He was seated on the stairs leading to the third floor when Joe returned, his head bent in quiet patience.

"I'm going to talk to you," he said calmly upon seeing his friend's arrival.

The younger Hardy nodded and lead him up the stairs and down the hall to his single.

"Ignore the mess," he murmured as he opened the door and held it so Chet could pass.

"It's not important," the older boy murmured, shoving a pile of clothes toward the head of the bed, his fingers lingering on the black coat. "Frank's?" he asked. Joe nodded.

"Did you talk to Callie?"

"Yes."

"And Phil?"

"Yes."

"And my parents?"

"Yes."

Joe sighed and sat down. "Do you want to see my arm too?"

"No."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"Are you going to lecture me?"

"No."

"Is this conversation ridiculous?"

"Yes and no."

The two smiled slightly, then Chet sobered, drew a deep breath, and put his hand over Joe's.

"There's no use talking around why I'm here Joe. So I'm just going to give you my spiel and you can do what you want with it."

Joe nodded and lowered his eyes.

"Everyone tells you they know how you feel, Joe, I know that, so I'm going to spare you from my version of it. But I really do, all right? I lost a sister, the same way you lost a brother. And just as you loved Iola, I loved Frank. Maybe not the same kind of love, but love is love, right? It's still a loss. A painful, horrible loss. But I'm telling you, Joe, neither one of their deaths was your fault."

Joe shut his eyes. "I want to believe that," he whispered. "God I want to believe that. But I don't know how Chet."

"Did you plant the car bomb that killed my sister?"

"No."

"Did you know it was there?"

"No."

"Would you have let her near that car if you had any idea?"

"No."

"So that settles her. Now, did you stab your brother?"

"No."

"Did you let him get dragged off?"

"No."

"Would you have taken that case if you knew how it would end?"

Joe's eyes filled. "No."

"So that settles him." He squeezed his friend's hand. "Talk to me, Joe. There's nothing you could tell me that I won't understand."

The younger Hardy covered his eyes.

"I just want to scream," he moaned. "It's so unfair. Why them? They were so young. They were so good and kind and loving. They were so important to me. Why didn't I stop it? Why didn't I save them?" Joe's voice caught. "Why am I so guilty…"

Chet seized his friend's shoulders and turned him to face him.

"It wasn't your fault."

"But…"

"It wasn't your fault."

"It's so unfair…"

"It is unfair. It's unfair and it hurts and you and I will dwell on it for the rest of our lives. But good comes with the bad, Joe. I learned that. I grew closer to my parents and they came to understand me better, and I learned how good my friends are." He released Joe's shoulders and put an arm around him. "We want to be there for you, Joe," he murmured. "I want to be there for you. Because I know everything. I lived through it. That's just it—I lived, despite the pain and anger. And you will too. Because I'm not letting you go this time."

Joe leaned against his friend's shoulder, and the two sat in silence, watching the sun go down and letting a few stray tears fall out of respect for the two departed siblings: both their own and the other's, feeling stronger than ever the love that still existed; not only between the dead and them, but between the two who had been left behind.