DISSONANCE
by
Duckling
Chapter 29
The Chapters
Fenton stopped, stunned. Frank didn’t want his love? His fury abated enough to cause him to want to reach out to the angry youth before him. He dropped a hand softly onto Frank’s shoulders.
Enraged, Frank spun around, grabbed his father and shoved him up against the wall. The boy’s eyes narrowed to mere slits as Frank hissed: “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me or my brother again.”
The venom Fenton saw in Frank’s eyes robbed him of strength. He had never seen this side of Frank; never before had the full amount of his son’s fury and hatred been directed at him.
Frank continued, his vise-hold on his father tightening with each word: “What has your love ever done for Joe except hurt him? He has been hospitalized for serious injuries fifteen times since we started high school. Fifteen. Times. That’s been, what, not even three years? For Serious Injuries. Not mere bumps on the head or bruises. This last stretch from March to now was the longest ever he’s been able to go without having something dreadful happen to him. How many people marvel that a whole eight months has passed since they last were hospitalized?”
Fenton felt apprehension flicker within him as Frank’s hands dug ever deeper into his throat. He never before had cause to fear either of his boys; but seeing the fury in Frank’s eyes made him anxious.
The door opened and Bix started to enter when he stopped at the sight of Fenton Hardy pressed against the wall, Frank’s hands uncomfortably at the older man’s throat.
With unhurried steps, he quickly crossed to Frank, clamped a firm hand on his shoulder and gently eased the boy away from his father. Fenton slumped against the wall, reached up to massage his throat and took a deep breath.
Without ever taking his eyes off his father, the irate teen said coldly, “I’m taking Joe with me when he leaves here. Bix and I will go to the house and I’ll pack up his things. We’ll be sure to be gone before you return home for the evening.” Shrugging away Bix’s hand, Frank turned on his heel and stormed off.
Bix cast an uncertain glance at Fenton, not wanting to leave the older man if he were injured in any way, yet not wanting to leave Frank to his rage. Fenton must have sensed this, because he nodded his head wearily towards the door. Instantly, Bix was out of the room, searching for Frank.
***
Fenton straightened up and walked slowly over to a chair. He sat down gingerly, his hand at his throat, his mind in a whirl. Surely Joe hadn’t been hospitalized fifteen times in little more than two and a half years. Had he? The investigator began to count; he broke off in horror as he realized his eldest son was right. But surely Fenton couldn’t be to blame for everything Joe had suffered.
The investigator’s thoughts were disrupted by the opening of the door. Thinking Frank might have returned, Fenton tensed expectantly as the door swung slowly inward. He heaved a sigh of relief as Laura Hardy stepped into the room, a scowl on her pretty face.
“You would think your own son would condescend to say hello,” she huffed irritably.
“I’m afraid he’s feeling less civil towards us than is usual,” her tall husband stated wearily. “I made the unfortunate decision to enter the room when he was alone.”
“What do you mean,” Laura asked sharply. “What happened?”
Fenton just sat staring at the wall, his hand still at his throat.
“Fenton? Fenton, what’s wrong?”
Everything, thought the dark-haired sleuth, but didn’t voice it. Instead, he turned to his wife and said tiredly: “He’s going to take Joe. He told me he and his friend would pack Joe’s things up today.”
“And you’re just going to let him?”
“I . . . I . . . .” Fenton Hardy scrambled for a suitable response, disconcerted by his wife’s malevolent gaze.
“Go.” The woman demanded. “Go home and tell him he can’t do it. At the very least, keep him from packing up Joe’s things!”
“Laura, honey,” Fenton attempted to explain.
“Don’t you ‘Laura honey’ me!” his wife snapped irately. “Now go.”
Fenton stood up and sighed. “No,” he said quietly, meeting his wife’s icy glare. “No. I won’t go.”
Laura looked at him in surprise. “Why ever not?”
“Because as much as I hate to admit it, Frank is right. Joe will be infinitely safer somewhere, anywhere, else.”
“But you can’t just let him take Joe away. Fenton! Joe is our son!”
“As is Frank,” Fenton said sadly.
“As is Frank,” Laura conceded with a flash of impatience. Really, what was wrong with the man?
“Laura,” he continued, “I don’t agree at all with Frank’s behavior. But this is about Joe, and Joe’s safety. We have to do what’s best for Joe.”
Laura looked at her husband in disbelief. “You’re going to let an eighteen-year old dictate where and how his brother lives? I thought you were the head of the family, not Frank.”
The petite blonde continued, her lovely blue eyes hard with anger. “You say that the reason for your decision is Joe’s safety. I say that’s . . . nonsense. If you truly meant that, you would have taken steps to protect him better. Steps that include following up even the most ludicrous of threats.”
Fenton moved to speak, but Laura forestalled him.
“Don’t deny it Fenton. The truth is you didn’t really mind that much that our son was at constant risk of danger. You counted as much on Joe’s natural resilience to injury as you did on Frank’s over-protectiveness.”
Laura found that her anger had suddenly deserted her; in its place was an intense weariness.
She sat in the closest chair and continued to regard her husband, his handsome face marred with guilt and anguish. Finally, she sighed and turned away.
“So why now, Fenton? Why do you suddenly care about his safety now?” The soft question, asked without the least trace of bitterness or anger, hurt more than a stinging rebuke ever could.
Fenton collapsed slowly into the chair he had just recently quitted. He had no answers. He had no excuses. He had not the faintest shred of a justification. He no longer even had any anger. It was as if everything he had ever possessed – mind, voice, emotion, family – had been stripped away, leaving him empty, alone, and vulnerable.
A heavy silence fell between them.
“When Joe leaves,” Laura stated quietly some time later, “I’m going to Montana. An old friend of mine owns a ranch up there; she’s invited me out to see her and I think I’d like to take her up on her offer.”
“Laura—” His voice was ragged, broken. Brown eyes silently implored blue ones to reconsider.
She looked over at her husband; his strong shoulders slumped, his face lined with pain, despair in his eyes.
“No,” she continued softly, “I’m not leaving you.” Not yet, anyway seemed to hang unspoken between them. “I just need . . . time, I guess, to sort through all these emotions.”
Fenton lowered his eyes, conceding defeat. He had almost literally lost Joe. He had lost Frank. It was almost poetically fitting that he should lose Laura too. All three lost to the same monster: his lack of concern for his son’s well-being.
They both looked up sharply as the door to the hallway opened and a figure stepped in.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hardy?” a nurse asked brightly. At their nods, she continued in a pleasant voice, “You may see your son now.”
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.