They watched Roxy walk away and head upstairs before entering the bedrooms. Frank and Callie took the smaller room on the left while Fenton and Laura entered the room on the right, closing the door. Seconds later, Frank winced as he heard his mother sobbing.
Frank leaned against the door frame, his eyes fastened on the staircase. Why had Joe faked his own death? He couldn't have believed they wanted to hurt him? Could he? After all these years, Frank was just beginning to learn how deeply his actions, or lack thereof, had hurt his little brother.
Frank remained where he was until he saw Joe come back downstairs and head toward the kitchen. "I'll be back later," he told Callie, taking off after him.
Callie closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that things would work out. She couldn't stand to see Frank go through the pain of separation again and she sincerely doubted Fenton or Laura were up to it either.
"Joe, can we talk?" Frank asked, entering the kitchen.
"I don't believe we have anything to talk about," Joe replied, setting some cans into one of the cabinets.
"Let me help," Frank said, starting to take the contents form one of the bags.
"I've got it," Joe said, pulling it out of his reach. "The satellite is out, but if you get bored, you can watch a tape in the living room or get a book from the library. That's the room on this side of the staircase."
"I would rather talk to you," Frank told him,
"I'm busy," Joe said. "You'll have to amuse yourself until the roads are clear."
"There's a blizzard going on," Frank pointed out. "How busy can you be?"
"I work at home," Joe told him, looking him in the eyes.
Frank gave a frustrated sigh. He was making things worse instead of better. "Joe, please?" he begged. "I just..."
Joe looked at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised as he waited for Frank to finish.
"Why did you fake your death?" Frank came right out and asked the question he was dying to have the answer to. "It was for our benefit. I know that much. But why? We would never hurt you."
"You couldn't," Joe informed him causing Frank to wince. "And I faked my death so you would leave me alone. I don't like being hounded," he added.
"I wasn't trying to hound you," Frank said, his voice reflecting the hurt he felt. "I only wanted you to come home."
Joe resumed putting up the groceries. Frank, refusing to be ignored, began unbagging. "That's a lot of formula for one baby," he commented, setting eight large cans of unmixed formula on the counter."
"Yes," agreed Joe, not expanding.
"You have more than one baby?" Frank asked, realizing Joe wasn't going to volunteer any information.
"Yes," Joe replied, continuing to put up the groceries.
"How old are they?" Frank asked, seeing Joe putting small containers of juice and chocolate milk up.
"Two and six months," Joe replied.
"What are their names?" Frank asked, his voice quieter than it had been. He was in a state of mild shock. The brother he had thought dead was not only alive an married but had two children to boot.
"Why don't you go watch a tape of something?" suggested Joe, deciding Frank was getting too personal.
"What are their names?" Frank asked again. "I am their uncle. I have a right...." he broke off when Joe rounded on him, his blue eyes dark with anger.
"You have no rights," Joe responded. "They are my children. You are not my brother anymore."
"I never quit being your brother!" Frank shouted, his own eyes filled with as much fight as Joe's.
"No," admitted Joe, turning and closing the cabinet he had been stocking. "But I quit being yours," he added, walking out of the room with Rambo at his heels.
Frank leaned against the door frame, his eyes fastened on the staircase. Why had Joe faked his own death? He couldn't have believed they wanted to hurt him? Could he? After all these years, Frank was just beginning to learn how deeply his actions, or lack thereof, had hurt his little brother.
Frank remained where he was until he saw Joe come back downstairs and head toward the kitchen. "I'll be back later," he told Callie, taking off after him.
Callie closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that things would work out. She couldn't stand to see Frank go through the pain of separation again and she sincerely doubted Fenton or Laura were up to it either.
"Joe, can we talk?" Frank asked, entering the kitchen.
"I don't believe we have anything to talk about," Joe replied, setting some cans into one of the cabinets.
"Let me help," Frank said, starting to take the contents form one of the bags.
"I've got it," Joe said, pulling it out of his reach. "The satellite is out, but if you get bored, you can watch a tape in the living room or get a book from the library. That's the room on this side of the staircase."
"I would rather talk to you," Frank told him,
"I'm busy," Joe said. "You'll have to amuse yourself until the roads are clear."
"There's a blizzard going on," Frank pointed out. "How busy can you be?"
"I work at home," Joe told him, looking him in the eyes.
Frank gave a frustrated sigh. He was making things worse instead of better. "Joe, please?" he begged. "I just..."
Joe looked at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised as he waited for Frank to finish.
"Why did you fake your death?" Frank came right out and asked the question he was dying to have the answer to. "It was for our benefit. I know that much. But why? We would never hurt you."
"You couldn't," Joe informed him causing Frank to wince. "And I faked my death so you would leave me alone. I don't like being hounded," he added.
"I wasn't trying to hound you," Frank said, his voice reflecting the hurt he felt. "I only wanted you to come home."
Joe resumed putting up the groceries. Frank, refusing to be ignored, began unbagging. "That's a lot of formula for one baby," he commented, setting eight large cans of unmixed formula on the counter."
"Yes," agreed Joe, not expanding.
"You have more than one baby?" Frank asked, realizing Joe wasn't going to volunteer any information.
"Yes," Joe replied, continuing to put up the groceries.
"How old are they?" Frank asked, seeing Joe putting small containers of juice and chocolate milk up.
"Two and six months," Joe replied.
"What are their names?" Frank asked, his voice quieter than it had been. He was in a state of mild shock. The brother he had thought dead was not only alive an married but had two children to boot.
"Why don't you go watch a tape of something?" suggested Joe, deciding Frank was getting too personal.
"What are their names?" Frank asked again. "I am their uncle. I have a right...." he broke off when Joe rounded on him, his blue eyes dark with anger.
"You have no rights," Joe responded. "They are my children. You are not my brother anymore."
"I never quit being your brother!" Frank shouted, his own eyes filled with as much fight as Joe's.
"No," admitted Joe, turning and closing the cabinet he had been stocking. "But I quit being yours," he added, walking out of the room with Rambo at his heels.