His cheerfulness instantly faded away upon hearing nothing in reply. He froze, "Joe, are you home?"

Strange question, he saw lights in the living room window, so Joe should be here. He didn’t have a habit of leaving lights on or running water when he was not home.

"In the living room," Joe finally replied, letting his father breath a sigh of relief.

"Thank God, why didn’t you reply in the first place?" He frowned as he went into the living room and saw his son’s serious face. Joe was reclined on the sofa, holding a photo in his hands. Knowing his son too well, Paul couldn’t help but, from the look on his face, feel that something was bothering him greatly.

"Joe, what is wrong? Has something happened?" Paul solicitously asked.

"That’s what you’re going to tell me," Joe raised his hand and showed the photo to his father.

Just as he expected, this picture took Paul aback. "Oh, this….." he drawled out. He was looking at it for several seconds, his face becoming white, then he looked back at Joe, finding no words to say to him.

They looked at each other for some moments, and when no one said anything, Paul finally cleared his throat, loosened his tie and asked quietly in a hoarse voice, "Where did you find it?"

Joe, still saying nothing, nodded in the direction of the shelf where the old photograph in a new frame stood.

"And the previous frame? Shattered?"

Joe once again only nodded. Such silence and calmness meant only one thing to Paul: deep inside Joe was furious.

"And what does it mean?" Joe finally asked. "Why did you have to keep it hidden from me? And what is it you are hiding from me?"

Paul sat down on the sofa next to Joe and took the photo into his hands. He looked at the three happy faces, feeling sadness in his heart. "I think everything is clear." He quietly said.

"Not to me. It’s not clear to me! What made you tell me that Mom had died when I was born, when in fact, according to this photograph, that wasn’t so," Joe said, surprisingly calmly. "What was so wrong with the fact that she died of something months or maybe years later?"

"Of cancer."

"Cancer?" Joe raised his eyebrows. He’d suggested something of that kind, but now that Paul has proved it, it confused him a bit, making him feel sorry for his long dead mother. "Okay, cancer - it doesn’t really matter at the moment. Why didn’t you tell me that and not lie to me? Why did you have to create that story about her?"

"If only I knew myself…." Paul sighed and looked at the floor. "I don’t know…. It seems to me…" he stopped.

"Seems to you what?"

"I dunno…. It was easier for me to get used to the fact that she was dead. By telling you it I…. I think I tried to make myself believe in…. It’s just…. The thought that she had given her life in order to safe yours…. I wanted to believe that it was so, however it…."

"Stop, stop, stop!" Joe shook his head in protest. "You’re talking nonsense and I don’t understand anything you’re telling me! Just answer me - why did you decide to hide the fact she hadn’t died at my birth?"

Paul tiredly rubbed his forehead, "Joey, why do you need to know that?" he said, avoiding giving a direct answer. "I had my reasons for doing it, and you don’t need to know about them yet."

"Yet? When will you tell me then?"

"I swore to Stella that I'd tell you when you turned 18. When you become a full adult. And I am going to keep my promise."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Joe knitted his eyebrows disapprovingly. "Just tell me and that’ll be it."

"No, no, not now, definitely not now," Paul determinably said and raised himself from the sofa. "I'll go and have something to eat, if you don’t mind."

"I do mind!" Joe heatedly replied and followed his father into the kitchen. "Dad, what is going on? Mysteries and family secrets?"

"Joe, you’ll know everything when the time comes, okay? I'm so tired…."

"No way, that won’t do! I don’t like it. What are you up to? You’ve never hidden secrets from me. Especially about you and Mom."

It was true. If they had hidden anything from each other they wouldn’t have become so close, their relationship was based on trust and honesty, so Joe was determined to find out what Paul was determined not to tell him.

"Joe, please," Paul pleadingly looked into his son’s eyes. "Not today."

"No, exactly today!"

His father looked at the ceiling, "God, who did he get his stubbornness from?"

"From my father."

"Probably," Paul sighed.

"Come on, Dad, out with it. Why not today?"

"Because if today – it’s too early."

"I'm not a little boy!" Joe argued.

"The Law says the opposite."

Joe was growing angry, "How can my age have any influence on what would happen if you explained everything to me?"

"It can."

"How exactly?"

"Simply! Joe, please, stop it, you’re not ready."

"For what?"

"For that."

"For what exactly?"

"In six months."

"Now."

"Later."

"Now!"

"I said stop it right now! I said later and I mean later!" Paul suddenly, for the first time in his entire life, raised his voice at Joe.

Seconds later he realized he’d shocked himself more than Joe.

Joe, in his turn, was staring at his father, pop-eyed. This was the first time their relationship had shown signs of cracking. Only for him this crack was of Grand Canyon proportions. And it wasn’t him who’d started it all! He’d only wanted to know the truth.

"If that’s the way you want it!" not wishing to continue this conversation, Joe turned around and headed towards the door.

"Joe, wait!" Paul came to his senses. "Joe, please, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…." He caught up with his son and took his arm, but Joe pulled it from his grip. "Joe, I said I was sorry…."

"Come back in six months and then talk to me," Joe coldly snapped.

With that, he disappeared into his room.

Joe was numbly staring at the dark ceiling of his bedroom. He was lying in his bed, his hands crossed under his head.

Bad thoughts were running through his head, and his curiosity, mixed with anxiety and incomprehension, was eating at him from the inside.

A shiver ran up his arms so he tucked them under the blanket to warm up. He had various suspicions about why Paul would need to lie to him, but none of them were sensible ones. He realized, therefore, that he was going to have to wait six long months to find out the truth, because there was no other way of finding it out - other than from his father.

Next moment he snapped his eyes tightly shut, pretending to be asleep, because the door to his room had been opened.

"Joe, are you asleep?" Paul whispered, peeping inside.

Still offended, Joe didn’t reply, hoping that his father would leave.

But, instead of going away, Paul came in and kneeled down near Joe’s bed. "Come on, I know you’re not sleeping. It’s only 9 p.m. You never fall asleep before 10."

"I just wanted to say sorry for raising my voice to you. I shouldn’t have done that. I was wrong and I admit it. Now will you talk with me?"

No reply.

Knowing he would get no sense from Joe tonight, Paul sighed. "Always argue your standpoint," he’d always told him, and now was almost regretted it. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against his son’s forehead. "I love you," he whispered in his ear.

Looking at his stubborn son for the last time, he went to the door. "Good night," he said before closing the door.

"Joseph, are you listening to me?" Mr. Wellman’s, the physics teacher’s, stern voice snapped Joe out of his reverie.

"Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Wellman," Joe quickly composed himself and put the serious face of an attentive student.

"Good. Back to our theme. That’s why electromagnetic current…."

Joe felt someone’s eyes on him and squinted into the direction of the spy and found it was Vanessa, who had a concerned expression on her face.

"Are you okay?" she mouthed.

Joe only nodded and fell into a state of distraction again, forgetting about the teacher.

In fact, he wasn’t okay. Since morning he’d been very absent-minded and it had already caused a small problem with his French teacher and it all was because he couldn’t get his mind off the pervious day’s argument. Even after Paul had said sorry and that he loved him, Joe still couldn’t stop thinking that there was something more behind it all.

Why when I’m 18? He wondered. Let’s think. Then I will become a full adult and I won’t need anyone’s juridical help or permission to, for example, sign documents…. And so what? It still gives me nothing but a headache.

He was at a loss, because the rest of the story was known only to Paul, and he was refusing to tell him anything about it. That morning they’d only mumbled ‘g’d’m’nin’’ to each other when Paul had to leave, alluding to the fact that he’d have a very busy and hard day. Secretly, Joe had been glad because he hadn’t then had to face his father all morning.

"Do you agree, Joseph?" the teacher’s voice interrupted him for the second time in five minutes.

"Of course," Joe said a well-remembered phrase and roused himself, trying to make it appear that he knew what Mr. Wellman was talking about.

"Don’t forget to bring it on Thursday then," the teacher said and continued his boring lecture.

Joe frowned, to bring what? He threw Vanessa an inquiring look. She promised to tell him everything during the break.

And only twenty minutes later Joe found out that he’d agreed to write a report on electromagnetic oscillation!

"Just what I need!" Joe’s reaction was. "He knows I’m useless at physics!"

Vanessa looked solemnly at him. If she knew anything about physics herself she would offer to help, but there was nothing she could personally do.

At lunchtime everyone was laughing at his misfortune.

"It’s Wellman, that’s what I always say!" Chet said, grabbing a huge bite off his sandwich. Quickly swallowing it, he went on, "Last year he would make me write reports at least twice a month! He just didn’t like me. And he still doesn’t, so that makes two of us, Joe. Don’t worry, together we’ll survive."

"Thank you, Chet, that makes me feel much better," Joe managed a quick smile. "Looks like the Badman’s found a new scapegoat. The prospect of writing reports I know nothing about, when I have lots of other problems rejoices me like never before."

"Problems?" Biff asked.

"Nothing serious. Disagreement with my old man."

"It happens," Phil said. "Listen, about your physics, why don’t you ask Frank? He’s got loads of stuff from last year. Besides, Wellman never taught him, so there won’t be any problems if you cheat a little."

Frank wasn’t present at their table, preferring it to spend some time with Callie outside.

"No, thank you," Joe shook his head. "We’re not on such great terms yet for me to ask him for help. Even when it’s vital."

"I thought yesterday that everything was okay between the two of you," Vanessa looked at him. "Why did he stop you yesterday in the hall?"

"He asked me what I thought about his new T-shirt."

"Ha ha! Very funny! But seriously, tell us, what was that all about? We’re friends after all, aren’t we?" Chet coaxed him.

"That’s exactly why I can’t tell you. It’s not my business," Joe replied. "I promised Frank I wouldn’t tell anyone and I'm keeping that promise. Go ask him yourselves if you really want to know."

"How do you like that?" Chet turned to the others. "They don’t even talk, but already have their own secrets and promises. Such enemies."

At least his blunder in physics made Joe listen to his other teachers for the next few hours. The last thing he needed was to have to write another report on organic chemistry! But even then, he couldn’t get his mind off his problem and found himself slipping into a reverie every now and then. Thus, he was more than overjoyed when his classes finally ended.

Heading out of the school, he found it was pouring with ran so ran towards his car - even then, he still ended up soaked to the skin. He got in and started the engine, trying to decide whether he should go to a library to get information for his damned report now or later.

But at home he decided to leave the report until the next day. After finishing his homework, he headed for the kitchen. Usually he would have waited for his father so they could eat together, but today Joe didn’t want the evening to turn into another argument. They could, of course, talk about the problem, but Paul didn’t want to discuss it.

That was why, after taking the final sip from his cup of tea and washing it, Joe headed for his bedroom. But when he’d just reached the corridor the front door opened and his father entered.

"Hi," Paul meekly smiled, seeing his son.

"Hi," Joe said in reply and was about to go upstairs when Paul stopped him.

"Joe, please, could you wait for me in the living room? I'll be there in five minutes," Paul pleaded. "Please."

"Why?"

"I want to talk with you."

"Ok, I'm already there," Joe agreed and went to the den and flopped down onto the sofa, hoping he was finally about the answer to the question, which has been worrying him since the day before.

Paul appeared five minutes later with two cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He had taken his jacket and tie off and now looked more like a normal man rather than an office worker. He handed one cup to his son and then sat on the floor in front of him.

"Well, about what happened yesterday…. I’ve given the problem a lot of thought - I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, couldn’t concentrate on my work and…. It’s continued to bother me, so I’ve decided it’ll be better if I just tell you everything now…if I don’t you’ll stay mad at me!" He paused to make a sip from his cup.

"Do you really want to know everything?" he asked, desperately wishing for a negative answer.

"How can I answer that when I don’t know what you’re talking about?"

"Indeed," Paul rubbed his chin. "You know, you won’t like it, and afterwards, I won’t be able to help you once you know everything…. Maybe you’ll forgive me without me having to explain everything to you?" he almost begged.

"Dad, out with it," Joe urged him. "The more you talk in riddles the more I want to know the truth!"

Paul breathed out and looked aside, "Well, what want to know is…." He took the photo of him, Stella and little Joe from the table next to the sofa. "No, I can’t say it!" he said when he saw it.

"What’s so wrong about that photo?"

"Ok, Paul, this is going to happen someday, anyway…. Calm down…." Mr. Stevenson was telling himself. "Okay, now or never…." he swallowed and inhaled deeply. "Joey, you see, this woman in the photograph?…. She is…. She is not your mother."

Before Joe was able to fully understand what Paul had just said, his father went on.

"And this man…. He is not your father."

"Who is this child then?" Joe asked in a small voice.

"You."

"Then who are these people who look so much like you and Mom?"

"They don’t look like us. They are us."

Joe looked dully at him for several moments, absolutely dumbfounded. "What are you trying to tell me?" Joe distrustfully asked the man who was sitting in front of him.

Paul took the cup from his hands and put it on the table, then he took Joe’s hands in his and squeezed them tight, wanting to give some comfort.

"You have every right to know. And please, you must believe me when I tell you that I wasn’t going to keep it from you forever. I was going to tell you when you turned 18, but since this happened earlier…. Joey, it hurts to tell you this, and I would give everything for it to be untrue, but…but I and Stella…. We’re not your real parents…."