This story is second in the Nothing Sacred series. Still pre-slash.
A month after the notorious toaster incident, Joe Hardy needed to get away to think. He didn’t want to go to any of his usual places because someone might find him there. That meant no going out on the boat, either. He also didn’t want to go somewhere too public; it wouldn’t be quiet enough to achieve that proper level of thinking he knew he needed.
He had a lot of important - and confusing … and distressing … and a whole bunch of other descriptions that wouldn’t come to mind - things to think about. In order to process them in a manner that made sense, finding a good spot was crucial.
At least, looking at the problem logically made him feel better.
Sort of.
Finally, after dismissing all the other possibilities, Joe chose Poet’s Seat. It wasn’t really a seat; it was actually a big old boulder in the park that overlooked the harbor. Overlook Park was very popular, especially in the spring and summer, when it was tree-lined and filled with flowers and kids playing everywhere. Kids liked to play on top of the boulder, using it as a tower or a pirate ship or some such thing out of their imaginations.
Adults and teenagers preferred to play to the sides of Poet’s Seat, snug between the mossy trees and the boulder. It was a favorite lover’s lane for Bayport High schoolers, and probably had been before the high school had been built. The boulder was secluded, way out on the edge of the overlook, where it gazed out over the sea like the widow’s walk on a sea captain’s house. Trees grew all around it, so at night, out there was as pitch black as the inside of a dog.
No one would be there this time of day.
Joe thought it was perfect.
He tried not to think as he rode his motorcycle to the park. There’d be plenty of time to think once he got himself settled. Once there, Joe locked up his bike, and took his time walking over to the boulder. The park was empty, typical for a Friday afternoon, especially on a school day. He wasn’t going to think about that either. If the school called, looking for him … he was going to be in trouble for the rest of his life.
He’d never skipped classes before, just left for the day after lunch period, but he had to think about this. How was he supposed to focus on school when these … things were eating at him?
He stared out at the blue sea for a few moments, wondering what it must have been like, setting out for a new place, having no idea what would be found or if the New World would even be habitable. And going anyway, because there was no choice. Joe supposed the colonists were scared.
Like he was now.
Joe climbed up onto the boulder, something he hadn’t done since he was a child. Strange how it seemed so easy now, one-two-three-and there’s the sea! It hadn’t been that easy when he was five. He’d struggled then, he might as well have been climbing Mount Everest.
Sometimes he and Frank were, when they played there. Or they were saving the world, defeating Lex Luthor and the Green Goblin (Frank was always Superman, he preferred Spiderman). Sometimes Frank was Batman and he was Robin (Frank had always said it was because he was older). Or they defeated pirates. Sometimes they were pirates.
Everything changed after Mom died.
It hadn’t been Dad’s fault that things changed so drastically in their lives afterwards, and it certainly hadn’t been Dad’s fault that she died. No matter what Dad might have felt at the time, or what he or Frank hadn’t understood about … well, pretty much everything. One day Mom just didn’t feel right, and the next day she was dead.
Just like that. Gone forever.
A heavy concept for six-year-old and five-year-old boys, particularly two who hadn’t so much as dealt with the death of a pet, let alone the death of their mother. Neither he nor Frank had dealt very well. All he remembered about Dad during that time was that he was quiet and was away from them a lot. Looking back, Joe had realized that Dad was probably away, in the master bedroom, so that he could cry and grieve in peace for his wife.
Joe had often wondered, since he’d gotten older, what his father might have done without Aunt Gertrude. He honestly had no idea. When he was working a case, Dad was gone so often and for such long hours with such an erratic schedule. Joe just couldn’t picture his father doing anything else other than detective work, whether it is for the police department or as a private investigator. He knew Dad would have, though. Dad would have sacrificed the work he loved to make certain that he could provide for his boys; they were all he had left of Laura, and he loved them.
The day Aunt Gertrude moved in had been difficult, too. She’d arrived the day after Mom had died, so she must have been one of the first people Dad had phoned. Either that or she’d decided that urgency was more important than frugality in this instance. Joe had never dared to ask. The cab had pulled up to the walk, and a tall spare strict-looking woman got out. She’d moved right in, and taken charge, which had been a good thing at the time. Dad had needed the support.
He and Frank certainly hadn’t been much help. They’d understood that Mom was gone and wasn’t coming back, but didn’t understand why.
Joe remembered that it had been Aunt Gertrude who had carried him, screaming and crying in a hysterical fit, out of the funeral home during the service when he’d begged Mom to come back, that he’d be good forever and ever…. Aunt Gertrude hadn’t said anything for a long while, but had held him on her lap, and let him cry into her veil. Eventually, she’d tried to explain … again … but he’d been too upset to listen.
So he knew Mom was dead. Had nightmarishly vivid memories of it in places, dim and vague ones in others. But he knew it was true.
So why had he heard Mom talk to him during the toaster incident?
Joe vividly recalled that, too.
It was spooky.
What had she said? Had it been important? Being a science-oriented person in many things, he didn’t like the idea of there being things he couldn’t explain. This was one of those things he couldn’t explain. It bothered him. He didn’t like that it bothered him.
Which made it a mystery. One he could not share with Frank.
His older brother would have a conniption fit.
Which was the other thing that bothered him. Why had Frank been so … panic-stricken? Why had he been so upset after the toaster incident, when Joe was obviously fine?
It made no sense to him at all.
Sure, getting injured was never fun. Definitely, neither of them wanted the other to die, just like neither of them wanted Dad or Aunt Gertrude to die. But it wasn’t like either of them had ever been hurt before. Joe knew he’d been injured worse than that while working on a mystery. Like the time jewel thieves had kidnapped him. Or a steel wire had laid him out on the asphalt while he’d been riding his motorcycle. Or the time the scorpion had stung him.
Frank had been worried all those times, but somehow this had felt different to Joe. His older brother had been ... clingy, for lack of a better word. He hung around and watched his little brother like a hen with one chick. It’d gotten so Joe had wanted to shove Frank out the window.
And Frank was scared of losing him; he’d said so. Not in so many words, but Joe had understood the intent. But he’d never seen Frank this afraid before.
What had changed?
When had it changed?
Joe thought about that for a while, a long while, and watched the sun move across the sky until it began to set slowly behind the sea. His brother Frank loved him, of course. Always had, in the same way the sun always set in the west and rose in the east.
It just was, just is. It’s not something to be questioned.
He loved Frank, too.
There was still one thing that bothered him. Joe didn’t know whether or not he loved Frank the same way he thought Frank might love him. That was the next thing he’d have to think about. How did he feel about that? Joe knew how he supposed he should feel about Frank feeling that kind of love, but he didn’t feel that way at all. It didn’t feel wrong, and that meant it wasn’t wrong in his heart.
At least, that was what Mom had always said.
Which meant it had to be true.
Joe did love Frank. He knew that. He didn’t question that, not at all.
The sun was dissolving into the ocean now. It was time to go home and face the music. Joe still didn’t have an answer for his last question. The answers he did have would have to do for the time being.
Eventually, he’d figure out the real solution to this mystery.
To Be Continued....
Please feed the Muses!
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