Author: Fiona Doyle
Disclaimer: If you've seen it on The West Wing, I don't own it. That's pretty much just Josh in this one, and maybe to some extent his father, Noah Lyman, but he was only mentioned a few times, so I think I have some dibs on giving him an actual personality. Susan, Andrew and Diane Burgey belong to me, so play nice.
Summary: "People will find all kinds of reasons to hate you... but I've found, and I think you'll agree with me, that most of those reasons are pretty stupid."
Notes: A complete lack of spoilers in this one, folks. But it would probably be helpful if you read my other two stories in this universe, Se'udat Havra'ah and Geoffrey and Elizabeth. I'm not saying it's a must, but you'll get a few more small things and Diane won't come as a surprise. It's meant to take place about a year prior to the roof scene in Geoffrey and Elizabeth.
There were very few things Susan liked better than a bowl of warm, heavily buttered popcorn. Not the kind you got at movie theatres, the stuff that had been sitting for twenty minutes cooling before you even ordered it, and then was soaked in oil and salt. She liked her popcorn fresh and hot and drenched in, not margarine, but real butter melted on the stove, and absolutely no oil or salt. Her mother had always made popcorn that way, would only eat popcorn that way, and it was just one of those things she'd passed on to her daughter without even knowing she was doing it.
The kitchen was already smelling thickly of melted butter when Josh's face suddenly appeared in the kitchen window, grinning as he held up a six pack of Coke for her approval. Susan grinned back, and nodded in the direction of the back door with her head, mouthing the words 'it's open' through the glass. His head disappeared and, several seconds later, the kitchen door opened.
"It smells like a movie theatre in here," Josh remarked as he nudged the door closed behind him, setting the six pack down on the kitchen counter.
"No," Susan corrected, pouring a second helping of butter into the faintly steaming bowl of popcorn. "It smells better than a movie theatre."
Josh peered into the bowl as she stirred the butter in with a large wooden spoon, his face skeptical. "Are you trying to give us both heart attacks, Sue? 'Cause if you are, I've gotta tell you, I'm kind of partial to my unclogged arteries, thanks."
She shrugged. "Your loss, buddy," she told him. "All the more for me."
"You never learned to share in kindergarden, did you?"
"Musta been sick that day," Susan agreed with a smile, popping a few kernals into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully a moment. "Needs something..." she muttered to herself.
Josh fixed her with a look. "More butter?" he suggested innocently.
Susan gave his look right back. "Great idea," she remarked, and reached for what was left of the stick.
"No way!" Josh exclaimed, snatching up the bowl of popcorn protectively. "It's practically soggy already!"
"Spoilsport," she pouted, jutting out her lower lip, but she put the butter back in the fridge. "You want ice?" she questioned over her shoulder as she pulled open the freezer.
"Sure," he replied. Susan grabbed a tray of ice from the freezer, twisting it back and forth a few times to loosen the ice. "So where'd your parents go tonight?" Josh asked.
"Some party," Susan responded vaugly as she pulled a pair of glasses from the cupboard and started filling them with ice. "They're not gonna be home until pretty late, so we've got full control of the TV for five or six hours anyway. And once Dad sees it's James Bond we're watching, I'm sure he won't object at all. In fact, he'll probably sit down and join us."
Josh smirked as they headed into the living room, Susan grabbing the six-pack as they went. "And that's cool, 'cause then it'll be like stereo sound."
Susan laughed, setting the Coke and the glasses on the coffee table. "Dad doesn't even realize he's saying all Bond's lines until you turn down the volume and it's only his voice he can hear," Susan told him. "He usually just keeps going for a while before he realizes we're laughing at him."
Josh shook his head in mild amazement, sinking down into the couch. "I swear, Sue. Your dad knows every single line of every single Bond movie ever made. It's weird."
"You have no idea," Susan told him. "Sometimes, if he gets really into On Her Majesty's Secret Service, he'll start doing voices too. Bond, Moneypenny -- everyone. That's weird."
"It really, really is," Josh agreed.
Susan pulled open the drawer underneath the television where the old Beta videos were kept, including her father's collection of James Bond movies. They had a VCR, but Andrew Burgey refused to get rid of the Beta player because he didn't want to re-purchase his entire Bond collection.
"So what do you wanna start with?" she asked Josh, flipping through the videos. "Should I put in Dr. No and we can work our way through?"
Josh seemed to consider this for a moment. "Naa," he said finally. "Let's watch the good ones first. Stick in For Your Eyes Only."
Susan wrinkled her nose. "All that good Sean Connery, and your picking a Roger Moore movie?" she questioned doubtfully.
"But I like that one."
"You've seen it a million times, Josh," Susan protested. "Besides, I thought the whole idea of this James Bond Marathon was to watch all the old ones."
"Fine," Josh relented between a handful of popcorn. "Put in Goldfinger. It's old, it's got Sean Connery, and it's got the cool guy with the killer hat."
Susan brightened. "Okay," she agreed, and closed the drawer after selecting the movie. She glanced at the video cover as she flipped on the Beta player and the television. "You know what else this one has in it?" she suggested.
"What?"
"The naked gold-painted women."
Josh grinned slyly. "Really?" he said innocently as he cracked open a can of coke and poured some into both their glasses. "I thought that was a different one."
Susan rolled her eyes, pushing the movie in and grabbing the remote control from on top of the television. "Yeah, whatever," she said unconvinced, sitting down next to him on the couch. "Just don't get your drool on me is all I'm asking."
"I make no promises to the girl who's gonna make her own drool puddle over Sean Connery," he countered.
"Girls don't drool," she told him, pressing the play button on the remote control and turning up the volume.
Josh shrugged. "Salivate then."
She shot him a look as she took a handful of popcorn. "We don't do that either."
"Slobber?" Josh tried. "Water at the mouth?"
"Feel free to shut up at any time."
"Naa. This is far too much fun."
"Yeah, well," Susan shot him a knowing look. "I think you've run out of synonyms for drool."
"Have not," Josh said, then paused, seemingly trying to come up with another word. "I'd just rather stockpile them for another time is all."
"And you didn't even mention slaver," Susan offered smugly as the opening theme song of Goldfinger started to play on the television.
"Slaver?" Josh blinked. "That's an actual word?"
"Or slabber," she went on.
"This isn't fun anymore."
"What about drivel?"
Josh shushed her with a finger. "Can't you see I'm trying to watch this movie?" he protested.
"You also forgot dribble."
"I'm ignoring you now," Josh told her, staring fixedly at the television as the opening credits started to play in earnest.
"Of course you are," Susan mused. "You're too busy slavering over your naked gold women."
"You better believe it," he replied, and shushed her again.
Four hours, three cokes each and a second bowl of popcorn later, they'd managed to watch three of the twelve movies, albeit only what Josh called the 'interesting parts' of From Russia With Love, which amounted to perhaps a half hour of fast-forwarding to all the action sequences.
"I'm thinking The Man With the Golden Gun next," Susan suggested as she stood up, tossing the near empty popcorn bowl into Josh's lap. "That, or For Your Eyes Only."
"For Your Eyes Only," Josh replied immediately, swinging around and streaching his legs out across the length of the couch.
Susan glanced up from the pile of Bond movies that had been relocated from their drawer to the floor in front of the television. "Don't make yourself too comfortable, Josh," she warned good naturedly. "'Cause I'll be wanting my spot back in a minute."
Josh grinned. "And what's funny is you say that like you could make me move if I didn't want to."
Susan pushed the video in and pressed the play button on the Beta player. "I could and I will if you make me."
"Yeah?" Josh dared her with a snort. "You and what army?"
She stood over the couch, arms crossed. "Move, Josh."
"Nothin' doin', Sue," he shot back, pointedly snuggling down into the cushions.
Susan pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him, as if trying to make him move by willpower alone. When that didn't work, she grinned malicious and shrugged. "Fine," she told him, her voice light, and before he could do anything, she spun around and sat herself down right on top of him, situated somewhere between his waist and his knees.
Josh groaned, practically dropping the popcorn bowl in surprise. "Hey!" he protested, attempting to wriggle his legs free. "Lemmie out! You're heavier than you look!"
She pointedly put all her weight on him, preventing him from moving. "You wanted the whole couch, you got the whole couch, Lyman," she told him, then grinned slyly. "You telling me you're not man enough to support one hundred and ten pounds of me?" she asked, poking him in the side with her finger.
Josh yelped and pulled away. "First of all," he said defensively. "No poking! And second, you attacked my manliness, and that's not nice."
"That's what we're calling it now?" she asked sweetly, and poked him again, cleverly finding the ticklish spot just under his ribcage. Trapped as he was underneath her, Josh could do little more than offer another high-pitched shout and attempt to lean away, but Susan pursued and got him again.
"Okay -- that's -- Susan!" he whined as he moved sporadically, trying to evade her fingers. "Stop it! That's tickles!"
At that pronouncement, Susan's face lit up, realizing how perfectly vulnerable Josh had left himself, and she smiled from ear to ear. "That tickles?" she said. "Oh, really?" Without furthar warning, she leaned the other way and started to pull one of his socks off. "'Cause I can do way better than that, Joshua!"
His eyes widened as he realized what she was doing, and he desperately tried to pull his feet away in time. "Don't you dare!" he protested loudly. "Susan Geoffrey Burgey, don't even think abou--" Anything else he might have said was lost as Susan mercilessly started tickling his feet, and he disloved into uncontrolable laughter.
"That's what you get for stealing my spot!" Susan pronounced gleefully, shifting her weight as Josh tried to kick up underneath her.
"Stop -- quit it -- I'm --" Josh panted between giggles, struggling. He overturned the popcorn bowl, showering her with seeds and half-popped kernals. "I'm -- I'm warning you!"
"Yeah?" she retorted, throwing his words back at him. "You and what army, giggle-boy?"
"All right, that's it!" Josh proclaimed, and with renewed determination, he lifted himself up to a semi-sitting position and grabbed her around the waist. Susan shrieked in surprise and tried to regain her balance, but Josh suddenly kicked up with his knees and twisted them around against the back of the couch.
"You asked for it, Burgey," he told her with a smirk, and pushed her down flat on her back on the cushions, centering his weight over her so he wasn't crushing her, but she still couldn't move, much in the same way she had pinned him.
"Not fair!" Susan protested, trying to push him off the couch. "You weight more than I do!"
"You shoulda thought of that before you started this war, Susan," he told her matter-of-fact as he pinned her arms against her stomach. "I warned you, and now you must suffer the consequences of your actions."
Without furthar delay, Josh reached down and gave her kneecap a sharp squeeze, and Susan practically erupted into giggles. Her knees were the most ticklish part of her, and Josh wasn't about to let her off with anything less than an absolute win on his part. Giggles soon became breathless, wild laughter, and Josh had to fight to stay his ground as she flailed uncontrollably underneath him.
Over Susan's shrill laughter, neither of them heard the lock turn in the back door, nor the squeak of the hinges as it was pushed open, nor the call of "Hello?" that followed. Susan would think for years later that, if they had heard any of those things, some part of that evening might have been salvaged. As it was, however, Susan never would be sure just how long her mother had been standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, only that by the time her and Josh noticed, it was already far too late.
Josh wasted no time in getting off the couch his face starting to go red with embaressment. Susan sat up shortly after, shooting a nervous look at Josh out of the corner of her eye.
"Hey, Mom," she greeted, grabbing for the remote control to turn down the volume on the television. Susan strained her neck, trying to look around her mother's form to see if her father was coming any time soon. "You guys are home early," she tried conversationally.
It was as if Diane Burgey hadn't heard her at all. Her sharp eyes were pinned on Josh, taking in his rumpled t-shirt and missing socks, her mouth drawn tight in a thin line. Josh was trying very hard to avoid her stare, his eyes directed firmly to the floor, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders forward as if he was trying to be as small as possible. It wasn't until Susan realized that Josh already knew that she started to realized it herself.
"How dare you..." Diane said slowly, quietly, dangerously. Josh flinched, shrinking back a step as Diane took a step forward.
Andrew Burgey chose that moment to make his presence known, sliding between his wife and the wall, craning his neck to see around Josh to the television. "Was that For Your Eyes Only I heard playing?" he asked with some enthusiasm as he shrugged off his jacket.
No one said anything.
Susan's father took less than a second to take in Josh's appearance, his daughter's appearance, and the storm on his wife's face, then put the pieces together. "Ahh..." he said softly, shooting Diane a cautious look as he put a hand on her back in an attempt to usher her away. "You two are watching a movie in here. We'll just head on upstairs, then..."
Diane stepped away from her husband's arm, her sights narrowed on Josh. "How dare you," she repeated, louder this time. "How dare you come into my home and take advantage of my daughter, you no-good fortune-hunting whelp..."
"Diane!" Andrew called sharply in warning, but for Susan, who could see the terrifying look of absolute hatred on her mother's face, it offered little hope.
"Mom..." Susan tried in a small voice, standing. "It... it's not what you think..."
"Get out of my house," Diane ordered over top of her daughter's protests, advancing on Josh again. "And if you ever, ever come within fifty feet of my daughter again, you dirty, disgusting punk --" Josh flinched again, but his face had gone from fear to a quiet anger that startled Susan even more. "--I'll have you behind bars where you belong. Do you understand me, boy?"
"Perfectly..." Josh muttered under his breath, ignoring Susan's pleading look as he walked around the couch, leaving a wide birth between him and Susan's entire family, his eyes still firmly rooted to the floor.
"Josh..." Susan called desperately as he disappeared into the kitchen, but if he heard her, he made no indication other than the quiet and terrifyingly final click of the back door closing against its frame.
"And as for you..." Diane now rounded on her daughter, who was still frantically trying to figure out how things had spiralled so out of control so quickly, rooted in place by her shock. "God knows I've tolerated this... this attachment of yours to that Lyman boy long enough. Well, that ends tonight, hear me?"
It was as if something had suddenly jolted Susan back into consciousness. "That Lyman boy?" she repeated incredulously, echoing with complete bewilderment her mother's tone of disgust. "That Lyman boy?" Susan was beginning to find her own anger, welling up from the pit of her stomach and climbing up her throat.
"Diane, that was completely uncalled for --" Andrew started, but his wife was not to be talked down.
"And you," she shot at him viciously. "Encouraging her! Letting those people brainwash her into thinking God knows what!"
Andrew balked, taken by surprise at the intensity of the attack. "Excuse me?"
She laughed shrilly. "Don't give me that look, Andrew, don't even try! Like you don't know what goes on over there. Like you don't know what that Lyman boy tries to tell her!"
"Josh," Susan corrected sharply, cutting over whatever else her mother may have said next.
Diane whirled around to face her. "What did you say?"
"His name is Josh!" Susan told her, her voice rising. "Not that Lyman boy. His name is Josh!"
"I know what is name is," Diane shot back. "And don't you take that tone with me, young lady, don't you dare."
Susan's mouth dropped. "Don't I dare?" she said in disbelief. "You just threw my best friend out of my house for doing absolutely nothing, and you're the one telling me not to dare?"
"Your best friend?" Diane repeated, an incredulous laugh following it. "Not anymore, he's not! You're not to associate with him, Susan Geoffrey. I don't want to hear that you've even spoken to that brat!"
Susan took a step back, fire in her eyes. "What the hell gives you the right to chose my friends?" she shouted. Her hand instictively grabbed at the thin silver cross hanging around her neck, a present from her mother on her sixteen birthday, and she squeezed it hard, her nails digging fiercely into her palm as she suddenly started to understand. Really understand. "Who the hell made you worthy of passing that kind of judgement on people you don't even know!"
"I saw what was going on in here, Susan!" Diane yelled back, pointing violently at the couch. "And I will not, will not, have my daughter swiped out from under me like that!"
"That's what you thought we were doing?" Susan said with a contemptuous laugh.
"Diane," Andrew said, trying one last time to intervene in things already out of control. "I don't think -- Josh and Susan are friends, he would never --"
"Shut up," Diane snapped at him. "Don't you tell me what was going on in here, I saw that with my own eyes. I can't believe you're standing there trying to pretend that nothing's happened! This is about your own daughter, damnit!"
"It is not!" Susan shouted with absolute certainty, drawing her mother's attention back to her again. "It has nothing to do with me, nothing to do with Josh, and everything to do with you!" She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, but she fought them, unwilling to back down.
Diane blinked, raising her chin. "What did you say to me?"
"How the hell would you know anything about the Lymans?" Susan said, breathing hard. "You've never even talked to them! You've never even been over to their house, not even when Joanie died!" Susan paused, shaking her head. "Mrs. Lyman still sets a place for you when she invites us over for dinner, every single time, even though she knows you won't come, hoping that some day you'll come off your god-damned high horse, but no... not you, Diane Burgey couldn't possible lower herself to that! No! Because she's got a fucking headache!"
Her mother's mouth dropped in shocked fury, her look piercing, daring her daughter to say that again. "That's not what this is about."
Susan had never fought so hard to keep back tears as she did then, and as she slowly began to fail, she closed her eyes, shaking her head and biting her lip until it started to bleed. Her fist still clenched the cross at her neck as if it were the last piece of her attached to the ground.
"Yes it is..." Susan spoke finally, quietly.
Without warning, she wrenched her fist forward, and the silver chain broke around her neck harshly, several of the small links clinking lightly to the floor. Her throat stung horribly from the force of it, but Susan didn't care.
"I know exactly what this is about," Susan said softly, her eyes fixed coldly on her mother as she held open her palm, dropping the small cross to the carpet, her hand throbbing from where her nails and the corners of the cross had dug into it. "And I won't be part of it anymore."
That pronouncement hung in the air for a few fragile seconds, Diane shocked into silence for the first time since she'd come into the room. Saying nothing more, Susan turned and walked out, pausing just long enough to slip on a pair of shoes before exiting through the front door, slamming it behind her.
It was unusually cool for May, Josh thought as he pulled his coat tighter around him, staring down over the darkened street in front of his house morosely. There was a faint breeze blowing, but on top of his roof where he sat now it seemed colder than it should be, wisps of air biting through his pockets to chill his fingertips.
There had been yelling after he'd left Susan's house, he had heard it from atop his own home, muffled by the walls that contained it. But there was not mistaking the combatants, not after he'd heard the front door slam and watched the dark figure of Susan all but run down Fairfield Avenue, away from her home and her mother.
And from him, he realized.
More yelling had followed, though this time the battle seemed more subdued, and Andrew Burgey's deeper voice was more dominent. Josh couldn't hear what they were saying, and didn't care to. Eventually, he glimpsed Mr. Burgey stalk out the back and into the garage, not quite closing the door with as much force as his daughter, but coming reasonably close.
Josh couldn't help wondering what Susan's mother was doing just then, abandoned by both her daughter and her husband. And then he wondered why he cared.
A flicker of light caught his eye from below him, facing the backyard, and he glanced down, curious as to who had turned on the light in his bedroom. The sound of a window being pushed open, and then Noah Lyman's voice calling, "Joshua?"
"Up here," Josh replied dully.
Noah leaned out of the window and turned his face upward to the sound of his son's voice. "Josh?" he called again.
"On the roof," Josh clarified.
"Ahh..." Then the sound of someone crawling through a window and climbing on top of the shed, shoes scraping the shingles. Josh watched as his father's shape appeared, silhouetted in the darkness. He turned toward the roof of the house, peering up at the shape of his son leaning against the chimney, as if to make sure he wasn't going to all this effort for nothing. Josh's presence confirmed, he reached around blindly for the metal handles and pulled himself, with several loud and laboured grunts, onto the roof.
Carefully, the older man walked up the roof until he was level with Josh, huffing slightly as he sat himself down a few feet away. "Well..." he muttered conversationally as he looked out onto the street. "I can certainly see why you kids like it up here where us older folk can't get to you as easy, eh?" Noah reached behind him, bracing his hands against his back and cracking it with a sigh. "I'm getting too old for this kind of mishigas."
Josh didn't say anything.
Noah allowed the silence to settle for a moment, but he had never been a man to sit quietly for very long. "Did you hear that yelling from next door up here?" he asked lightly, shaking his head with a deep chuckle. "I'm telling you, there's not a pair of lungs in this world like Diane Burgey's. That woman puts those damn shrieking cats down the street to shame."
"Yeah," Josh replied, a grim line on his forehead as he picked at the shingles. "I heard it."
Noah nodded. "You came home pretty early, huh? Twelve James Bond movies aren't as long as you thought they were, I'm guessing."
A piece of the shingle broke off in his hand, and Josh stared at it a moment before pitching it off the roof onto the street. "Sue's parents came home early," he said shortly, glancing over at his father. "Mrs. Burgey had a headache," he finished, unable to keep the bitterness lodged in his throat from coming out his mouth.
For a long moment, Noah Lyman held his son's gaze, reading it carefully. "Was it a bad headache?" he asked meaningfully.
Josh exhaled a short, derisive laugh. "They're always bad headaches," he replied sourly, chucking another piece of the roof onto the front lawn.
"So I gathered from the screaming," Noah replied, offering his son a helpless smile. "You wanna tell me what happened?"
Josh shrugged. "Nothing happened. We were just..." he struggled, running his fingers through his hair. "We were just messing around, and she walked in, and it was like all the air was sucked out of the room or something." Josh glanced up at his father. "She kicked me out. Told me she'd call the police if I tried to hang out with Susan anymore."
Noah Lyman nodded thoughtfully to himself, his lips persed in a thin line. "That's not so good."
"No," Josh agreed quietly, stuffing his hands back in his jacket pockets. He shook his head, laughing despite himself. "I don't know why we even bother," he muttered. "I mean, it's not like Mrs. Burgey hasn't made it perfectly clear before that she --" Josh caught himself, unable to say it. "Maybe it's just easier if Sue and I aren't friends."
That thought was allowed to fester a painfully long moment before Noah broke the silence.
"You've seen her dad's car, right?" he said suddenly.
Josh glanced back up, momentarily forgetting his brooding. "Huh?"
"Andrew Burgey's car," his father repeated. "The sixty-eight... help me out here, Joshua, I can never remember this stuff. The sixty-eight something-or-other."
Josh's brow raised. "You mean the Couger?"
Noah snapped his fingers. "That's the one. That's a nice car, eh?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
"Andy loves that car," Noah supplied, looking out onto the street. "Like a second child, he loves it. Never thought he could afford one, not one that looks like that. Almost mint condition, he tells me constantly. Me, I don't know so much about those things. A car's a car, right?"
"Sure," Josh said slowly, not entirely sure where his father was going with this.
"Right," Noah went on. "I went with him when he went to go look at it, years and years ago -- you and Susie were very small, not even walking yet. This car he loved, and the owner was selling for bobkes, Joshua, practically nothing! Coulda almost paid out of the change in my pocket, this car was so cheap. And looking exactly as it is now."
Josh smiled faintly. "Sounds too good to be true."
His father nodded. "Exactly what Andy said to me on our way up to look at it. I remember this day so well. He's looking at this car, and he's starting to get excited -- you know how he gets when he starts talking about things like this -- and then he walks around to the other side and his face... it suddenly just collapsed in on itself, he was so disappointed.
"So I come around, expecting to see a dent of some kind, scratches or rust. And you know what I see? Nothing. This side? Looks as good as the other side to me, but I'm not a car person, so what do I know, eh? This guy who's selling the car, he knows right away, though. Tells us the guy he bought it from was in an accident with it, someone smashed the rear end up pretty good, then didn't have the money to pay to get it fixed properly. And as Andy's showing me, I can see it, exactly where things aren't quite right."
Josh suddenly nodded slowly to himself, recalling the hours he'd spent watching Andrew Burgey polish his car in the driveway, remembering as he traced the lines on the fender, showing Josh every minute inconsistancy, every faint deviation. "The rear quarter panel," he intoned softly.
His father blinked. "Is that what the thing's called?" he asked, then waved off his own question. "Whatever. But even me, even me who doesn't know babkes about cars, I can see that some shlemil hasn't done his job right. Crisp lines, Andy's always talking about. Everything's gotta be crisp and straight and perfect. But this spot, you can tell right away. The line, it waves up and down, goes all over the place. Uneven as anything you've ever seen. The owner tells us that's why the price is so low, because anyone who comes to look at it sees this and walks away."
"But Mr. Burgey bought it anyway," Josh replied.
"Ahh," replied Noah, shaking his finger knowingly. "But he almost didn't, you see. Heartbroken over this tiny little thing he was. Explains to me that you can't fix this without completely tearing the side of the car apart, a big mess and too much money that he doesn't have. He was just gonna walk away, hand to God, I swear it. So I pulled him aside, and I said -- I said this: I said -- Andy, this is farkatke! You tell me for years how much you love this car, and here you can finally have it like you always wanted, and you're willing to give it up because a kakameyme line isn't straight? What in God's name is wrong with you? You don't walk away from something you love because it's a little less than perfect!"
Josh was silent as his father met his eyes. "And sometimes," Noah continued on, his tone more reserved and quiet. "Sometimes I watch him polish that side of his car, and I can see how much he wishes it was straight. But he never regrets buying that car, Joshua. Never once." Noah shrugged, casting a meaningful look in the direction of Susan's house.
"Susan's not a car, dad," Josh said quietly, tearing his eyes away. "And Mrs. Burgey's not some little dent that you can just paint over and ignore." He shrugged helplessly, leaning his head back against the cool brick of the chimney. "I don't... I don't get how you can live next door to that kind of..." he paused, the word catching in the back of his throat, but this time he forced it out. "That kind of hate and pretend like it doesn't bother you."
Noah inhaled slowly, lifting his head and closing his eyes for a moment. Then, he turned to his son. "Let me tell you something my father told me a very long time ago, Joshua." He took a deep breath. "People will find all kinds of reasons to hate you. The colour of your skin, maybe, or the colour of your eyes. Maybe you're too smart or too dumb, or you don't have enough money or you have too much money. Or because of what you think and what you believe. All kinds of reasons. But I've found, and I think you'll agree with me, that most of those reasons are pretty stupid."
"That doesn't make what she said --" Josh closed his eyes against the tears that threatoned to fall, remembering with absolute clarity the feeling of worthlessness, of how just a handful of words could cut so bitterly. "How does that make things better?"
Noah shrugged. "It doesn't," he admitted. "But it would also be stupid for me to hate Andy just because he married a woman who doesn't like me for all the wrong reasons. Just like it would be stupid for you to hate Susan because her mother doesn't like you for all of the same wrong reasons." He reached out and patted Josh's knee. "You can't choose your family, Joshua, but you can choose your friends. And, call me crazy, but it seems to me that you and Susan chose each other a pretty long time ago."
Josh sighed. "Yeah..."
In the quite that followed, a small, frightened voice cut through the night.
"Josh?'
He looked down and saw, standing in his backyard, a friend he'd had for years, staring up at him, sitting in a place that they'd claimed as their own a long time past with someone other than her.
"Josh?" she called again softly. "Can... can I come up?"
Josh caught his father's eye again, holding it a moment, undecided.
"You gonna throw that kind of friendship away because of something stupid?" Noah asked him gently, a brow arched as he nodded down toward the girl still waiting for his permission.
Slowly, a sad smile spread across Josh's face, and instead of answering, he called down to her: "Come on up, Sue."
Noah Lyman grinned and nodded, patting Josh's knee again as they heard the sound of a ladder being placed against the wall. "Good boy," he told his son, then stood up and headed down the roof toward the shed to get down.
"Hey, Susie," he greeted pleasantly as she climbed up onto the roof. Josh watched as Susan looked at his father cautiously, as if she wasn't sure what to expect. Noah gave her a cursory look, then winked. "Pretty cool outside to be wearing shirt sleeves, young lady."
She wrapped her arms around herself as she shrugged. "I'm okay," she told him.
"You get cold up here, you come in and get a coat, hear me?" he told her with a grin. "Wouldn't have me responsible for you catching your death up here."
Susan nodded, a smile of mixed thanks and apology on her face. "Okay," she promised, and watched as Josh's dad carefully lowered himself onto the shed and disappeared back through Josh's window.
She approached Josh in wary silence, and Josh watched her come -- watched her carefully sitting down in her usual spot, albeit farther away from him than she usually sat. And he wasn't quite sure what to say.
"Josh..." Susan started, then stopped. She looked up at him, and Josh was startled to see that she'd been crying. "About what happened -- what she said, I --"
Josh waved her off, offering her a small laugh. "Don't worry about it, Sue," he told her. "It's... It's nothing. Just forget about it."
"No," Susan insisted quietly. "It's not all right, and I can't just..." She broke off, sighing helplessly as she stared at her hands. "How long have you known?" she said finally.
Josh shrugged, throwing another piece of torn shingle onto the street below. "I dunno," he said distantly. "A while, I guess."
Susan nodded. "I think I always knew, somewhere in the back of my head. I just... I just thought that if I pretended it wasn't real, then maybe it would just go away."
"It's not your fault, Susan," Josh told her lightly. "What she said back there, none of it is your fault."
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, her head dropped down nearly between her knees. "Sometimes... sometimes I wonder," she said in a small, far away voice. "I catch myself sometimes, looking at someone and judging them for something they can't help, and I don't mean too, I don't, but it just sort of ... happens ... and sometimes I wonder if... if I'll be like that someday..."
"Hey..." Josh called softly, leaning forward as she opened her eyes, watching as tears fell from them, unchecked. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms.
Susan buried her face into his shoulder, clutching at his jacket. "I'm sorry, Josh..." she broke out between quiet, restrained sobs. "I'm so, so sorry... I'm sorry I couldn't stop her from saying those awful things... I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry..."
He shushed her gently, hugging her to him as he felt any last remaining drops of anger he'd felt toward her for not stopping it slipped away into oblivion.
"Listen to me, Susan, listen to me," he said forcefully, demanding her to listen. "You are nothing like your mother, you hear me? Nothing. And you'll never ever be like her. I won't let her do that to you, okay?"
"Promise?" she pleaded softly.
Josh ran his fingers through her hair, resting his chin on top of her head.
"Promise," he replied, and hugged her tighter.
Noah Lyman watched the two figures on the roof a few moments longer, nodding in a satisfied way to himself, then turned and walked along the fence that divided his front lawn and the Burgey's driveway. The lights were on in the garage, and he could hear all kinds of assorted banging and clanging, coloured now and then with the occassional cuss word. Which could only mean that Andy was fussing with that car of his again. The sixty-eight something-or-other. Like most of the other things Andrew Burgey loved, he spent most of his time mad at the damn thing.
Noah poked his head through the open door to find the hood of the car propped wide open and Andy leaning over the engine, very nearly to the point of lying on it. "Son-of-a-bitch..." came Andy's nearly inaudible growl, his face tensed as his arm strained to twist something off.
Noah had to laugh. Andrew was still in a white shirt and tie, still wearing the suit pants he'd no doubt worn out that night, still wearing a pair of polished black shoes. The suit jacket had been thrown over the work bench.
Andrew Burgey's head shot up at the sound in surprise. "Oh! Hey, Noah," he greeted absently.
"What in God's name could this car possibly need at this time of night?" Noah questioned with a chuckle.
"An oil change," Andrew responded, standing up straight, giving up for a moment. He reached for a nearby rag and wiped some of the grease from his fingers before noticing the look his friend was giving him. "Okay," he said reluctantly, dipping his head in assent. "So it doesn't nessessarily need an oil change at -- " he checked his watch. " -- eleven-thirty at night, but I haven't had a whole lot of spare time lately, so..." He trailed off, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it.
"Hey," Noah told him, grinning. "I got no problem with a fool so long as he knows he's a fool." He leaned back against the work bench. "What's giving you the trouble?"
"Damn oil filter's on too tight," he replied, tossing the rag back to the bench. "Usually, I can twist it off with my hand, but it won't give." He pointed at the wall behind Noah. "Hand me the oil filter wrench, will you?"
Noah glanced over his shoulder at the assorted tools hanging in neat rows on the pegboard. "And that one would be...?"
Andrew rolled his eyes. "The round one with the big blue handle." Noah pointed, and Andrew nodded. Noah threw it too him, and watched as the other man bent back over his car to take another stab at the filter.
"Susie and Diane had at it, eh?" Noah mentioned casually, and Andrew paused a moment before continuing with his attempt to work the oil filter off, glancing up at his companion.
"Heard that, did you?" Andrew said through clenched teeth. Suddenly, his arm pushed forward, the filter gave, and he 'Ah-HA!'-ed in triumph, pulling the wrench away and reaching down with a hand to twist it off completly.
"Over the baseball game," Noah confirmed with a smirk. "How you live in that house and don't go deaf, I'll never understand."
"Me neither," Andrew agreed, pulling his hand up and producing a round, oil covered filter. He wiped his brow with his clean hand as he set the filter down on the work bench. "Diane deserved it though. She's had that one coming for a long time."
"Susan's over at our house," Noah offered.
"Up on the roof?"
"Yup."
"With Josh?"
"Yup."
Andrew leaned back against the bench next to Noah, reaching for the rag again as he nodded to himself. "Good," he said out loud. "That's good." He looked over at Noah meaningfully. "You got a good kid in Josh, Noah. A real good kid."
Noah nodded back, accepting the offered apology with a twinkle in his eye, knowing what Andrew meant to say even though he couldn't say it. "Susan's a real piece of work herself, Andy," he said, and offered a hand out.
Andrew Burgey gripped it firmly, shaking it without hesitation, his smile both thankful and apologetic in the same instant. "Thanks, Noah. Thanks."