DISSONANCE
by
Duckling
Chapter 3
The Chapters
Biff blinked. “Left? What do you mean ‘left’?”
“I mean he packed up his most treasured belongings, wrote a note to the family, and left.” Joe sighed again and gazed down at the carpet.
“Oh, man,” Biff exclaimed. “Joe, that’s just awful, I’m sorry, man.”
“Yeah,” Joe concurred, “it pretty much stinks.”
“But you mean he just up and left you? No goodbyes or nothing?” Biff’s voice was incredulous. He knew things had been rough at the Hardy home, but he never would have expected it to cause Frank to leave. “Where is he? How will he get by?” the questions tumbled out one after the other.
“Hold on, Biff,” Joe said somewhat amused. “I don’t know where he is or how he will get by. And yes, he just up and left. But he did leave me a five-page letter. So I wouldn’t quite say that he left without a goodbye.”
“Mom and dad only got a half-page note, though” Joe added softly. “I haven’t told them about the letter.”
“And you’re . . . okay with this?”
“Of course I’m not okay with it, Biff,” Joe cried, “But what can I do about it?”
“I think I would be rather incensed at a certain brother, personally,” Biff remarked.
“Yeah, well, I am a bit miffed with him, but he told me in his letter that he wasn’t cutting me out of his life.” Joe conceded.
“Just the rest of us,” Biff stated somewhat savagely. Then he looked at Joe and his face softened. “Sorry, Joe.”
Joe gave a half-shrug.
“Hey, you were his friend. You have a right to be miffed too. In fact, you’re reaction might be the mildest. I don’t think he even told Callie.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Biff asked nervously. Callie Shaw, Frank Hardy’s seventeen-year-old girlfriend, was not a woman to mess with lightly. She could be a spitfire when she got wound up. And she had the disconcerting habit of taking her anger out on the hardest objects around her. Unfortunately, she sometimes mistook Biff’s muscular build for a wall; she had once left multiple bruises on him, thinking all the while that she was beating away at a wall.
“I don’t really know for sure, Biff, but I don’t think so.”
“Man, am I glad tomorrow is Sunday. Joe, do me a favor, do us all a favor. Call Callie tomorrow and tell her first thing, please? Please don’t wait till school on Monday to tell her.” Biff’s pale blue eyes looked pleadingly into those of his friend.
Joe reached out and took a swig from his soda, before replacing it on the table with a sigh.
“I’ll go over to her house tomorrow and tell her in person,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Just be careful Joe, she’s volatile.”
Joe smiled up into his friend’s face. “Okay, Hooper, I’ll remember that. And Biff,” Joe’s blue eyes met those of his friend, “Thanks.”
***
The Hardy home lay dark and silent; two small rectangles of diffused light on the second floor the only signs of life. Joe slipped through the front door and ascended the stairs slowly. He had been a bit surprised to see the light on in his father’s study and gravitated towards it without thinking. He knocked once before he realized what he was doing. His father opened the door almost immediately: apparently he had been expecting him.
“Hi,” the blond teen said almost shyly.
“Hi. Come on in, son.”
Joe entered his father’s study and sank onto the leather couch that sat to the right of the door. Fenton shut the door behind him before seating himself in a leather armchair next to the couch. Joe wondered why his father chose this seat; his father usually sat in his chair behind the mahogany desk.
“How was your time at Biff’s?”
“Fine. We played some games of pool.”
Fenton smiled nervously. “You’re an excellent cook, Joe. Thanks for saving me a plate.”
A slight blush suffused Joe’s cheeks. His father very rarely praised him anymore. “I’m glad you liked it,” he replied simply.
“Why didn’t you boys tell me you could cook?”
“I dunno,” mumbled Joe. “Never thought to, I guess.”
Or you thought I wouldn’t approve of my boys performing such domestic chores, Fenton thought sadly. Standing up and crossing over to his desk, Fenton stated, “I’ve been doing some initial checking.”
“Into Frank’s disappearance?”
“Yes,” replied Fenton. He waved Joe’s protests off. “I needed to know that he at least had the funds to provide for himself. The thought of him penniless and out on the street is one which I don’t believe I could bear.”
Joe sat in thoughtful silence for a minute, regarding his father. “So,” he asked at length,” what did you uncover?”
Fenton gave a small sigh of relief. He had fully expected Joe to protest vigorously that he shouldn’t have done that, especially when Frank had expressly stated he did not want to be found.
“He closed out all of his bank accounts, even his college savings. All total, he withdrew over $30,000 of his own money.”
“And?” Joe could sense more was coming.
“And he wiped out the joint accounts you two kept. Your prize-money accounts.” Fenton sighed. “I’m sorry Joe. I’m sorry that your brother not only abandoned you, but stole from you as well.”
Joe leapt up from the couch, eyes ablaze with fury. “He did not abandon me,” he hissed angrily. “And he did not steal from me. What’s mine is his; he’s welcome to that money, especially if he needs it.”
“Yeah, well he wouldn’t need it if he had just stayed, now would he?” Joe’s angry response ignited Fenton’s own.
Joe was tempted to respond to that statement, but with considerable effort he restrained himself. He had been working on controlling his temper. Losing his temper now would only result in added misery for the entire household. He focused his energy into calming his seething emotions. His father was being unduly harsh on Frank, and Joe was not inclined to let him get away with it, but now was not the time to address it. He would challenge his dad later, when they were both calmer. He didn’t want his father to attribute his feelings on the matter to Joe’s unbridled emotions.
Fenton watched his son in mild surprise. He had expected Joe to react violently. Instead, his hot-headed son stood quietly, tense but calm.
Fenton let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry Joe,” he said as he pressed his hand to his forehead. “I know this isn’t easy on anyone, least of all you.”
Joe didn’t trust himself to speak yet, so he simply nodded.
“You know,” his father continued softly, “You’re a great kid, Joe. I’m proud of you.”
A pang of anguish shot through him as astonishment flickered in Joe’s eyes. “I guess I don’t say it often enough.” Fenton sighed, “But you are.”
Joe looked up into his father’s dark eyes, so like Frank’s, and stated quietly, “I’m no different than Frank, Dad.”
Fenton glanced down at his desk. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Finally Joe turned to leave.
“Night, Dad.”
“Night, Joe.” Fenton watched sadly as his son walked down the hall. No, Joe. You’re not like Frank. Frank gave into his emotions. You didn’t.
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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.