"Any word from Joe?"
Fenton didn't raise his head; he didn't want to look his distraught wife in the eyes, didn't want to tell her to know he was half-mad with worry about their younger son. She was upset enough without her husband adding to it.
"I'm sure he's busy," he said easily, knowing she wouldn't be convinced. There was just no consoling either of them.
Laura Hardy sighed and came slowly into her husband's study, glancing absentmindedly at some of the papers strewn about his desk—all bills, he'd given up investigating—and finally perching on the arm of one of the two chairs he'd set up opposite him.
Which son sat here the night he told them about the case? They shouldn't have been involved. We shouldn't have let them be involved.
She knew it was useless to think about but she did nonetheless: her sons, her babies, why did she ever let them investigate? They were so young.
It's in our blood Mom. You understand, right?
Oh Frank…
"He'll be all right, Laura."
Her husband's voice startled her. She nodded in his direction, then caught sight of a picture on his desk; a picture of the four of them.
All four. So perfect. So…complete.
Laura reached a trembling hand out and touched the frame, but her husband hastily pulled the photo away from her.
"Don't torture yourself, love."
"What do you call leaving that out?"
Fenton sighed and turned the picture face down. "I need it. To remember. Otherwise I'll block them from my mind because it's too painful."
"Block them from your mind? How is that possible?"
Her husband stared at her in distress. "I just do."
The two were silent. Fenton went back to his bills. Laura pulled her sweater closer—she was always so cold now—and gazed apathetically about the room.
Cold now. Bare. He tore down all the newspaper clippings, all the awards. He didn't care anymore. I know you blame yourself, Fenton. I know how painful it is for you to stay away from the work, from chasing bad guys. I know you miss him. Both of them.
Oh Frank. We needed you so much. What would you do now? How would you show your brother that he's not at fault, that his life is worth living? Frank? You always could.
"Frank wouldn't have let us give up. He wouldn't have let us leave Joe alone."
Fenton stared at her with so much pain she almost regretted saying anything. But it was true. And he needed to hear it.
"I know."
"We shouldn't then. For his sake."
"Damnit Laura, what do we do? Follow him to school? Make him live at home? We both know that's not the answer."
"We should visit him."
Her husband looked away. "Give him time. Give him space."
"We did! And he nearly killed himself because of it!"
"He needs to learn not to blame himself. He needs to forgive himself."
"But he can't. Not without help."
"He'll learn through therapy."
"He needs Frank."
"Godamnit Laura!"
"Well, it's true."
"I know that, Gertrude knows that, the whole Godamn town knows that, and our insanely stubborn and bull-headed son still knows that! There's not need to rub it in! All of this happened because Frank's not here!"
Laura was stunned by her husband's outburst, but instantly ashamed of her own ignorance.
Why is it I always state the obvious? Or maybe I just was realizing it. Or maybe I just want to say Frank's name. It makes him feel more real, more there.
More with us.
"I'm sorry."
Fenton sighed and rubbed his eyes. "No. I am. I was out of line."
"You said the truth."
Her husband looked away. He was quiet for a moment. She reached out and turned the photograph back upright, caressing the glass.
"I miss him too, Laura."
"I know, baby."
Silence again. Their conversations felt strained, felt faked. Laura was tired of trying to keep them up. Everything seemed to make her tired lately; being in the house and being out, talking and silence, thinking and blocking thoughts. She was worn out with it all, worn out with the misery that had settled in a hideous lump in her chest and felt lodged there, refusing to surface as tears. And this house…the walls seemed to echo.
Guess what Mommy?
"You remember when Joe went through his nightmare stage? Every night he'd wake up screaming. We'd sleep with him and sit with him and it didn't make a difference. And how long did it take Frank to straighten him out…three days? Four? He felt so much safer with him."
"Laura…"
"I remember too, the time Frank broke the garage window, and Joe lied and said it was him, and when we figured out it had been Frank Joe insisted that we punish him too for lying, and they both were grounded. He must be the only kid who actually wanted to be punished."
"Honey…"
"And clothes shopping. My God I had the hardest time. Frank liked polo shirts and khakis, but Joe was so trendy. Plus there sizes were so different. I always thought, having two sons close together, they could just share, but no; they were such opposites…"
Fenton seized his wife's shoulders and shook her. "What's wrong with you?"
Laura was stunned to realize her cheeks were soaked with tears. Her nose was running; she didn't bother wiping it.
"I want to remember the good times. There were good times. I'm afraid to pretend they didn't exist, afraid I'll forget what my children were like the way you try to…"
Her husband wrapped her in his embrace, rocked her as she sobbed. It was the first time they'd hugged in awhile, the first time they'd touched in days. He stroked her hair, rubbed her back. Reminiscing was just too painful. For both of them.
But they were not alone; it was hard on the ghost boy, who watched invisible from a corner.
The boy who had watched his family fall apart.
