Chapter Two: In Which a Great Many Things Transpire

George dropped Nancy off at the Hardy brothers' apartment a few minutes after 5. Joe's truck was parked outside, but the apartment was empty. A quick glance into the garage told the detective that Joe had taken his motorcycle. He must have gone out earlier, before the weather turned nasty. He would have a long, cold ride home from wherever he was. Nancy shivered, in sympathy and in real cold, and hurried back inside. She had just enough time to get dressed for the Hardy family dinner.

Nancy wasn't living with Joe, exactly, in the same way that Callie was not-living-with Frank. Both girls had plenty of necessities- clothes, toiletries, tampons- and luxuries- dark chocolate for Callie, strong coffee and Swedish fish for Nancy- stashed there. Nancy went straight to Joe's bedroom, toeing the door shut while pulling off the wool trousers and blouse she had been wearing. She glanced through the selection of clothes she had hanging in Joe's closet and, longing for a bit of color on this bleak day, pulled on a vintage-looking blue dress. Sheer stockings which clipped to her garter belt, a pair of low-heeled ankle boots, a few quick strokes of the hairbrush, and a swipe of mascara finished the job. Nancy was just blotting her lipstick when she heard the rumble of Joe's motorcycle outside. She peeked out the window, admiring the picture he made: Joe's lean body in his fitted leather jacket, his pretty face obscured by the dark helmet, the strength and confidence in every move he made- it all emanated danger and power and adventure and sex. Nancy couldn't resist. She was waiting at the door when he walked in and she grabbed him by the lapel, pressing her body and her lips to his. Joe fitted his hands around her waist and tugged her closer for a moment.

"What's this about?" he said, smiling against her mouth.

"You are incredibly sexy in black leather." She kissed him again, blatantly offering herself. Joe moaned. It was a noise of regret, not arousal. Nancy let go.

"I'm sorry, Nan. We have to go in a couple minutes."

"Fifteen," Nancy murmured. Joe started peeling off his gloves.

"Thirteen," he said. "I'm gonna get a quick shower to thaw out before we head over." He touched one icy hand to her neck, making her squirm and squeal. "I'm an idiot. That was definitely the last motorcycle ride until spring!" He turned away, stripping off his jacket. Nancy bit back a petty retort and slumped on the couch, hiding her disappointment and frustration behind one of Callie's wedding magazines. Joe had been brushing her advances off more frequently lately. If she had greeted him like that even just a few weeks ago he would have returned her kisses until they were both breathless; would have pushed her against the front door, wrapping her legs around his waist, biting her neck and laughing as he told her to keep quiet so the neighbors wouldn't hear. Nancy scowled and flipped the page. He was between cases and therefore a little melancholy, but not enough that she or Frank had been worried. She herself felt the same during the lulls between cases: a little restless, a little edgy, a little lost- but not to the point of withdrawing from people. Maybe there was something else going on.

Maybe he's not into you anymore. Maybe he's trying to decide how to end things.

Nancy was relieved when Joe reappeared, interrupting her train of thought. His hair was damp from the shower; he was still buttoning his jeans and he had a grey sweater slung over one bare shoulder. As it had a hundred times before, the lettering of the tattoo over Joe's heart caught Nancy's eye. It was a quotation from Beowulf, of all things, but Nancy loved it. Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel!, it said. "Fate will unwind as it must." It suited him, she thought, in its flippancy as well as its solemnity.

Nancy snapped herself out of her musings. "You have time to finish dressing," she said, stopping his mad, half-clothed dash toward the door. "We have another five minutes before we have to go."

Joe yanked the sweater over his head, emerging tousled and penitent. "I know. I'm sorry. I feel rushed. Lab today ran way too long." Most of Joe's college courses were online, but certain ones, like this semester's science, had to be taken on campus. He dropped down beside her to pull his shoes out from under the coffee table. "How was your day? Restful?"

"It was good, actually. George called with a new case for me."

He paused, left shoe in hand. "Which you declined, right?"

"No. I took it."

Joe frowned. "Your hand-"

"It's just a few stitches. My brain still works just fine."

"I don't like it." He finished tying his shoelaces and sat up to face her. "You're supposed to be taking it easy for awhile."

"I am fine," Nancy repeated. "I'm a grown woman. I know my limits."

"I'm not sure you do." He got up to grab his keychain and wallet off the kitchen island. Nancy stayed put. She stacked the magazine with the others on the coffee table, deliberately aligning the corners just right so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"I was going to ask if you were interested in consulting on this one," she called, carefully keeping the anger out of her voice. Joe came back and leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Why? Are you throwing me a bone because you feel bad for me?"

"No, I'm asking because we work well together. Plus, since I am a grown woman who knows her limits, I was thinking that while my hand heals I could use a partner," Nancy said, no longer bothering to conceal her exasperation. "Why should I feel bad for you, anyway? You haven't been between cases that long. If anything, I feel annoyed with you. You've been running too much and playing your guitar all night and avoiding me. I can handle the piles of sweaty workout clothes and the ten thousand renditions of 'Stairway to Heaven,' but not the rejection. I wish you'd just tell me what's on your mind."

Joe stared at her, matching her glare for glare. "Your face is on my mind," he said forcefully. "Your face, when they were lifting you into the ambulance last week. Your eyes were open, but you didn't see me. Your clothes were shiny wet with blood. I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry, Joe."

He just shrugged. Clearly he did not want to keep talking about this. Nancy stood up, unwilling to let it drop. "You know what we do is dangerous. I do the best I can, but these things are going to happen."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Are you asking me to stop being a detective?"

"No, I'm just asking you to be more careful!" The words came out loud and angry. "Look, Nan, I'll always be here to help put your pieces back together. And I'm not going to ask you to stop chasing trouble. But you are too damn reckless. Your life is more important than catching some small-time criminal in a nowhere little town."

"This from the guy who just last winter got himself shot by a small-time criminal in a nowhere little town. That's rich."

"That was different. I wasn't working alone on that. I had backup."

"So what you're really saying is that the girl detective needs to back off and let the men handle the dangerous work."

"Don't you dare twist my words like that. All I'm saying is, you're injured. Don't take this case."

Nancy grabbed her purse and brushed past him to pull her coat off the hook by the door. "I took the case, Joe. I'll be fine. We need to go."

*************************************************************************************************

The atmosphere inside Joe's truck during the ride over to the Hardys' big stone house in Bayport was colder than the outside air. The sun had set; the rain had stopped, but the air was wet and gusty, carrying a faint scent of snow. Nancy stepped in a puddle while getting into the truck and swore under her breath, shoving her wet foot up close to the heating vent. Joe jabbed the heater button on high but did not say anything to her. It wasn't like either of them to let their anger simmer; but Nancy was not ready to let it go and Joe evidently felt the same.

Family dinners were important to Fenton and Laura Hardy. Frank and Joe knew they were welcome at their parents' table any night of the week and often dropped by in the evenings to eat or just to say hello. This evening was a more formal affair, in the sense that Laura Hardy had invited both of her boys and their companions to come for dinner at the same time (which she did once or twice a month). Frank and his fiancee, Callie, were already there when Joe and Nancy arrived. Callie was playing the piano and singing "In Apple Blossom Time" with Fenton. Frank waved his brother over, grinning.

"Hey, you're just in time. These two could use a third Andrews Sister."

"I make a terrible Laverne," Joe said, producing a tight and unconvincing return smile. Frank's gaze flickered between his brother and Nancy, immediately picking up on the tension between them. It was never any use trying to lie to Frank. Nancy saw the curiousity in his eyes temper immediately into understanding. He reached for Nancy's hand, leaving Joe in peace.

"What about you, Nance? They'll let you be Maxene if you ask nicely." He squeezed her hand. Nancy squeezed back and smiled, producing a better imitation of the thing than Joe had.

"They sound just fine to me."

Laura Hardy walked in from the direction of the kitchen. "Joey! I thought I heard the door open," she said happily, giving her youngest son a kiss. "And Nancy! Hi, honey. It's so nice to see you."

"Hi, Mrs. Hardy. Thanks for having me."

Laura waved away her thanks. "You know you're family, sweetie. We'll eat in a few minutes. Aunt Gertrude is just finishing icing one of her chocolate cakes." Mrs. Hardy hesitated. "Gertrude is having one of her bad days, boys. She's calm and lucid right now, but there's no telling how the evening will go."

Frank nodded. "It's okay, Mom. We understand."

"All right. I'm going to go pull the chicken potpie out of the oven. I'll call you in a minute."

"Can I help with anything?" Nancy offered.

"No, thanks. Everything is all set."

Nancy turned back toward the group at the piano just as the song ended. Fenton Hardy stood up to give her a warm hug.

"Hello there, Nanette," he said, teasing her with his old game of modifying her given name. In the twenty-odd years she could remember, he'd called her everything from 'Bananancy' to 'Nanniver's Travels' to 'The Flying Nan.'

"Hi, Mr. Hardy. Hey, Cal." Fenton moved on to talk to his sons, and Nancy slid onto the piano bench beside Callie.

"If you sit, you sing," Callie said lightly. Nancy raised an eyebrow. Her old friend was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Callie shook her head.

"I'm just really tired. It must be the time change. You?"

"I'm fine."

Callie scooted closer, nudging her shoulder against Nancy's in a mute gesture of comfort given and received. Neither girl felt like her usual self, and neither girl wanted to talk about it. "Singing, then," Callie said after a moment, and her deft fingers coaxed a rippling introduction from the old instrument. Nancy smiled, recognizing an old song her mother had sung to her.

" 'By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,' " Callie sang, and Nancy joined in.

" ' Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.' " She enjoyed singing with Callie, who knew all the old songs Nancy loved and had an excellent ear for harmony. She would have felt better without Joe's presence, the consciousness of things being wrong between them, prickling at the back of her neck; but she still found herself enjoying the music as she and Callie passed lines and verses off to each other.

" 'The wee birdies sing and the wild flowers spring, And in sunshine the waters are sleeping,' " Callie sang.

" 'But the broken heart it kens no second spring again, Though the woeful may cease from their greeting,' " Nancy finished. The words made her voice tremble. Before she had time to analyze what bothered her about them Callie was nodding at her to take the chorus; and as soon as the last note had sounded Mrs. Hardy was poking her head into the living room and calling "Suppertime, songbirds!" Callie slid off the bench and took Frank's arm, turning up her face for a quick kiss. Nancy followed the group into the dining room, walking beside Joe without looking at him. He didn't try to touch her, but he did pull out her chair for her, courteous even in anger.

Fenton said grace and began passing the food- hearty chicken potpie and fresh-baked rolls with butter made on a local farm, a perfect meal for a chilly late-autumn evening. Despite her frustration with Joe and the uneasiness of being out of sync with him, Nancy started to relax. She always enjoyed the family atmosphere at these dinners. Though she was very close with her father and Hannah, with only the three of them in the house their meals never had the same sense of fullness, of camaraderie and joy. Even tonight, with Nancy and Joe at odds and everyone feeling a bit uneasy around Gertrude, the conversation flowed well and there was a lot of laughter during the first half of the meal.

"How are you finding your college courses this semester, Joseph?" Aunt Gertrude asked, pushing her glass toward Laura for a refill of warm apple cider.

"Kinda boring," Joe admitted, passing the rolls to Callie. "I had to start off with very basic classes. English, math, science. High school stuff."

"That's a shame, considering how much free time you have lately to devote to your studies," Gertrude said. Joe flinched a little.

"Joe keeps busy," Frank said loyally. "He works more cases than I do, I think. May I please have the butter?"

"Not too much, Frank dear. You want to look your best in all those wedding photos," Gertrude said. Nancy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Gertrude had always had a sharp tongue, but lately she had been going too far.

"Speaking of the wedding, Callie, did you see the link I emailed you today?" Laura Hardy said quickly, hoping to divert the conversation back to a more pleasant vein.

"The florist? Yes, I did, and I think she looks very promising," Callie said.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"A florist? You kids make so much fuss about weddings these days," Fenton said jovially. "Way back in the Dark Ages when we got hitched, we just picked a bouquet from Granny's garden that morning on our way to the church."

"We know, we know," Frank groaned. "And you caught the 6 o'clock stagecoach afterwards to travel to your honeymoon."

"Honeymoon? Sonny, we had to get right back to the homestead and milk the cows. We didn't get to fritter away our time sleeping on the beach," Fenton shot back, chuckling.

"Fenton, you let the children have their fun," Laura scolded gently. "This is a big day for them. They deserve to make as much fuss as they want to over it."

"Oh, we'd like to keep the fuss to a minimum," Frank said.

"You'd like to keep it to a minimum," Joe said, grinning. "Callie probably has other ideas."

"No fuss. Just lots of family and friends and flowers and good food," Callie said.

"And a really gorgeous dress," Nancy chimed in, mostly to annoy Frank. She always had been good at pushing his buttons. Sure enough, his eyes narrowed.

"I still think that's a lot of superstitious garbage," he began hotly.

"Francis Hardy. You are not to see that dress!" Aunt Gertrude barked. Frank raised his hands in surrender.

"I know, I know. I'm just saying, bad luck isn't a real thing. I don't know why you're all taking this seriously."

"Maybe I just want to surprise you," Callie said.

"You've seen my tux," he pointed out.

"Guys, guys. Let's not hop on that merry-go-round again," Joe begged. "Toss me another roll, please, and let's talk about something else."

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough. Nancy and Callie cleared the table afterward while Frank and Joe washed and dried the dishes, to Gertrude's obvious displeasure. But she only managed to croak out one disapproving sentence about 'undomestic young women' before Laura shoo'ed her into the living room.

As soon as the kitchen work was done Joe draped his dish towel over Frank's shoulder and pulled on his jacket.

"I'm going out to the barn. I want to see if my old tripod is out there."

"I think we may have put it up in the loft," Frank said. "Or maybe in the darkroom?"

"I'll find it." Joe slipped out, letting the door bang behind him. Laura Hardy came in and started scooping coffee grounds into the pot.

"Where's that boy gone now?"

"He's looking for some camera equipment," Frank told her.

"Everything in the barn is just as you boys have left it. I'm too afraid to touch half of it, let alone clean the place."

"Mom, has Aunt Gert been back to the doctor?" Frank asked, drying his hands.

"I can't talk her into it," Laura said wearily. "She says she's fine, and most of the time she is. Once in a while she just seems to lose her filter. She'll say anything that pops into her head and not be one bit embarrassed by it. But you know Gertrude has always been forthright."

"Forthright," Frank repeated dryly.

"I know, dear. Your father and I are working on her. Bless her heart, her stubborn streak hasn't changed a bit. I hope Joe isn't too offended by what she implied about his work."

"Joe doesn't hold a grudge," Frank said.

I hope that's true, Nancy thought wryly. Aloud, she said "I think I'll go help him look for his tripod."

"All right," Mrs. Hardy said. "Don't stay out in that damp old barn too long."

**************************************************************

The barn had been Frank and Joe's sanctuary all through their childhood and adolescence, serving by turns as their secret hideaway, their garage, their laboratory, and their gymnasium. It was still cluttered with car parts and tools and the equipment for a thousand hobbies. Nancy pushed open the small side door and entered cautiously, shivering in the dusty, hollow chill of the old building.

"Joe?" she called tentatively. A flashlight beam flicked her way.

"What do you want, Nancy?"

"I- I thought you could use some help finding your tripod."

"No. Thanks. Go back inside." The flashlight beam flicked away and vanished.

"Joe." Nancy took a step and stubbed her toe on something large and immoveable. She stepped back, biting back a yelp, feeling bruised both physically and emotionally. "Why can't you just talk to me?" she yelled into the darkness.

"It's not a good time!" Joe yelled back. His voice was muffled. He knocked something over with a tremendous crash and swore, methodically and colorfully, for the next few minutes. Nancy shuffled in the direction of his voice. Her eyes had adjusted by now and she was able to weave a fairly steady path through the chaos.

"What's wrong with right now? We need to talk, Joe. That's what you do in a relationship. Or is this not a good time for us to be in a relationship, either?"

"Please just go inside."

Nancy had found the ladder to the loft. She emerged at the top, blinking in the weak glow of his flashlight. "Does being in a relationship scare you?" she said directly. She did not add because if so, why did you say you wanted it?

Joe looked at her. He looked tired and vulnerable and angry. "Yes."

"Why?"

He didn't answer. Nancy swallowed hard against her rising fear. "Is it the commitment? Are you not sure of me?"

"Nancy. No."

"Then what..." She trailed off. The words to the song she had sung earlier echoed suddenly in her mind, bringing with them a pang of understanding and sorrow. 'But the broken heart it kens no second spring again.' Of course. Nancy took a step forward.

"Is this about Iola? Are you still holding on to her?" It had been years since she had spoken that name in Joe's presence. She said it now, boldly and unapologetically. Joe blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"That happened centuries ago. I've lived a whole different life since then," Joe said, his voice hollow.

"Joe."

"Dammit, Nan, I'm not in love with her. But I can't seem to shake the fear that what happened to her could very easily happen to you."

Nancy sighed. "You could have brought this up sooner," she said gently. "I was never sure how to approach the subject."

"I didn't think you'd want to hear about her," Joe said ruefully. "Who wants to listen to their boyfriend crying about his ex?"

"This is a bit different," Nancy said, her eyes tracking his face.

"It's something I have to live with. I'll deal."

"I've lost people I cared about, too," Nancy said, losing her temper again. "You're not special. We all live with this. It's part of being human."

"I didn't say I was special. I said it hurt. What is wrong with you today?"

"What's wrong with me?" Nancy repeated. "I got a few stitches and suddenly my boyfriend is convinced I'm dying. I'm a little frustrated."

"And I'm frustrated, because you got hurt and you won't back off and let yourself heal."

"So you want me to stop doing what I love to do, what I am good at doing, because you're scared?"

"Stop saying that!" Joe took a step toward her. "I just wish you'd be a little more careful. I do the same work you do. I know how dangerous it is. One wrong step, one bad decision, can cost everything."

"Who gets to determine what is an acceptable risk?" Nancy demanded. They stared at each other, squared off like fighters, fists clenched and eyes bright with anger. Dust motes cascaded in the flashlight beam, a bizarrely serene counterpoint to the blaze of human emotion.

"I'm done. I can't talk to you right now," Joe said finally, and stalked off into the dark recesses of the loft. "Go back to the house." And this time, she obeyed, fumbling her way back down the ladder, out of the barn, and back to the warm brightness of the house.

**************************************************************

The living room was empty. Nancy could hear the rumble of Fenton and Frank conversing in Fenton's study, and the lighter voices of Callie and Laura chatting over coffee in the breakfast nook. Nancy sank down on the sofa and leaned her head back, letting the peace of the room wash over her. She knew she'd overreacted. "Girl detective needs to be protected" was a sensitive point with her. And while part of her knew that Joe did not mean to make her feel belittled, the fact was, he had.

You didn't have to throw Iola in his face, she thought miserably. She had gone out to the barn to reconcile with him, not to throw more fuel on the fire of their anger. Now maybe she had done irreparable damage to their relationship. Joe had never walked away from her like that before. And on top of it all, her injured hand and wrist were throbbing. She wanted to go home, to get into her own bed, and sleep for days.

"Nancy?" Laura Hardy said softly. Nancy lifted her head, startled. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just tired," Nancy said, trying to smile. Mrs. Hardy sat down beside her, sighing contentedly.

"It has been a long day," she said. They were quiet for a moment. Mrs. Hardy smoothed the embroidered cover of a throw pillow.

"You know, the boys used to fight like wild dogs sometimes when they were younger," she said conversationally. Nancy glanced at her. It seemed like an odd thing to reminisce about.

"Jojo was always more quarrelsome than Frankie, but Frank gave as good as he got once he'd been nettled enough." Laura caught Nancy's half-smile and laughed heartily. "Listen to me talking as though they're still a pair of toddlers instead of grown men. I don't know if you plan to have a family someday, Nancy, but if you do you'll realize they never really stop being your babies."

"Hannah tells me the same thing," Nancy said, warming to the conversation. She knew Mrs. Hardy loved her boys, but she was catching a glimpse of exactly how precious they were to her; how precious Joe was as her youngest, her last baby.

"Hannah is a wise woman," Laura said, smoothing the pillow cover again and fussing with a loose thread. "I remember one particularly bad fight," she went on. "I was in the kitchen, and suddenly they started yelling and cussing and banging around out in the barn. I thought maybe there was an intruder. I ran out there, covered in bread dough, and found my two hooligans wrestling around on the dirt floor, punching and kicking and biting. Even after I got them pried apart, Joey kept trying to throw himself at Frank."

"What were they fighting about?" Nancy asked.

"Well, it took a long time to get them calmed down enough to tell me. Finally they stopped shouting at each other. 'He won't let me use his bike!' Frank said, and that got Joe started again. 'He just wants to take it over the ramp Tony built! He's going to crash again!' Poor Frank had bent a rim on his own bicycle and scraped himself up earlier that morning on that ramp. Of course I started scolding Joey for caring about a bicycle enough to turn on his own brother. I'll never forget what he said to me. He said 'Mama, it's not the bike. He's going to hurt himself. Don't let him do it!' " Mrs. Hardy smiled fondly, shaking her head at the memory. "I can still see him standing there with a black eye and a bloody nose, begging me not to let his brother go out and hurt himself."

Nancy took a long breath and let it out slowly, releasing some of her pain. "How did you know?" she said softly.

"Oh, I knew something wasn't right the minute you two walked in. Then I saw your bandaged hand and it all made sense. Our Joe has always been a little tempestuous and it's worse since he lost Iola." Nancy was nodding, afraid to speak. She felt tears coming on. Mrs. Hardy put a gentle hand on the younger woman's knee.

"Sweetheart, don't be afraid of Iola's memory. No one here is keeping that poor girl up on a pedestal. Iola was wonderful, but she was as human as you are. You are a sweet, intelligent, beautiful young lady and you can stand on your own merits."

A tear escaped. Nancy swiped at it with her fingers. "That's very kind of you," she said shakily. "I still worry about her sometimes."

"Joe loves you, Nancy."

"He hasn't said so."

The older woman looked at her. "All that insight into human nature and you can't see what's right in front of your nose," she teased, and Nancy smiled despite herself.

"I know. I know he does. I just want to hear it from him."

Mrs. Hardy gave Nancy's knee a pat and stood up. "Come here, honey." She folded Nancy into a warm embrace, a maternal gesture that completely undid the young detective. Tears welled up and streamed hotly down her face before she could stop them.

"Whatever happens between you and Joe, I want you to know I'm here for you. I know Hannah has always done a wonderful job filling in for your mother, but I care about you, too."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hardy." Nancy stepped back, blinking back a fresh onslaught of tears. "I feel better, I think."

"I'm glad."

"Mom?" Both women turned. Joe stood in the doorway, an unwieldy bit of dusty equipment tucked under his arm. His forehead was streaked with dust and his knuckles were bloodied, but his face was at peace.

"Joe, dear. I was just going to brew a second pot of coffee." Mrs. Hardy gave Nancy one last glance filled with encouragement and comfort and bustled out. Nancy drew in a shaky breath. Joe dropped his tripod and stepped forward, hands loose at his sides, his face an endearing mixture of fear and hope.

"Nan," he said, and stopped: at a loss, for once, for words. Nancy waited. She needed him to gather his thoughts, needed to hear what he was going to say.

"Nan," he said again, and swallowed hard. "I loved Iola, and I thought I was going to die after she was murdered. For a very long time life meant nothing to me. Frank helped drag me back to myself. I'm lucky my brother is the most stubborn man on earth." He paused, collecting his thoughts again. "No other girl was worth the risk of going through that again until you hitchhiked back into my life last summer. With you, it seems like the bigger risk is not getting involved." He took a step closer, his eyes pleading for her to understand. "In the past six months, among other things, you've been kidnaped, drugged, followed, and thrown through a window. I knew that's how life with you was going to be. I didn't know how angry it would make me to watch you go through all this, how inadequate it would make me feel. You've always been my friend, but now...now all the most primitive parts of my brain are screaming that I've failed every time you get hurt."

"You have never failed me," Nancy said. "I'm an adult, Joe. I don't need to be protected from my own choices."

"I know that!" he said, frustrated. "But-"

"Joe," she said, interrupting before he could start the loop of the argument over again. "I'm sorry I picked a fight with you. I overreacted. I am very, very sensitive about being perceived as a weak girl detective and I let my feelings get the better of me."

"So did I," he said simply. "I'm sorry. I'm scared, okay? But I want you to be you."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you about Iola."

"It was a long time coming," he said. There was a brief pause.

"I don't know who gets to determine what's an acceptable risk," Joe said softly.

"Me, neither," Nancy murmured, brushing away a stray tear with the back of her wrist.

"Don't cry."

"I thought I'd ruined everything."

"I'm not that easy to chase off," Joe said, pulling her close.

When they rejoined the family, they found them all relaxing in the kitchen with mugs of coffee or tea and large slices of Gertrude's delectable chocolate cake. Nancy accepted a mug of coffee and slipped into the seat beside Callie's. Joe sat on her other side but turned toward his father and Frank, who had an open copy of a 1950s issue of Popular Mechanics on the table and were engaged in a lively debate about one of the articles.

"I was just showing Mrs. Hardy my design for our wedding invitations," Callie said, sliding a piece of paper over toward Nancy.

"This is lovely," Nancy exclaimed. "You painted the background yourself, didn't you."

"I did," Callie said, smiling.

"It's a shame you never got to finish planning your own wedding, Nancy," Gertrude said, just a little too loudly. Nancy glanced up, surprised.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it a shame," she said lightly. "It was the wrong man and the wrong time."

"You're not getting any younger," Gertrude said, undaunted. "Take it from an old maid, girly. And heaven knows no good can come of this hopping in and out of bed with whomever you please. Test driving young men like you would a car. You girls think you're so modern and liberated, but it can only end in sorrow. You'll see."

Nancy blushed, at a loss for words. Laura came to her rescue. "Gertrude! For shame. When has Nancy ever been anything but a lady?"

"It's her eyes. She knows too much. Prim little Miss Drew, eh? I don't believe it. Girls with eyes like that can't keep their legs closed with superglue."

Fenton's face was stern. "Gertie, that's enough. Nancy is a guest in this house. A very dear, very welcome guest."

"As for you, Miss Callie Shaw," Gertrude said, ignoring him. "While we are on the subject, I don't care if it is the twenty-first century. A bastard is a bastard in my book. Making sure you've trapped your man? Afraid he's going to realize he's marrying beneath him?"

"Gertrude!" Fenton rose, taking his sister gently by the elbow. "Come with me. I think it's time you were in bed." He steered her swiftly out of the room, leaving behind a shocked silence. Nancy took a few deep, shaky breaths. Callie bent her head, covering her face with her hands. Frank, his face a mask of fury, moved swiftly over and wrapped an arm around her.

"I'm so sorry, girls." Mrs. Hardy looked more upset than Nancy had ever seen her. Callie was sobbing now, her face buried in Frank's chest. Nancy glanced at Joe and found him looking at his brother and Callie, wearing his deducting face.

"Joe, please get Callie a glass of water," Mrs. Hardy said. Frank nodded his thanks.

"Frank?" his mother said quietly. Frank's arm tightened around Callie.

"No," he said. "Not as far as I know. Callie?"

"I'm sorry," Callie sobbed. "I d-don't know. I realized earlier in the w-week, I'm late, but you've been working those extra shifts. I was going to talk to you about it tonight." She looked up, meeting Joe's eyes and Mrs. Hardy's. "You m-must all be s-so disappointed in me."

Frank stroked Callie's hair soothingly. "It's okay, love. Nobody's disappointed in you."

"Here," Joe said, offering the water glass. Callie took it and drank gratefully.

"Let's clear the air here," Mrs. Hardy said, gathering her composure. She looked around the room, meeting each young person's eyes in turn. "I'm not a fool, you know. Frank, I've known you and Callie were sleeping together since high school. And Joe, I know Nancy isn't sleeping on the couch when she stays over at the apartment. As far as I'm concerned it is absolutely none of my business. And your father agrees." She looked around again, taking in Nancy's crimson cheeks and her sons' sheepish expressions. "I'm not trying to make you feel ashamed. Fenton and I think the world of all four of you. We could not be any prouder of our sons. Now, Nancy: I've known you all your life, and you are a perfectly normal, perfectly respectable young woman. And Callie, if you are pregnant, no one will be disappointed in you. You did nothing wrong. It takes two people to make a baby and it takes a village to raise one and your parents will just have to answer to me if their first reaction isn't joy."

"They'll disown me," Callie said. "But there's a- a test in my p-purse. I've been carrying it around all week, too scared to use it."

"It's more than likely wedding stress affecting your body," Mrs. Hardy said gently. "Do you want to take the test? One way or the other, it will put your mind at rest."

"Y-yes." Callie looked at Frank. "I wanted this to be special. If it is something, I mean. I'm sorry."

"Hey," Frank said softly. "I don't care how I find out. If this is happening, it's special." He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture; Nancy looked away, slightly embarrassed, as though she had been intruding.

"Okay." Callie stood up, drawing a deep and determined breath. "I'll be right back."

The seconds dragged by. Nancy could feel Joe fidgeting beside her. Frank was pale and quiet. Mrs. Hardy waited demurely, hands folded in her lap.

"Frank?" Callie called after a moment, and Frank practically flew up off the couch. Nancy could hear them talking but could not make out the words. When the couple re-entered the room, Frank's arm was around Callie again and Callie's brown eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"This is all wrong," she said, sounding stunned. "This is the wrong time. I don't know what to do."

"Goodness, child," Mrs. Hardy said, looking surprised. "What to do is the easy part. Your body knows exactly what to do and so does your heart."

"You're not angry?"

"I'm angry with Gertrude," Laura Hardy said. "With you? Not a bit."

"How on earth did she know? Is there a big scarlet 'A' painted on my forehead?" Callie sat back down, still stunned. Nancy reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Joe was punching Frank's shoulder exuberantly and Mrs. Hardy, so calm and collected up till this point, had burst into tears. Fenton Hardy picked that moment to return to the living room. There followed a noisy few minutes of sobbing and explanations and congratulations and lots of hugging until the noise drew Aunt Gertrude in her nightgown like a horrible old toddler refusing to go to bed. She pointed a bony finger and shrieked "Harlot!" at the girls until she was made to go back to her room.

*******************************************************************

"There's no way any of this was real. I must have fallen asleep in class and dreamed the whole thing," Joe said. "The Hardy family does not do drama like that."

Nancy slid into the passenger seat of Joe's truck, sinking gratefully into the battered upholstery. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. "I've certainly never seen Gertrude that uninhibited," she said dryly.

Joe glanced over. "Don't let her get to you. She was wrong about you."

"I know."

A few moments passed. "We're good, Nan?" Joe said tentatively. Nancy reached over and touched him, brushing his cheek and his bicep before letting her hand settle on his thigh.

"We're good," she said. "I just wish I didn't still have a stakeout to handle tonight."

"Alone?"

"With George."

"I only asked in case you wanted company. I wasn't going to tell you not to go."

"I know, Joe."

"Are you coming back to my place after?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes." He glanced over again, blue eyes pleading. "Wake me up when you get in. I'll lock my guitar in its case and throw all my sweaty running gear in the washer and I'll be in bed, waiting for you."

Nancy smiled. "Now I feel like a tyrant."

"I love you, Nancy. I'm going to make things right."

I love you. He had said the words, as casually and naturally as though he said them every day. Nancy's heart bumped in her chest. "I was in the wrong too," she said, managing to keep her voice steady. What did he mean? Which kind of love?

Joe pulled into the parking lot of George's studio and put the truck in park. "Earth to Nancy. I can see your mind spinning over there."

"Eventful day!" Nancy told him, releasing her seatbelt.

"You don't get off that easy." Joe reached over and grabbed her, sliding her across the bench seat until he could wrap her in his arms. "Tell me you love me too, Drew. Don't leave me hanging."

"You idiot. Of course I love you." She tipped her face up and tried to brush a kiss against his lips, but only caught the corner as he shook his head.

"Tell me."

"Joseph Hardy. I love you."

He kissed her then, a long, sweet kiss. "Good luck tonight."