DISSONANCE
by
Duckling
Chapter 4
The Chapters
Frank Hardy put the last of his new dishes away. He paused for a moment to assess his day’s work. The pots and pans hung above the central island on their respective hooks, the glasses stood in rank on a cabinet shelf, the silverware nestled in its plastic tray. The groceries had been unpacked and sorted and efficiently put away. Pleased with his progress, Frank sat down on the floor; tomorrow he would have to buy the furniture. He smiled as he felt the lump of keys in his pocket. Fishing them out, he stared at the newest one with pride. It belonged to the new Honda motorcycle parked in front of the apartment. He would need to get a car, eventually, but that could wait until Joe joined him.
Fishing a notebook out of his jacket pocket, Frank marked off the tasks he had completed that day and decided the next day’s agenda. Having finished with that, he glanced at his watch, noted the lateness of the hour, and decided to head off to bed. Walking into his new room, he spread out the sleeping bag he had purchased earlier that day and slithered into it. He could change clothes in the morning, he decided. Soon, he was sound asleep.
***
“Well that went better than I had expected,” Fenton sighed as he climbed into bed beside his wife.
“I take it Joe is home, then?”
“Yes,” Fenton said sadly, “Joe is home.”
Laura sighed. The animosity between the elder male members of her household had been slowly simmering over the past six months; only recently had it threatened to boil over into trouble.
Everything had started one late-winter morning when the household had woken to the startling discovery that the house had been burglarized and Joe Hardy was gone. Laura and Fenton’s youngest son had been kidnapped and tortured by an escaped convict Fenton had helped put away behind bars twenty years earlier. As the search for Joe continued day after day, seemingly without any progress, Frank’s attitude towards his father took on a marked change. By the time they had found Joe, Frank was openly hostile towards Fenton. The elder Hardys believed it was merely the strain of the investigation taking its toll on Frank. No one expected it to last very long.
So Laura and Fenton were surprised to find that weeks after Joe’s ordeal, Frank still seemed to resent his father. Frank slowly withdrew from family gatherings, spending most of his time alone, or in the exclusive company of Joe. When forced to interact with his parents, Frank maintained a polite civility which only disconcerted his bewildered parents even more. Joe, for his part, did not seem to share his brother’s animosity towards them.
Things however, had come to a head two weeks ago. Laura and Joe had gone out visiting some elderly friends in the nursing home, leaving Fenton and Frank alone at the house. They had returned to the house in time to hear the two Hardys engaged in an angry altercation in Fenton’s study. Just as Joe was about to knock to see what it was all about, the door opened and Frank stormed out. He seemed surprised to see Joe, flashed his brother a brief smile, and then gently pushed past the blond boy and down the stairs. He did not acknowledge his mother in any way. A minute later, they heard the front door close behind him. Fenton had stopped on the threshold, also surprised to see Laura and Joe, then rubbed his palm across his face and sighed. He looked into two pairs of concerned blue eyes, opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it with a snap. He turned back into the room and gently closed the door.
Neither Frank nor Fenton had ever said anything more about the argument, although Laura had guessed that it somehow had something to do with Joe. Joe was the only person Frank seemed to care about; even Laura was being treated by Frank with polite, disinterested civility.
Now, as Laura lay snug in her bed, she discovered guiltily that she was secretly glad to be free of the tense atmosphere that had been smoldering for so long, choking the peace and happiness out of her. As much as she wished Frank hadn’t left, she couldn’t honestly say that she missed the indifferent stranger he had become. The son she knew and missed had disappeared that cold frightful morning so many months ago.
***
Joe Hardy put on his headset and turned up the volume so that the deep, dark minor chords of Holst’s The Planets pulsed through his being. The opening piece, Mars, was his personal favorite when he found himself this angry; the discordant, swelling sound channeling his anger, frustration and hurt. He allowed the melody to wash through him, over him; felt his emotions calm down as the piece reached melodic resolutions. When he was only angry, he preferred his heavy metal or physical activity. But when his emotions were as complicated as they were now, nothing but classical music could help him unwind. He wished he could play the piano at times like these, but it was too late; he would disturb the neighbors if he were to play now.
Joe smiled. Not many people knew he loved to play the piano. In fact, he thought, not many people really knew all that much about him. Everyone knew of his athletic prowess; Joe was a natural athlete. That talent was not easily hidden. But few people knew anything more. Only a select circle of people, his parents and Frank, really.
Frank. The blond boy sighed. Frank. Joe pulled off his headphones and laid the headset on his desk. He missed Frank terribly. He reached for the letter Frank had left him and reread it for the hundredth time.
He hadn’t really understood Frank’s hostility towards their father. He knew, instinctively that he was somehow part of the rift between his father and brother, but he didn’t know why. Frank refused to tell him, saying only that Joe was in no way to blame for any of it. That hadn’t helped Joe to feel any better, though, and Frank must have realized that because one morning he had come into Joe’s room and reassured him that Frank’s attitude towards Fenton was solely based on his father’s behavior. Simply put, Frank felt that his father had failed to adequately protect his sons, Joe in particular. Joe had started to protest that his father did the best he could when Frank silenced him by saying, “But you see, Joe, that’s just it. He didn’t do his best. And you can’t tell me it’s a one time thing; I’ve been watching him like a hawk since you came home from the hospital, and not a single thing has changed.”
Joe didn’t have an answer to that. He trusted Frank and rarely had reason to doubt him. If Frank said something was so, it usually was.
“So what are you going to do,” Joe had asked him.
Frank had smiled and said, “Set some things in motion.” And then Laura had called up the stairs to the boys that it was time for them to get moving if they didn’t want to be late for school.
Joe moved to the window and gazed out at the stars. He identified the major constellations Frank had pointed out to him for the first time when they were kids. Joe remembered how proud he was of his big brother for being so smart, how impressed he was that Frank could rattle off the names of the constellations. Joe had come to love watching the night sky too, and the brothers often sat up late into the night by Frank’s open window, stargazing.
Frank was interested in anything that was remotely related to the cosmos. He had dreamed of being an astronaut and was delighted as a young teen to learn how to pilot an airplane. He read avidly of new stars, new planets; he knew the names of every star and moon in the galaxy, or so it seemed to Joe. He delved through scientific and astronomic journals, and even attended a summer college course in astrophysics. He had been the youngest student there. Joe was sure that if Frank wanted to be, he would make a first-rate astronomer or astronaut.
Frank didn’t abandon me, the youth repeated to himself sternly. He told me himself that this was only temporary. Joe smiled. Good thing that part of the letter had been written using the code the boys had devised when they were younger. His father would have hit the roof if he knew that Frank had no intention of leaving Joe behind. But despite Frank’s loving reassurances, the pain and hurt and a faint sense of betrayal haunted him
Suddenly overcome with melancholy, Joe returned to his headset. When he felt this low, not even The Planets could help. Now, he needed Rachmaninoff. He sprawled out on his bed as the mournful notes of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-Sharp Minor sounded low and sorrowful in his ear. Oh, how he missed his brother.
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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.