Joe spent a mostly sleepless night in a chair by Frank's bed telling his brother about events Frank had missed while undercover. Their parents had arrived late in the evening, stayed long enough to reassure themselves Frank was alive and physically healthy, and talked briefly with Dr. Finley about what they could expect. Then they had settled in a nearby hotel for the night. Fenton Hardy had suffered a heart attack six months previously and needed rest as he tired easily. He had not allowed Joe to tell his brother about the attack when it occurred. "Frank has enough on his plate right now," Fenton had said. "I don't want him to worry."
Now, even though he wasn't sure Frank could hear him, Joe shared with him all his concerns about their father's health. "The faster you come out of this, 'bro, the better it'll be for Dad. For all of us." He leaned his elbows on the bed, reaching out for Frank's hand. Frank shook Joe's hand off, his fingers still twitching lightly. Joe moved his hand to Frank's forearm and gripped it hard, hoping the contact would generate an additional reaction. It didn't. "Frank, please," he whispered, "just try."
There was still no indication Frank even knew Joe was in the room.
Chet arrived early in the morning laden down with food-stuffed bags that smelled as if he had brought Prito's kitchen with him. "Tony couldn't get away from the restaurant," he explained, "but he stayed up all night making all of Frank's favorites for me to deliver." Chet turned to the figure on the bed. "He'll be here as soon as he can, Frank," he announced, raising his voice a little,"so you need to snap out of this and start eating, my friend. Tony's feelings will be hurt if most of this isn't gone by the time he gets here." Then he pulled up a chair and started telling Frank about his latest hobby – quilting. "It's a great way to meet girls. They think it's terrific that I'm so interested, but really, it's fascinating the way the patterns..."
Joe hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until he felt Chet shaking him by the shoulders. "Joe, I'm heading down to the cafeteria to find some breakfast. Your folks just called; they'll be here soon, and I don't want to be in the way." When Joe tried to press some of Tony's food on him, Chet held up his hands in mock-horror. "Nothing doing. Tony sent that for Frank. I value my life too much to go anywhere near it."
Within minutes of Chet's departure, the agents posted at the door ushered in Fenton and Laura Hardy. While reaching up from the chair to hug his mother and explain there wasn't any change in Frank's condition, he surreptitiously glanced at his father's face. It was the color of ashes. Breaking free of the hug, he then examined his mother. Though her face was calm, her eyes were rimmed with red, evidence that she had been crying recently. It seemed none of them had slept much the previous night.
Immediately, Joe stood and pretended to stretch, offering the chair to his father. Fenton sat down heavily, his eyes locked on his elder son's face. Laura eased down the bed rail and seated herself on the side of Frank's bed, pushing the long, dark hair from his eyes and gently stroking his forehead. "You've been very brave, Frank," she said softly," but you're safe now. We've missed you so much, and we need you to come home. We love you."
Joe could feel tears forming behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly with his forefinger and thumb to stop them. He hated that his parents had to go through this. Falling apart wouldn't help them right now, though. He had to be strong for them. For Frank.
Feeling he was being watched, Joe moved his hand and opened his eyes. His father was regarding him with a curious expression. "Do you have any idea what Frank was working on, son?" Fenton asked quietly, so as not to disturb his wife.
"No," Joe said bitterly. "He tried explaining it to me once, but most of it went right over my head. Something about programs that looked like they were working the way they were supposed to but were actually transmitting to two servers or something like that. I made some wiseass remark about tracking cookies, and did they make them with chocolate chips or something stupid like that." He closed his eyes again, fighting off a wave of guilt for not having paid more attention, for not having tried to understand what his brother was doing. He shook his head. Guilt wouldn't help Frank now. He needed his mind clear so he could focus. There would be time enough for guilt later.
Chet returned after about an hour and sat with them while they waited. Joe was grateful for his presence. Chet entertained Laura by describing his travails with his new sewing machine and asked her advice on colors for his latest quilt. Then he reminisced with Fenton about the cases Frank and Joe had taken on as teenagers, laughing when he remembered earlier hobbies that ended up helping the brothers solve those cases or else got them involved in unexpected events.
Several times during the morning they all left the room while Frank's doctors came in and examined him, checking for any signs of returning awareness. Each time they returned to the news there was no change. Joe felt like he was going crazy.
Around noontime, Chet tilted his head to the side and looked at Fenton. "You look hungry, Mr. Hardy," he said. "The cafeteria here looks like it has a mean salad bar. Would you and Mrs. Hardy care to join me for some lunch?"
Laura smiled at Chet and nodded almost imperceptibly. "I think that's an excellent idea, dear." She turned to Joe. "Will you come with us?"
Joe shook his head. "You can bring me a sandwich," he replied. "I want to be here in case..." He left the remainder of the sentence unsaid.
Fenton argued that he wasn't hungry and showed every indication of not moving until Chet said, "Are you sure you want to send me on a date with your lovely wife, Mr. Hardy? I may not bring her back." At that, Fenton smiled, and Joe knew Chet had said the right thing. Anything else would have gotten his father's stubborn streak going. To stay healthy, he needed to be eating regularly.
When they left, the room suddenly became very quiet. Joe glanced over at Frank, who appeared to be sleeping. Frank's eyes were closed and his breathing deep and even. There was no staring, no twitching. Joe breathed a sigh of relief. He was running out of things to say that didn't involve swearing loudly or asking questions Frank couldn't answer right now. He sat back down in one of the chairs and tipped his head back, closing his eyes for a moment.
A scuffle coming from the hallway forced him back up, a rush of adrenaline making him extremely alert. The agents in the hall were arguing with someone and the voices were getting louder.
"I don't care if I'm not on any damn list. You have to let me in!" The door muffled the voice but not the words. From inside the room, though, Joe couldn't tell who it was. He strode to the door and yanked it open, ready to protect Frank's sleeping body with his life if need be. The face on the other side stopped him in his tracks.
"Joe?"
"Phil?" Joe shook his head, trying to clear the shock he felt. "You're supposed to be in California. What are you doing here?"
Phil Cohen looked at Joe with stricken eyes. "I can understand if you don't want me here, Joe. Biff called as soon as he got off the phone with you last night." The agents let go of Phil's arms but still blocked entry to Frank's room. Joe looked at Phil carefully. He obviously hadn't slept and was rumpled from traveling. "I had to come. Frank's my best friend. I had to apologize." He paused, his eyes filling with tears. "This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for me."
