Fenton carefully placed the battered bread into the hot skillet.  He sprinkled a generous amount of cinnamon on the surface of the two slices.  He repeated the process until he had a stack of steaming hot French toast.

“M-m-m!”

Fenton turned at the sound and gave his older son Frank and the two boys with him a warm smile as they walked in through the kitchen door.  “You boys are right on time.”

“Mr. Hardy,” piped up plump-faced Chet Morton, “is that French toast you’re making?”

“Yes,” Fenton smiled as Chet rubbed his ample stomach.  “I already called both your mom and Tony’s mom.  They said you could have lunch here.”

He glanced at his dark-haired son.  “Take the boys into the bathroom and wash up.  By the time you come back, it’ll be time to chow down.”

The boys quickly finished washing and sat at the vacant seats around the table, taking in the sweet aroma of butter, vanilla, and cinnamon.

“Frank,” Fenton addressed his son, “get the syrup out of the microwave, but be careful! The syrup will be very hot.

“I’m going to bring Joey in to eat with us,” he finished and headed into the family room.

Fenton chuckled softly as he moved toward the easy chair in the family room.  He found Joey perched on the edge of the chair, totally absorbed in the black and white images that were flashing across the television screen.

As much as he hated interrupting Joe’s mesmerized gaze, Fenton knew the child needed to eat and regain strength if he was to fully recover from the surgery.

“Joey,” Fenton gently greeted the boy, kneeling down beside the chair.  “Time for lunch, buddy!”

“Yummy!” Joe grinned up at his dad. “My tummy’s grumbly!”

Fenton helped Joe put on his Batman slippers and dark blue bathrobe.  He led his young son into the kitchen to join the other boys.

Joe paused at the kitchen door as he watched Frank, Chet and Tony laughing and stacking layers of French toast on their plates.

Frank glanced up and noticed his younger brother waiting tentatively in the doorway.  He gave Joe a bright smile.

“Come on Joe! I saved you a seat beside me!”

Joe smiled back and hurried to the empty chair.  He helped himself to some of the French toast, pouring maple syrup on the stack.  He then tried to cut the bread up into small pieces so they would slide easily down his still-irritated throat.

Frank watched his brother struggle, trying to get his knife and fork to work together.  The eight-year-old put his own fork down and put his hands over Joe’s hands.

“Let me help.”

Joe gave Frank a grateful grin.  Soon he was munching away with the other boys.

“What’cha been doin’?” Frank asked between bites.

Joe excitedly told the boys about the old shows he’d been watching. “Batman dresses funny; not like the real Batman in the movies,” Joe explained, pausing to lick syrup from his finger. “But I really like the Lone Ranger!”

He went on to tell about the adventures of the Lone Ranger and Tonto.

“Cool!” Tony exclaimed.

“He sounds really neat,” agreed Chet.

“Dad, how come I’ve never seen any of those old TV shows?” Frank asked, feeling a tiny tinge of jealousy in his young heart.

“Well Frank,” Fenton quickly explained, giving his son’s hair a tousle, “I just got the DVDs for my birthday last month, and,” he glanced over at his younger son, “I thought that I’d let Joey try them out since he has to stay in the house for a while yet.”

Frank smiled and nodded in understanding. Fenton was once again amazed by Frank’s maturity.  It was sometimes hard to remember that his oldest son was only eight years old.

He was pulled away from his thoughts as he heard Joe asking about the fort the boys had started out in the woods behind the house.

“Is the fort done yet?” Joe was asking, not even sure he wanted to know the answer.

Frank looked carefully at his brother.  He was not only mature, but perceptive for his age, and he understood what his brother was really asking.

“We can’t work on the fort without you, Joe,” Frank answered honestly.  “The fort was your idea and that wouldn’t be right. We’re makin’ a bridge across the creek near the fort instead.”

“So we won’t have to use that old, rotting log anymore,” added Tony.

Joe couldn’t keep from smiling.  They were waiting for him to get better to finish the fort.  “Thanks, guys.”

After eating some sliced peaches for dessert, Frank, Chet and Tony headed back outside and into the woods.

From the window, Joe watched them go and sighed.  He glanced hopefully up at his father.

“I’m sorry, son,” Fenton said, sympathetically.  His heart broke for the child.  Joe was an energetic boy and being confined to the house was like a prison sentence.

Joe walked slowly back to the family room and climbed into his dad’s chair.  He picked up the remote and clicked on the television set.  In minutes, he was absorbed in a Lone Ranger adventure.

When he finished cleaning up the kitchen, Fenton went in to check on his young son.  The child was curled up in the big chair with the TV remote clutched in his small hand.

With his eyes closed and his breathing soft and even, Fenton knew Joe was asleep.  He peered into his son’s pale face. Not for the first time, he wondered how a child that could be so mischievous while awake could appear so angelic while sleeping.

He tenderly brushed a lock of blond hair from his son’s forehead and removed the remote from Joe’s hand.  Fenton turned down the sound coming from the television, and then tucked Joe’s blanket snuggly around the boy.

“Sleep tight my little man,” Fenton whispered.  He moved down the hall to his office, leaving the door ajar so he could hear Joe when he woke up.