happy not knowing how to drive. All the fee's associated with vehicle ownership had made it seem more onerous than practical, and the subway (coupled with bicycle when need be) was far more convenient. Unfortunately, Pilot Ridge was hardly New York City, and he had quickly learned that years of smoking made bicycling miles of mountainous terrain a bit challenging. And so, reluctantly, he had called up Sean and asked for help. He wasn't particularly keen on spending his free time behind the wheels of a car, but if he had to do it then he might as well impose upon someone he trusted.

He grimaced in determination, entire body tense and gripping the steering wheel as if it might escape should he loosen his hold upon it. "I never realized this was so complicated." Driving circles in an empty office parking lot hadn't sounded all that daunting when he'd agreed to it, but now that the time had come to actually put Sean's poor sacrificial vehicle in motion he was feeling a good deal more stressed than the situation probably warranted. After all, plenty of people learned how to drive with absolutely no incident, and he considered himself more intelligent than most of the population so he shouldn't have any trouble. He wasn't going to wreck Sean's car or anything like that; he needed to stop worrying about it. Unfortunately, telling himself not to worry had never resulted in an actual lessening of worry.

Still, he couldn't let worry paralyze him entirely! He was never going to learn if he let the car idle while he panicked! Having thus persuaded himself into action Josh backed out of the parking space with slow caution, constantly pausing to look over his shoulder, checking to reassure himself that nobody else had decided to take up residency in the parking lot he'd claimed. Backing into someone would definitely put a damper on this experience, and if he were completely honest he didn't exactly want other people around to watch him flounder.

Fortunately, nobody else showed up and he gingerly stopped, shifted gears -- it was so nice that they were helpfully labeled, as he felt the need to stare for a moment just to make sure he'd got it right before crawling along the edge of the painted lines; had there been any parked cars he would have scraped all along the backs of them. "I think," He commented, keeping his gaze firmly focused ahead of him now that he was driving forward, "That I like it better when you are Jeeves. You're much better at this."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean hadn’t told Josh, but he considered these lessons inevitable. The moment that Josh had told him that he was moving to Pilot Ridge – and after they’d discussed all of the family aspects, both practical and more emotional – he’d known that eventually Josh would call him up and ask for some impromptu instruction. Josh in many ways was a creature of habit, and although he could be stubborn as all get up at times, he also bowed to logic when necessary. And in those moments, he invariably called on Sean to assist in any capacity available – not always bound by reason. Josh could have high expectations, and Sean had simply adapted over the years.

And since it was impossible to bike across Pilot Ridge, or to reach other parts of Vermont by bike in the winter, or by the nonexistent mass transit system at all, Josh would finally have to learn how to drive. To think it only took him thirty-four years to do what most high school sophomores dreamed of doing the moment they turned sixteen. And since Sean was already in the habit of driving him everywhere, he’d expected to be volunteered for the job of driving instructor.

Honestly, the telepath didn’t mind. He enjoyed spending time with his oldest friend, even when that time took the form of sitting in the passenger seat while a neurotic Josh tried to drive his car around the parking lot of the office building off Elm Street. While Josh clutched the steering wheel, Sean split his attention between the world around them and his friend’s mood. Athe remark, he tried to lighten that mood a bit by replying, “Too many episodes of the Flintstones for you and not enough time outside of Manhattan.” Driving was unfortunately complicated, because they were complex machines on a good day and two-ton weapons on a bad one. Today would be a good day; Sean would see to that.

Sean felt the car shift beneath them, and he smiled, realizing that Josh had begun to move the car. That was an important first step, and he held his tongue to keep from teasing the other man about needing to take a Polaroid. He knew how nervous Josh was already. Kidding aside, he was proud of the other man.

Fortunately, his friend decided to tease first, which lightened the mood a bit. Jeeves was a nickname that Josh had given him, making light of the fact that Sean invariably had to play chauffer whenever they went anywhere together, or when Josh needed a ride out somewhere that didn’t have reliable public transportation, if any existed at all. Such as Pilot Ridge. Sean took it in stride; rather than get offended, he had dubbed the other man Wooster. “I’ve got thirty-six years of driving under my belt, so of course I am. But there’s no reason we can’t take turns being Jeeves. And remember to signal when you turn.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

Although Josh was loathe to admit it, Sean had a very good point about his lack of experience outside of Manhattan and so he decided to ignore that half of the comment and focus exclusively on the first part. "Why can't we have Flintstone's level technology? It's eco-friendly! It's efficient! It's simple! It's....it's possibly cruel to animals. Maybe not, then." He paused, trying to think of some form of transportation that would be as swift as a motor vehicle but as simple as his bicycle.

"Pilot Ridge needs to adjust and come up with a subway." He decided at last, as no other solution was presenting itself. It might not have been a realistic idea, but it was a nice fantasy. "I must have forgotten to inform your local government that I expect them to cater to my every whim. It's not too late to rectify this situation! Let's go to the capital, I think I have some poster board at home, we can mock up some signs. It'll be like college again." Perhaps the cause was slightly less ambitious, and perhaps a crowd of two was not very impressive, but it would have been much less stressful than his current occupation.

He wanted a cigarette, but he knew very well how Sean felt about smoking in his car, and in any event he wasn't capable of steering and lighting up at the same time. Perhaps with practice, but he wasn't about to practice using Sean's car; he was going to have to purchase his own. But later, once he could actually drive it home from the dealer's, otherwise there wasn't any point. Then and only then would he work on making his car smell like home, far away from other people. Or at least away from Sean, as he understandably was fond of his friend and was therefore somewhat reluctant to kill him through second hand smoke.

He didn't necessarily feel so generous toward other members of the human race, as his craving for nicotine generally outweighed any moral obligation he felt in regards to smoking in the presence of others. On the rare occasion he acknowledged this hypocrisy he rationalized his behavior by reminding himself that he spent more time with Sean than with other people, so if he smoked in front of someone he was never going to see again it probably wasn't going to do them much harm, but if he smoked in front of his friend every time he wanted to they were both going to get cancer.

"Your logic has no place in this conversation." He retorted, gazing fixedly ahead, "I refuse to believe that driving is a learned skill. Clearly the talent is innate." At Sean's advice he very promptly switched on the windshield wipers before turning. "Wait. That was wrong." He slammed on the brakes, glaring down at the numerous knobs sprouting from the region of the steering wheel. He had toyed with them earlier, but with such obvious reluctance that it wasn't any wonder he couldn't remember which device had what effect. It wasn't until after cleaning the front window and turning on the brights that he finally found what he'd been looking for. "I'll remember that next time!" He vowed, patting the turn signal in the hopes that it wouldn't switch functions on him while he wasn't looking.

Turn signal thus accomplished he resumed moving, continuing to talk as talking meant less focusing on how nervous he was. "So I've decided to replace the word meta-human." He announced, as if he had any control over other people's choice of terminology. "I met someone who agreed to help. Unfortunately, we haven't come up with a suitable new word yet." He admitted, gradually picking up speed as he spoke, until he was almost going the speed limit, "So if you have any suggestions please share them."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean chuckled, because it was amusing to watch Josh work himself up; a man of a million, often conflicting, causes, that was his friend. He was content for the moment to make sure that they didn’t crash and to listen to Josh muse, both aloud and inwardly, on alternate modes of transportation. There was a reason that neither of them were engineers.

Pilot Ridge was a town in the middle of a state that hated urban development. A state that prided itself on the fact that its tallest building was only eleven stories – and was incidentally the retirement and medical center where Josh’s father had been transferred – and that had managed to have the entire state listed on the protected landmarks list to prevent Walmart from building a superstore.

It would be like college again, in that their protests would be just as effective as they had been in college, that is to say not at all. It wasn’t as tough all of their college protests had failed, but there was only so much that could be done in a country that chose to elect Ronald Reagan president. Twice. At least they might get more respect for not having been students in decades, although the two of them would look equally bizarre, both technically qualified to be members of the AARP now – not that Sean had applied; he refused to join that organization until he retired, if then. “Fine, we’ll go, but on one condition: you drive us there.” Sean smiled then. That should put an end to Josh’s fantasy, at least for the present.

Although he preferred not to discuss the matter, since the topic had been settled long ago, Sean appreciated Josh’s concern for his health and the respect for his car rules. He dealt with the odor of cigarettes since Josh smelled of them: his clothes, his home, everything he owned...but he didn’t encourage the habit. He also didn’t try to discourage it because he knew that Josh wouldn’t change anytime soon, so it was easier to keep it as the 800 pound gorilla in the room. It was enough that Josh wouldn’t light up in his car, more than enough right now, actually.

Sean merely chuckled at Josh’s retort; when the other man resorted to insulting his reasoning skills, it usually indicated that he didn’t have a better reply. It was better to just let his friend fume a bit; he’d eventually get better through the driving lessons and might – keyword might – come to believe that he was every bit as skilled as others on the road, and that driving wasn’t a necessary evil, merely a necessity. Or not. That was a while off. And while was underscored by his friend’s inability to find the turn signal. Well, at least the windshield was now clear of any possible moisture that could have manifested since they reached the parking lot. And Sean’s safety belt hadn’t garroted him when he was flung forward at the sudden stop. He reminded himself that this was to help his friend learn an important skill. “I’m sure you will,” he told him, not patronizing.

Sean had thought it was only a matter of time before Josh found himself a pet project, and since Pilot Ridge Vermont was the meta-human capital of the country – giving an otherwise unimportant town in an unimportant state a bit of political clout – it came as no surprise that Josh had latched onto a meta-human issue. Even if it was a completely inane one, and Sean considered it inane because there were bigger problems in the world – more important ones facing meta-humans - than slight linguistic inadequacies. He preferred meta-human to mutant, as did most metas, and he didn’t consider it offensive. He knew what Josh’s line of thinking was here, and so he decided to help him reframe it; re-contextualizing usage was better than coining new phrases. “And the problem with using baseline and meta as affixes, so both have human as an integral part and parallel one another would be...?” There was a pause, before he began to chuckle; he was often in sync with Josh’s thoughts when they were together, which was a necessary byproduct of their closeness and his telepathy. Without probing, he saw the image pop into his friend’s mind of the “someone who agreed to help.” He supposed that he should give the other man fair warning. “I see you met Nina.” He needed to choose his words carefully here. “I wouldn’t saddle her with too much responsibility or put much stock in her reputation as your new partner in crime.”

He glanced out the window; Josh was building a fair amount of speed, everything considered, although it was still a little slow. “If you do less than five or so miles under the speed limit, remember to flick on the hazard lights.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

"Now that's just unfair." Josh protested when Sean announced his conditions for agreeing to what his plan. "It's almost as if you're taking my request to learn driving seriously. I can't imagine what possessed me to ask your help, I forgot what a slave driver you are." He sighed in mock distress. He'd been the one to approach Sean about lessons, after all, and he needed to learn or he was going to be stranded during the winter months. Unfortunately, learning to drive was nothing at all like law school; the rules were there, inarguable, and if he messed up he could use neither well-researched rhetoric nor obfuscation to defend himself and his decisions.

He narrowed his eyes at Sean's defense of the term meta-human, annoyed at not getting immediate support for what he considered a very clear case of prejudice. If it had been anyone else he would have lectured them on them about wallowing in their privilege, but that would have been a ridiculous line to take with any meta-human on this issue, and Josh had never considered Sean to be blinded by whatever privilege being a white male afforded him. That didn't mean he was going to allow this attitude of acceptance to go unchallenged.

"Define baseline." He demanded, unwilling to give up even in the face of overwhelming unenthusiasm. That so few people were willing to jump on board was only further evidence that his social crusades were necessary, a forced correction of aberrant behaviors that nobody willingly admitted to. Most were willing to dismiss subtle discrimination, ignorant of the very real damage their attitudes caused or, where ignorance was lacking, a resigned acceptance allowed the status quo to continue unchallenged, a belief (born of a lifetime of oppression and abuse) that inaction was the better route except in cases of such extreme prejudice that people were unable to turn a blind eye.

It neither surprised nor bothered him that Sean immediately knew to whom he was referring; after decades of friendship it was expected, and in some ways convenient. That his friend could easily read any of the sometimes petty or self-centered thoughts in his mind had never been an issue for him; with other people, he might have minded more, but he had nothing to hide from Sean at least, and the other man's natural inclinations so obviously precluded abuse of his powers -- in Josh's mind it was obvious, at least -- and Sean was generally quite willing to accept that human failings included a certain amount of imperfection. "She seemed nice! And she understands the need for change." He pronounced confidently, apparently forgetting that he'd suggested she help him and not the other way around. "If we're going to see change in the world then it's no good turning away willing helpers. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop recruiting, however. I will continue to recruit until the world is devoid of discrimination. I will root it out, no matter how subtle."

He allowed his tirade to be interrupted by this new task, which fortunately proved easier than using the turn signal, as the button for the hazard lights sat alone on the top of the steering column. He offered up silent thanks for the simplicity of that particular design. "Are you certain this is necessary?" He asked doubtfully after turning on the lights as directed, "We're in a parking lot, after all, we could be parked. Theoretically. If we go slow enough nobody will be able to tell we aren't." The fact that they weren't in one of the designated parking spots was completely irrelevant; he was certain that people shouldn't complain about slow moving vehicles in a parking lot.

He resumed his discourse upon social change, satisfied that he could find at least one control in Sean's car, "You can help too, you know." He offered, as if that fact needed any clarification. He certainly expected Sean to help, enthusiastically or otherwise. Enthusiasm was preferable, of course, but he would take whatever help he could coerce, wheedle or beg into existence. "That way there will be at least one reliable person amongst the three of us, assuming nobody else agrees to help. Which they will, once it becomes apparent that we're right. Absolutely, unequivocally, transparently on the right side of history and progress. There is no doubt. There will be no doubt, we will make certain of that. Even better, you and your school have a monopoly on exactly the sort of people we need to help us."

He didn't approve of this monopoly, but in this case it would be useful to channel the power of youthful enthusiasm into activism without the vexing problem of mobilizing a group scattered across the continent. "We can organize a road trip to D.C. and tear down the walls of hate and fear." He decided, rather miraculously remembering which switch activated the turn signal -- and turning far too close to one of the large light poles, which illuminated the lot at night. Any further chance of conversation was cut short by the horrendous screeching that announced the light pole's concrete foundation had met the bottom of Sean's car.

Josh cringed, pressing the brakes gingerly, half afraid that braking would cause more damage. The scraping of metal on concrete couldn't be mistaken for anything else; he had wrecked his best friend's car. Even worse, he had been the one who had asked Sean for help in the first place. He would gladly replace whatever parts needed replacing -- that went without saying -- but recompense didn't change the fact that he had just relegated his friend to life without a car for some currently undefined amount of time. "I'm sorry!" As if sorry changed the fact that he hadn't been paying enough attention. He certainly didn't feel like any apology would be enough. "I ahhh I suppose that's the end of lessons for today. I'm sorry." He repeated, trying vainly to come up with some better way to express how miserable he felt. "I'll pay for the damages. You'll probably need a rental car or something, too." He offered, covering his face with his hands in despair. He couldn't believe he had been so utterly stupid. "This was a bad idea. I should never have asked you to sacrifice your car. I'm sorry."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“Yes, whatever did possess you?” Sean asked with humor in his tone and a smile on his lips. He managed not to chuckle that time, although he could feel the urge to laugh well inside him. He didn’t even mind being called a slave driver, because he knew that the other man didn’t mean it. “You’ll just have to make a new friend, one who doesn’t care if you make it to work during the week or if you run out of food or can get to the doctor. I’ll put out a personal ad for you.”

Sean heard the challenge in Josh’s voice and prepared himself for what would be a long debate; he was used to this by now, as linguistic arguments were simply part of being friends with Josh. He understood the other man’s concern – in fact that fighting spirit was one of the reasons he’d originally fallen in love with him. He merely wished that the other man would focus that spirit on a more important issue, such as getting meta-human status listed as a protected class; Sean often worried about the students finding jobs once they graduated, particularly after twenty years at Hammel, where he could see firsthand just how many returned as faculty. Or, as he thought briefly of Clarisse, Josh could focus on international issues, such as the weaponization of meta-human youth in other nations.

Although Sean had assumed that the other man would understand the meaning of his words, he had also half-expected to be challenged, because Josh always wanted those who made linguistic suggestions to be capable of using them properly. “Non-meta,” the telepath told him bluntly. “But I’m unwilling to frame both sides in the context of meta, because that’s normalization and othering.” He wouldn’t suggest for a white/non-white dichotomy. Instead he found this more akin to white and people of color, allowing the meta-human community to chose which word it preferred and then to name the majority in a word with as little stigma as possible, while at the same time not creating a moral “normal” connotation.

Although Sean didn’t say so, he was touched by Josh’s trust in him and his comfort with their familiarity; he’d told him that before, years ago, when he’d had more difficulty. He accepted Josh’s human limitations because they were part of Josh and part of being human, and he wasn’t here to judge shortcomings. On the topic of Nina, he replied, “She is nice.” Sean couldn’t dispute that Nina was a very nice person. He liked Nina as a human being, because she had a kind spirit and her enthusiasm could be contagious. However, he didn’t want to be on a planning committee with Nina because of her short attention span and her tendency to get distracted by new people, loud noises, shiny objects, bright lights...the list went on. “And I’m not telling you to turn her away; I just thought you’d want to know about areas where she could use improvement before you two marched off to Washington.” Sean could recite Josh’s mission statement by rote, because they’d been through this many times for a variety of causes over the years, but he knew it wouldn’t help to mimic along with his friend, and thus he didn’t.

“You need to learn proper habits now; if you start taking shortcuts just because we’re in a parking lot, then you’ll be inclined to do them in traffic.” That wasn’t a judgment about Josh as an individual; it was precisely what Sean had told Ryan when helping him learn to drive, and it was what he’d been taught himself when he was a teenager. Shortcuts made one sloppy. It didn’t matter that they were in a parking lot, because Josh was learning these skills to apply outside of parking lots.

There it was, the not so subtle hint/explicit invitation to assist with this endeavor. Sean wouldn’t, because on his list of social priorities, this didn’t rate. “Flattery will get you nowhere, my friend,” he told him, when Josh began to list what made him best-suited to help: his reliability, his experience, and his connections. He was also glad that the statement about Hammel’s “monopoly” on access to the meta-human community didn’t turn into a full-fledged rant, because he didn’t have the energy right now to go over the matter again. He knew Josh didn’t agree with the setup; Sean admitted that it wasn’t ideal, but there were precious few other options, and he knew that from experience.

The telepath had noticed the rapidly approaching light pole as Josh began to gain speed, and he sat up straighter in his seat. Instinctively, his right foot tapped the floor in front of him, as though reached for the gas pedal. “Look out for-”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his warning, as they hit the pole. The sound of his fender slamming into concrete echoed in his ears, and he jerked forward from the impact, although he was caught by the fastened seatbelt. He was fine, and he turned to make sure Josh was as well. His friend looked panic but physically sound, and in the immediate aftermath, this was all that mattered; nobody was harmed. Except for his car. Taking a deep breath as the pole was too close for comfort but not through the windshield...although the windshield looked cracked, he calmed himself because Josh was anything but. “It’s all right.” That would be true eventually. “It’s just money.” He’d repeat that to himself when he got the repair bill. Then he leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. “We’ll put an end to lessons today, but I might need your help digging out the van.” He wouldn’t need a rental car, because he’d kept the van, which was a remnant from days past when he had a chance for more social activism; everything considered, it was in pristine enough condition: everything worked, the transmission was fine, he’d recently changed the oil, and the tires were sound. It could use a fresh coat of paint, and he grimaced at the thought of some of the decals on the bumper, but it would do. Hearing the recrimination in his friend’s voice, he added with conviction intended to absolve the other man’s guilt, “You need to learn how to drive; it wasn’t a stupid idea. Accidents happen, right?” At least nobody was hurt.

[Joshua Bernstein]

All thoughts of persuading Sean to his cause (and convincing him that baseline was just another word for default and should thus be abandoned as well) were banished by his present situation. A situation he was at fault for, no matter what assurances his friend offered. It was an accident, which was to say it was an avoidable and unforgivable instance of carelessness. If he had been paying attention like he ought then this would never have happened.

He bristled at his friend's paraphrase of the age old reassurance of Alexander Pope, at the implication that such careless actions could be dismissed because expected. Sean had apparently taken that bit of wisdom to heart, right down to the injunction to forgive easily. "Tell that to Tony Hayward." Accidents were unacceptable, particularly accidents that involved wrecking things like beaches and cars. He could have killed his best friend through reckless stupidity! That would easily have been on par with mucking up the Gulf Coast with oil; worse, even, as comparable oil spills in other parts of the world had little lasting impact but he somehow doubted that Sean could recover from being dead -- and he wasn't at all keen on testing that theory.

"Accidents don't happen, stupidity happens and people ought to face the consequences of their stupidity." He objected, uncomfortably certain that Sean was letting him off far too easily. This forgiveness was entirely in keeping with his personality, as Sean had always been a gracious person, but in these circumstances understanding made Josh feel far more guilty than yelling (or at least more obvious agitation) would have.

But he'd been offered a chance at penance, even if helping dig out the van didn't seem nearly a horrible enough punishment. "But of course I'll help with the van," He agreed contritely, silently wondering why Sean had kept the thing and if it still even worked. Granted, some good times (and a great deal of young adult angst over life's injustice) had been had in that van, but mere sentiment seemed a paltry reason for keeping something. Then again, it was needed now, so whatever reason Sean had for keeping it around was apparently justified, sentimental or not.

Somehow when he'd decided to move himself and his parents to Vermont he hadn't expected quite this much excitement, or at least not excitement of this variety. The presence of his best friend had been a deciding factor, the idea of actually spending more time together than just on the phone had been compelling, as had the possibility of once again joining together to combat inequality. Wrecking Sean's car and forcing him into using the van hadn't been part of the equation. It really was going to be just like college again if Sean started driving around in that thing. Just like college, only with work replacing classes (although organizing a lawyer walk out as a means of protest seemed more ridiculous and far less likely than a student walk out), and with somewhat worse physical health and definitely worse vision and less no making out in the back of the van. Unless they got drunk, but as that was never supposed to happen he generally pretended that it never did; there was one recurring mistake he never cared to face the consequences for.

He sighed and unbuckled his seatbelt, leaving the keys in the ignition as he pushed open the door and slid out of the mangled car with trepidation, circling around to the front to see just how much damage he'd caused. Not that he would be able to tell much just by looking; he wasn't a mechanic. He could tell that repairs were (probably) going to be expensive, and he could also tell that bits of Sean's car were going to decorate the light pole for a long while to come, but that was about it. He hoped that Sean would accept his offer to pay for the repairs out of pocket, because he hadn't bought insurance yet what with not having his own car, and he could think of no possible way that his friend's insurance company would accept paying for this without a huge hike in fees.

"Well." He reached into his jacket pocket, automatically searching for cigarettes to calm his nerves before remembering that his self-imposed rule (helped into existence by Sean's own rules about behavior in his car) against smoking in front of Sean. He hurriedly removed his hands from his pockets, crossing his arms across his chest instead in order to avoid temptation. "I suppose we're heading home, then, Jeeves?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was long used to Josh’s tendency towards the dramatic, which was why he didn’t grow offended by the invocation of Tony Hayward’s name and the BP disaster. Josh knew in his heart of hearts that Sean didn’t forgive every accident as a learning experience. And although it was terribly flattering that Josh considered a car crash in which nobody was hurt to be worse than the Gulf Coast spill because Sean was involved, it also wasn’t the most realistic or rational of perspectives.

“Your consequences are helping me dig out the van and possibly giving it a fresh coat of paint,” Sean reminded him calmly. Josh would pay more attention next time, and so the lesson had been learned; and as Sean reminded himself, he had an alternative vehicle for just this purpose. He signed softly, before adding, “And thank you. For the promise with the van, not for this.” Just to make sure that Josh didn’t think he’d lost his head and was thanking him for crashing the car or for not getting either of them injured. He was grateful that both of them were fine, but he also wasn’t about to offer thanks to anyone in particular for that good fortune. Perhaps he was also thanking Josh for not asking questions about why he’d kept the van, or bringing up any bittersweet or downright painful memories attached to the van and that period of their lives...or those other periods afterward.

It would be like college, except that it was no longer the 1970s and they weren’t attending school in the Village. Sean was in his fifties now, and he’d have to explain this to his coworkers since he was fairly certain the van wouldn’t fit in his parking space. That was a less important concern, because at the moment, it didn’t matter. He doubted that anyone would find the van’s existence surprising, as he was upfront about his wilder years with the other faculty, often sharing stories. He simply hadn’t thought that he’d need to whip the van out from necessity as opposed to nostalgia.

Sean had remained in the car a moment longer, after Josh had left to examine it. Considering Josh’s minimal experiences with cars as anything other than a passenger – the one time the van broke down on their way home from Washington aside – there was nothing that his friend would gain from the post-mortem except the possibility of making himself feel worse and embedding some loose shards of metal in his hand. Since Sean had owned a car for almost thirty-five years, for longer than he’d known Josh, as hard as that was to conceive, he was better when it came to repairs. He could change a tire, could do minor engine repairs, and could hopefully jury-rig the car home where he could then call AAA. That would, of course, depend on the extent of the damage.

Taking a deep breath, he exited the car, walking around to the front where the bumper had all but melded with the lamppost in a disgusting parody of modern art. This can be fixed, he reminded himself, as he took in the extent of the damage. It would be expensive, but it was reparable. There were also no flames shooting out from beneath the hood of the car, so hopefully the engine hadn’t been destroyed. To check that, he went to the driver’s seat, pulled up the hand break, and jiggled the key in the ignition; the engine didn’t roar so much as groan to life, but it responded all the same. Good, this way he could drive them out of here.

In response to his friend’s question, he nodded, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to gesture at the passenger side. “Lessons are over for today, Wooster. Climb inside.” They would go back to Sean’s house, where they could stash his car on the street, and then dig out the van from the garage. Once that was in working order, he could drive Josh home, return to his house, and then call AAA to have it towed, where he could then spend time at the repair shop hearing the estimate, without Josh being forced to listen and work himself into a guilt-ridden fit.