Stupid, stupid boy going back to school, leaving his parents worrying, his friends calling here every day in a frenzy. Frank would not want this. Frank would not let this happen…
Gertrude stood over a pot on the stove, stirring furiously, trying unsuccessfully to ward off the image of her nephews, to push down the faces that rose before her day after day, hour after hour.
She sighed and turned the heat on the stove down; the broth was beginning to boil. But the smell of the stew failed to ease the fear lodged in her chest; fear for her younger nephew's safety.
I'm not going to do it again. Not now.
"Joseph," she sighed out loud, "will you ever learn?"
A bubble of broth popped in response, and the older woman sighed again.
"Always so out of control," she muttered to herself, stirring furiously again. "If they were my children…"
What? she thought to herself, forcing her voice to stop. She'd wondered so many times what she would have done differently, so many times how she would have eased the drive to detect, squelched their curiosity.
And yet…
It's in their blood, Gert. My parents warned me when I married Fenton that our children would be the same. And they were right. It's just in their blood.
How could she have stopped them without killing the very personalities she'd come to look after with such care, love so completely? They would have found ways around her. After all, the only thing they really wanted was to help others.
"Still," she muttered, stirring again, "I never would have let them. I would never had involved them in a case like that. I…"
"Gertrude?"
"Oh!" the older woman dropped her spoon to the floor and spun around to face Laura. The woman huddled in the doorway, looking shrunken—she hadn't been eating enough, Gertrude reminded her several times a day—in her loose sweater, drawn tightly against her arms.
"You were talking to yourself."
"Was I?" she sighed, scooping the spoon back up and running under hot water. "Maybe."
"Are you all right?"
"Fine, dear. Sit down. I'll give you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Laura! You're getting to be as bad as Joseph!"
Laura's lip began to tremble at the mention of her younger son's name; that's when Gertrude noticed how red her eyes were, swollen from crying.
"Laura! What on earth is wrong dear?"
Mrs. Hardy sighed and crossed the kitchen slowly, lowering herself into a seat at the kitchen table.
"Fenton still hasn't heard from Joe."
Gertrude sighed, turned the heat to off, and sat slowly down beside her sister-in-law.
"That doesn't mean he isn't all right. He's a strong boy. Stubborn, bull-headed, frustrating…but strong."
Laura wiped her eyes tiredly. "He used to be," she said softly. "But that's because he…he always had Frank…backing him…" her face crumpled, and again after so many nights, she buried her face in her arms and wept. "Oh God…my babies…how did this happen to my babies…one dead and the other dying…I can't do this anymore…"
"Laura!" Gertrude snapped, seizing the younger woman's shoulders. "Stop, right now! You are a wonderful wife, mother, and woman, and neither me nor Fenton nor Joe nor Frank would want you to give up. You still have one son living, and you absolutely need to be together for him, because he can't do this on his own, whether he knows it or not."
Mrs. Hardy's sobs slowed and she wiped her eyes, sniffing. "I just miss my children…"
"I know, dear."
Laura sighed and turned to the stove, managing a weak smile.
"Your stew smells good," she whispered. Gertrude smiled back. K
"It's about time you ate again."
Laura nodded, a look of determination coming over her.
"Where's Joe's phone number?" she asked.
Gertrude raised an eyebrow. "I think Fenton has it."
Laura rose slowly, deliberately. "I'm going to call him," she said slowly.
"It's time I started being his mother."
Gertrude nodded; she'd thought so all along.
