"Joseph Hardy? On a diet?"
Joe rolled his eyes at his Aunt Gertrude's shock and forked another cherry tomato in the bowl before him. He'd always gotten a kick out of his Aunt—although she had a bad habit of being too blunt—but had known that this visit she'd be giving him hell for his new eating habits.
"Are you doing this just to spite me?" the elderly woman ranted on. "I come to stay for a week and you fear my cooking? Well, I'm sorry, but your poor mother deserves a break from the responsibilities of the kitchen. But there's no reason why you need to go running from food the second I show up on the doorstep—"
"Aunt Gertrude! It wasn't my choice. It's for wrestling. Don't worry, by the time you visit us again I'll be eating normally."
"Well I should certainly hope so. It's no good, having young men in perfectly good shape walking around eating salads all day. Especially someone like you."
Joe grinned. "Why someone like me?"
"Well, you don't have much else going for you. Besides your strength, I mean. And your looks, I suppose."
The younger Hardy dropped his fork, stunned. "What?"
"I'm just saying, dear. You know—you and Frank are a classic example of brawn and brain. And you're the brawn. So you don't want to lose too much of that strength."
"But—" Joe was too stunned to respond. His Aunt had always been blunt, but she'd never been outright cruel.
What is she talking about? Frank and I are well-rounded, both of us; he's smart but strong and I'm strong but smart. Right? I mean, Frank's always been a little smarter…okay, I guess a lot smarter, but we just think differently. He's more logical. He sums up situations better. But I think of new angles…
Suddenly, violently, Joe felt sick.
"I'm not hungry anymore," he mumbled, shoving his salad bowl away and heading out of the kitchen.
"Joseph! You barely touched your lunch."
"I'll finish it later," he called, disappearing upstairs. He hesitated outside Frank's door—it was shut, and he heard music playing from his stereo. He imagined Frank leaning over his keyboard, typing away on a report that wasn't due until Monday, or with his books spread out over his desk, diligently studying.
Maybe I should interrupt him; drag him out to a movie or something. Then I might feel better.
But then again, his work ethic is one of the things that makes him better than me.
Joe started to knock on the door, than lowered his hand and walked away, shutting the door to his room.
Brawn and brain, he thought, slumping on to his bed. But if that's all I am, than why does he hang out with me? Frank cares about me, probably more than anyone. He's saved my life more times than I can count. But I've saved his too. We're partners; because we're equals. We balance each other. That's the truth.
Right?
Joe picked up his pillow and hugged it to his chest. He still felt sick, although his stomach was pretty close to empty.
If that's all I am, than why doesn't Frank just ditch me? He could go off and be a detective on his own—I don't doubt that. He'd be a brilliant detective, a great detective. He just needs to think out loud sometimes, and that's where I come in.
Realization hit him like a blow to the head: what if that's why Frank wants to go away to school?
No! he scolded himself. Frank would never do that. He would never ditch you. He's loyal. He's the most loyal person you know. Don't talk like that, Joe. Give your brother some more credit. He asked you if you were okay with it. He offered to stay with you.
But if you did…if you lost that strength, would he still need you? What are you, underneath a handsome face and body? Anything?
Joe shuddered; it was as if another voice had entered his head. Part of him wanted to go into his older brother's room and talk, be comforted by his presence, forget what his Aunt had said or even tell Frank and have a laugh about it. But as he rose to go he thought of how many times he'd gone to his brother with problems, how many times Frank had had to bail him out of trouble, and how little the elder Hardy came to him.
What am I?
Only one way to find out.
The younger Hardy quickly changed his clothes. He was going running. But before that, he'd take the salad out of the refrigerator and stuff it down the garbage disposal.
And tell everyone he'd finished it.