Fenton started toward the bathroom, his anger driven by fear. What could possess Joe to make himself throw-up when he was already so thin? Fenton stopped as Joe finished throwing up and turned to the sink and reached for his toothbrush. No, it would do no good to confront Joe with it now. He was too angry and he would not have a confrontation until he had calmed down. He turned and left Joe alone, closing Joe's door behind him.
"Is he all right?" Laura asked as Fenton returned to the dining room.
"What is it?" demanded Frank. Unlike his mother, he had noticed something amiss in the way his dad had entered the room. It was something about his walk; the set of his face.
"Joe was throwing up," Fenton answered in a strangled whisper.
"We better get him to the hospital," Laura said, rising to her feet at once. "Dr. Bates said..." She broke off as Fenton shook his head at her.
"He wasn't really sick," Fenton informed his wife and son. "He was making himself throw up."
"What?" gasped Frank in astonishment. "Why would he do that?"
"I don't know," Fenton admitted, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "But I am going to call Dr. Bates and see what he says," he added, turning and leaving the room without sitting down to finish his dessert.
Frank put his fork down and stood up. He headed out the door on his father's heels without noticing his mother was right behind him. Frank sat down on the sofa as his father picked up the phone and dialed the doctor's home number. The number was unlisted, but Dr. Bates had treated the Hardy brothers since they were six and seven, respectively, and grown used to the unexpected where they were concerned. He had given Fenton and Laura his home number and told them to call him anytime, day or night, should he be needed.
"Alvin, this is Fenton Hardy," Fenton said when Dr. Bates answered. "It's Joe," he continued, getting right to the point. "He ate dinner but then he threw it up." Fenton paused while the doctor spoke. "No, he didn't get pale or even ill," Fenton tried to explain. "Joe made himself throw up." Again, Fenton was quiet for a bit. "Yes, of course. Thank you."
"Well?" Laura demanded when Fenton hung up the receiver.
"He wants us to make sure Joe gets another vitamin in the morning, eats breakfast and lunch, and is not left alone for any length of time during the day," Fenton repeated the doctor's instructions. "We aren't to give him time to make himself sick again."
"That's it?" demanded Frank. There had to be something wrong with Joe. He wouldn't just make himself throw up for no reason!
"He wants to see us in his office tomorrow after school," Fenton added. "One of the tests came back negative but he still has to wait for the others. He also suggested we weigh Joe tonight and again in the morning before and after breakfast. And he wants Joe's blood pressure taken tonight and in the morning before he leaves for school."
"Why?" Frank asked.
Fenton shrugged. "I don't know," he confessed, wishing he had thought to ask. "But he said to write the numbers down and bring them with us tomorrow afternoon."
Fenton went upstairs to make Joe weigh and take his blood pressure while Laura went back to the dining room to clear the table and do the dishes. Frank went to his father's office and began calling his friends and asking for their help in keeping an eye on Joe the next day at school.
The next morning, Fenton weighed Joe, checked his blood pressure and gave Joe his vitamin. "Why do I have to be weighed after breakfast?" demanded Joe. "For that matter, why do I have to be weighed at all? I know I'm fat, you don't have to know how fat," he declared in a bitter voice.
"Joe, wherever did you get the idea you were fat?" Fenton asked in a shock-filled voice.
"I was outgrowing all of my clothes," Joe answered with a shrug. He hoped that would be a good enough reason. He had read up on anorexia and knew all the victims felt fat regardless of how much they really weighed or what they looked like. He knew too, that the disease was a mental one. People, girls mostly, felt that they had no control over their own lives and chose to control the only thing they could...their eating.
When he had started, he knew the mental aspect of the disease was going to be the hardest bit to pull off. As a detective, his parents had given him more control than he felt he even deserved at times. His brother was his anchor in many cases; reigning him in before he did something totally stupid. He only hoped the actual weight loss would be enough to convince his family. If he could pretend to be short-tempered that might help them believe he had the disease as well.
He had nearly blown it last night. He had been so incredibly hungry he couldn't have quit eating if he had tried. When he found out it was the vitamin that had made him so ravenous he had vowed not to take another one. When his father handed him the vitamin this morning and a glass of water, Joe had palmed the pill and polished off the water. Of course, eating last night had proven helpful in his deception. He had heard his father say he was going to check on him and had hurried up the stairs and into the bathroom. He had waited until he heard the door start to open before shoving his finger down his throat.
He hated throwing up but in the information he had read he had learned that some, if not most, of the victims of anorexia also suffered from bulimia where the person would binge and then vomit to rid themselves of the calories. Showing his dad that he was doing this to himself instead of having a disease that made him lose weight was the only thing he could think of to push the issue ahead. Surely when they told Dr. Bates he would recognize the symptoms.
He needed things to move more quickly than they had been. After last night's dinner, he was now feeling hunger pangs once again. And, unlike when he had first started starving himself, these were exceptionally strong. If his parents didn't get him admitted to the clinic soon, he may have to give up and to him that was unacceptable. He had promised he would investigate the matter and he would. But he had to be an inmate. There was no other way for him to get inside because he knew his family nor friends would ever let him go to this extreme for a mystery.
"Joe, you're not fat," Fenton told him, his voice breaking. Joe did this to himself because he thought he was too fat?! "You have never been fat. And even if you thought you were before and wanted to lose a little weight, why haven't you quit now? You're way too thin."
"It's my life!" shouted Joe. "If I want to lose weight, I will!"
"You will not lose anymore weight and that is final!" thundered Fenton as if saying it would make it so. "You will march yourself down to the kitchen, sit down, and eat the breakfast your mother has prepared."
"Like hell, I will!" Joe screamed. He ran down the steps and out the front door before anyone could stop him.
"Is he all right?" Laura asked as Fenton returned to the dining room.
"What is it?" demanded Frank. Unlike his mother, he had noticed something amiss in the way his dad had entered the room. It was something about his walk; the set of his face.
"Joe was throwing up," Fenton answered in a strangled whisper.
"We better get him to the hospital," Laura said, rising to her feet at once. "Dr. Bates said..." She broke off as Fenton shook his head at her.
"He wasn't really sick," Fenton informed his wife and son. "He was making himself throw up."
"What?" gasped Frank in astonishment. "Why would he do that?"
"I don't know," Fenton admitted, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "But I am going to call Dr. Bates and see what he says," he added, turning and leaving the room without sitting down to finish his dessert.
Frank put his fork down and stood up. He headed out the door on his father's heels without noticing his mother was right behind him. Frank sat down on the sofa as his father picked up the phone and dialed the doctor's home number. The number was unlisted, but Dr. Bates had treated the Hardy brothers since they were six and seven, respectively, and grown used to the unexpected where they were concerned. He had given Fenton and Laura his home number and told them to call him anytime, day or night, should he be needed.
"Alvin, this is Fenton Hardy," Fenton said when Dr. Bates answered. "It's Joe," he continued, getting right to the point. "He ate dinner but then he threw it up." Fenton paused while the doctor spoke. "No, he didn't get pale or even ill," Fenton tried to explain. "Joe made himself throw up." Again, Fenton was quiet for a bit. "Yes, of course. Thank you."
"Well?" Laura demanded when Fenton hung up the receiver.
"He wants us to make sure Joe gets another vitamin in the morning, eats breakfast and lunch, and is not left alone for any length of time during the day," Fenton repeated the doctor's instructions. "We aren't to give him time to make himself sick again."
"That's it?" demanded Frank. There had to be something wrong with Joe. He wouldn't just make himself throw up for no reason!
"He wants to see us in his office tomorrow after school," Fenton added. "One of the tests came back negative but he still has to wait for the others. He also suggested we weigh Joe tonight and again in the morning before and after breakfast. And he wants Joe's blood pressure taken tonight and in the morning before he leaves for school."
"Why?" Frank asked.
Fenton shrugged. "I don't know," he confessed, wishing he had thought to ask. "But he said to write the numbers down and bring them with us tomorrow afternoon."
Fenton went upstairs to make Joe weigh and take his blood pressure while Laura went back to the dining room to clear the table and do the dishes. Frank went to his father's office and began calling his friends and asking for their help in keeping an eye on Joe the next day at school.
The next morning, Fenton weighed Joe, checked his blood pressure and gave Joe his vitamin. "Why do I have to be weighed after breakfast?" demanded Joe. "For that matter, why do I have to be weighed at all? I know I'm fat, you don't have to know how fat," he declared in a bitter voice.
"Joe, wherever did you get the idea you were fat?" Fenton asked in a shock-filled voice.
"I was outgrowing all of my clothes," Joe answered with a shrug. He hoped that would be a good enough reason. He had read up on anorexia and knew all the victims felt fat regardless of how much they really weighed or what they looked like. He knew too, that the disease was a mental one. People, girls mostly, felt that they had no control over their own lives and chose to control the only thing they could...their eating.
When he had started, he knew the mental aspect of the disease was going to be the hardest bit to pull off. As a detective, his parents had given him more control than he felt he even deserved at times. His brother was his anchor in many cases; reigning him in before he did something totally stupid. He only hoped the actual weight loss would be enough to convince his family. If he could pretend to be short-tempered that might help them believe he had the disease as well.
He had nearly blown it last night. He had been so incredibly hungry he couldn't have quit eating if he had tried. When he found out it was the vitamin that had made him so ravenous he had vowed not to take another one. When his father handed him the vitamin this morning and a glass of water, Joe had palmed the pill and polished off the water. Of course, eating last night had proven helpful in his deception. He had heard his father say he was going to check on him and had hurried up the stairs and into the bathroom. He had waited until he heard the door start to open before shoving his finger down his throat.
He hated throwing up but in the information he had read he had learned that some, if not most, of the victims of anorexia also suffered from bulimia where the person would binge and then vomit to rid themselves of the calories. Showing his dad that he was doing this to himself instead of having a disease that made him lose weight was the only thing he could think of to push the issue ahead. Surely when they told Dr. Bates he would recognize the symptoms.
He needed things to move more quickly than they had been. After last night's dinner, he was now feeling hunger pangs once again. And, unlike when he had first started starving himself, these were exceptionally strong. If his parents didn't get him admitted to the clinic soon, he may have to give up and to him that was unacceptable. He had promised he would investigate the matter and he would. But he had to be an inmate. There was no other way for him to get inside because he knew his family nor friends would ever let him go to this extreme for a mystery.
"Joe, you're not fat," Fenton told him, his voice breaking. Joe did this to himself because he thought he was too fat?! "You have never been fat. And even if you thought you were before and wanted to lose a little weight, why haven't you quit now? You're way too thin."
"It's my life!" shouted Joe. "If I want to lose weight, I will!"
"You will not lose anymore weight and that is final!" thundered Fenton as if saying it would make it so. "You will march yourself down to the kitchen, sit down, and eat the breakfast your mother has prepared."
"Like hell, I will!" Joe screamed. He ran down the steps and out the front door before anyone could stop him.