"I don't see why I can't be a part of this," Gertrude stormed, pacing the living room in front of the closed kitchen door. Frank sighed and looked away, wishing she'd settle down.
"It's not really your business, Aunt G.," Frank said carefully. "I mean, you haven't been here to watch him."
"That doesn't mean I'm not concerned!"
"I didn't say it did."
The pair were waiting anxiously outside the kitchen, where Fenton and Laura were hard at work trying to convince their younger son to eat a decent meal. Between the nurse, Coach Finley, and Frank, Laura had gotten the story of Joe's collapse in the gym and the reason behind it. She'd called Fenton on the way home while Frank followed in the van, his eyes continually wandering back to his brother's blonde hair. He was still shaken by Joe's comments on the juice and by the fight they'd had, but he was relieved that something would be done.
Something already had been; Joe had been kicked off the wrestling team.
"It's not that you've done anything wrong," Coach Finley had told the distressed younger Hardy. "It's that your health is more important."
"He's right," Laura had said firmly. "You have to get better before you can wrestle. Until you've gained some weight, you're not exercising."
Joe had argued, but not as much as Frank had expected. He looked confused, a little angry, but mostly melancholy and puzzled.
"I didn't mean for it to be like this," he'd said finally, meeting Frank's eyes from across the room.
Oh, Joe, please know we're not punishing you… Frank had thought, looking away before his own eyes filled.
Joe had gone to his room as soon as they'd gotten home, shutting the doors to his room. Frank and Laura had explained what went on to Gertrude and then again to Fenton when he arrived, and the four had decided to prepare a light but healthy dinner and not let him go until it was finished.
But when Joe was called downstairs and realized what was going on he'd immediately began arguing, saying the same things he'd said earlier, that he was fine, that everyone was trying to force him into something he didn't want to be, that no one understood, that it wasn't fair to punish him for how he wanted to be.
"This is ridiculous, Joseph!" Gertrude had nearly shouted, "you look sick and you're going to eat until you're not and that's not up for negotiation."
"Gert," Fenton had said carefully, "maybe it's best if you left."
"Frank too," Joe echoed, not looking at his older brother.
Frank still shuddered to remember the coldness in his younger brother's voice, the fights left unresolved. But he'd taken his Aunt by the arm and the two had retreated to the living room, where Fenton had shut the door behind them.
And here they were.
Gertrude sighed, glanced at her nephew, slumped on the couch with his head in his hands, and stopped moving.
"Why didn't he want you in there?"
Frank winced, rubbed his eyes. "We had a pretty nasty fight today."
"You two?"
"No. The other two."
"Frank, don't be smart."
The elder Hardy brother sighed. "I'm sorry."
Gertrude crossed the room and sat beside her nephew, touching his shoulder lightly.
"Was it about this?"
Frank sighed and nodded. "I went to his Coach," he murmured, "that's why he missed lunch."
"Frank, don't you dare blame yourself."
"What am I supposed to do?" he wailed suddenly. "I haven't done anything, all these weeks! I let him walk home every day! I let him skip breakfast and lunch and lie to our parents!"
"So you haven't said anything until now? I don't believe that."
"Well, no, I said things…"
"And you didn't tell your friends and parents?"
"No, I told them…"
"And didn't you just say you went to his Coach?"
"Well, yeah, but—"
"Frank, you are not responsible. We both know what a stubborn-headed idiot your brother can be—"
"Don't call him that."
"I'm just saying."
"Don't call him that."
The two lapsed into silence, Frank replacing Gertrude in the pacing before the door. Everything felt too quiet. Frank expected his parents to be yelling, Joe to be yelling. But then again, he'd been wrong, terribly wrong, about everything else, why shouldn't he be wrong about how his parents took care of his brother? Frank didn't know, Frank hadn't stopped it, Frank couldn't take care of Joe, had failed, was a failure…
The elder Hardy sighed and sank back onto the sofa, putting his head in his hands. A moment later his Aunt's hand reached out and began rubbing his back slowly.
"Don't blame yourself, dear," she said in uncustomary softness, "you're not going to do your brother any good if you start second-guessing yourself and your intentions. We all know you've been trying."
"I'm supposed to know him best," Frank mumbled, "I'm supposed to get through when no one else does."
Gertrude was about to answer when the door opened and Joe stalked out, moving quickly toward the stairs, his parents following behind him.
"Joe, do you need to talk—" his mother started.
"No. I want you to leave me alone. I want everyone to leave me alone!"
"Son," Fenton began, but Joe sprinted up the stairs, slamming the door to his room a moment later.
Laura sighed, and Fenton rubbed his eyes.
"Anything?" Frank asked anxiously.
Laura nodded. "He ate. It took awhile, but he finished it all. We told him we thought he should see someone, a doctor or something, and I guess that scared him enough to get him to try."
"Well, he did," Gertrude said, standing and surveying the dismayed and anxious Hardys, "let's get the rest of you fed. Come on. Let him be."
Fenton and Laura reluctantly followed Gertrude back into the kitchen, uncharacteristically silent; Frank remained, hands in his pockets, staring longingly up the stairs after his brother.