Frank was a bit surprised by his father’s choice, as he knew Fenton didn’t like soap operas, not at all. "Everything that’s happening must be having a great effect on him," Frank thought to himself, feeling somewhat sorry for his father. Mr. Hardy was really upset. "No wonder," Frank inwardly sighed.

Frank took a deep breath and made his way into the living room. Fenton, hearing the soft steps, turned around. Seeing his son made him feel, as usually, a little better. He softly smiled, "Hi."

"Hi," Frank replied and sat in one of the two leather armchairs. Not knowing what to say, he chose the most neutral subject, "How’s Mom doing?"

"She’s just fine," Mr. Hardy replied.

Frank nodded several times, "Okay…."

There was a minute of awkward silence. Frank tried to pretend to be watching "Eastenders", not really seeing anything on the screen. Yes, he could see people moving and saying things to each other, but he really didn’t see or hear any of it because he was thinking about other things.

"Dad…." Frank finally said. He swallowed before going on, "I want to say…. I’m sorry…."

"For what?" Mr. Hardy looked at his son, surprise in his brown eyes. "You did nothing to be sorry for."

"I've been a bit harsh with you lately," Frank confessed, lowering his head. "I had no right to judge you for something I hadn’t even been bothered to find out about."

"Don’t worry, it’s not your fault, you didn’t know. Forget about it," Mr. Hardy said.

"But still, I still feel sorry."

"Well, if I tell you that I forgive you for everything you feel sorry for, will it make you feel better?" Fenton warmly smiled.

Frank smiled as well; he looked at his father and nodded, "Yeah, it will…. Thank you."

"Anytime," Fenton turned back to watch TV.

"Why are you watching that?" Frank asked moments later, nodding at the TV set. "You’ve never liked soap operas before."

"I just didn’t want to think about anything, and it was stopping me thinking."

"I see…." Frank smirked and shook his head. "If you ask me, I'd rather prefer to read a good book to watching that."

"Me too. But today I decided to try something totally new. For example: watching "Eastenders"…for the first and last time in my life," Fenton replied. Then he turned to Frank, "You seem to feel a bit better. Where have you been, and what have you been doing that’s made you feel that little bit happier?" Mr. Hardy asked.

"The beach," his son shortly replied.

"Ah, the beach…" Fenton drawled. "Such a great place. It really calms you down when you look at the ocean from there. However the weather is pretty nasty today. Too windy."

"Well, actually, not only that calmed me down," Frank said, becoming serious.

"Really? What else then?"

Frank rubbed his left temple, "I met Joe, Joe Stevenson. He’s found that place while walking along the beach and when arrived he was watching the ocean…. You know, we don’t get on very well with each other. I hadn’t tried to get to know him and he had been avoiding me as well…. I sort of didn’t like him when he arrived in Bayport…. But today I just needed someone to listen …. I don’t know why, but I told him everything. He just listened to me, and I felt better - I don’t know why. Maybe because I had let it out, maybe I was glad he didn’t judge me…. He isn’t that bad after all…." He smirked at the last sentence.

"Didn’t he say anything at all?" Mr. Hardy asked.

"Not really. He said that someday you’d find your son, because you deserved to…." Frank replied, looking at his father. There was a pause. "And I believed him…." He finished.

Mr. Hardy smiled bitterly, but said nothing.

"Erm…. one more thing, Dad…." Frank bit his lower lip.

"What is it?"

"Thank you for telling me the truth. It’s good to know it. Are there any other family secrets hidden from me?" Frank asked half-jokingly.

"No, don’t worry, no more secrets," Fenton shook his head.

"Okay then," Frank stood up. "I’m going to rustle up a sandwich. Want one?"

Mr. Hardy shook his head, "No thank you. I ought to watch something a bit more interesting than this wonderful program," he switched TV to CNN.

"Finally!!" Paul Stevenson rushed from the kitchen into the hall as he heard Joe shut the front door.

Joe looked quizzically at him, "Finally, what?"

"Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick about you! I expected you to be back much earlier. It’s almost five in the evening, what were you thinking?" Paul scowled at his son. Then, seeing Joe was still in one piece, but standing stunned by his father’s outburst, breathed a sigh of relief. "I am sorry for the tirade. I need to know only one thing: are you okay?"

"Just perfect, don’t worry," Joe took his parka off. "There was no reason for you to be worried. I can take care of myself and you know that. Besides five o’clock in the evening isn’t so late."

"Of course I know that you’re adult enough and it’s not very late, but with someone out there threatening you, I don’t like it when you’re out alone," Mr. Stevenson argued.

"Oh, Dad, quit it. That man, whoever he was, disappeared as if by magic. There’s no danger for me, or you, now."

"Still, I would appreciate it if you told me where you went," Paul insisted.

"Well, okay, I’ll tell you. Today I realized that I hadn’t seen the ocean yet, so I went there," Joe said. "Beautiful," he commented.

"Oh, yes, I know," his father assented. "I can see it from the window in my office."

"Really? You never told me that. You’re lucky to have such a view."

"True. But anyway, what took you so long? The weather isn’t very conducive to long walks along the beach."

"I met a guy there. Frank Hardy."

"The one you don’t get on with?"

"Correct," Joe nodded. "He had a problem and needed someone to talk to. So I stayed with him."

"I see…" Paul nodded his understanding. He felt proud of his son – he was always being helpful, even with strangers. "Did talking make him feel better?"

"I hope so," Joe shrugged his shoulders. "He is not as wicked and unfriendly as I gave him credit for. He’s as normal as everyone else…. Mmm, what’s the smell?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Lasagna," Mr. Stevenson proudly smiled. Seventeen years of bachelorhood had taught him a lot. Cooking was one of the most useful things he learned.

Joe rolled his eyes, a smile on his face, "Daddy’s playing at being a great cook again, eh?" he asked.

"Come on, mock me," Paul challengingly replied in the same tone. "You’ll be swallowing those words once you’ve tasted it! You’ll be begging for more!"

Tomorrow was Monday, which meant school again. Frank appeared twenty minutes before class in order to find Joe and talk to him about what happened the day before, but he was nowhere to be seen. Vanessa said he hadn’t yet arrived.

The first lesson started, but Frank still hadn’t seen Joe yet. Hoping that nothing had happened, he spent the next break looking for him. Fortunately, he saw him leave a classroom with Vanessa. They were both smiling. They definitely will make a good couple someday, Frank thought as he ran towards them, "Hey, guys! Wait!" he said.

Joe looked at him, feeling a bit uneasy. Vanessa told him Frank had been looking for him and he didn’t understand why he would want to.

"Joe, can I talk to you for a couple of minutes?" Frank asked.

"Sure…go, I’ll catch up with you later," Joe told Vanessa and the girl, wondering what it all could mean, went away. "I'm all ears," Joe turned to Frank.

"Actually, it’s nothing serious, I just wanted to thank you," Frank modestly said.

"Anytime," Joe replied.

Frank nodded several times, "I usually don’t talk to strangers about my problems, I don’t know what came over me yesterday…and one more thing…."

"If you’re about your secret, don’t worry. My mouth’s zippered," Joe assured him. "It’s up to you and your family to decide when or if to tell anyone else."

"You’ve read my mind," Frank smiled at him. "If you ever need anything I can help you with, don’t be shy to tell me."

"I’ll remember that."

"Listen, I have physics now, so I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you later?"

"Fine," Joe said and watched Frank go.

"News again…." Joe growled to himself. Tired of watching TV he switched his attention to what was going on outside where it was raining cats and dogs.

"Why couldn’t I be in Chicago now? I could have called all my friends and we could have gone somewhere," Joe sadly thought to himself. He missed his pals, but could do nothing else but check his mail every morning and smile when there was a message from any of them. Even though he knew some people in Bayport, he didn’t know them so well as to ‘hang out’ with them, and that was killing Joe.

He turned back to the TV. "Today in Vermont…." The commentator started. "Oh, shut up," Joe groaned at him, grabbed the remote control and switched the set off.

Silence filled the room. The only sounds rain drops and wind. Joe sighed, "Damn, this is a crashing bore…." He complained and raised himself from the sofa.

He looked around, trying to find anything that could keep him busy and his eyes fell on the bouquet of beautiful flowers, which had been delivered to their house yesterday. "From a grateful client", was written in a small card, attached to it. Mr. Stevenson had only shrugged his shoulders when Joe had asked who that ‘client’ was. Joe had some thoughts on his mind, but kept them to himself. However Paul didn’t miss his son’s curiosity when Joe looked over the flowers. "No, Joe, I swear it’s just a grateful anonymous," Mr. Stevenson assured him.

"I wonder who this anonymous person is," Joe thought, still curious. He set the flowers straight and smiled at them, "Beautiful."

Not having anything to do (even his homework was already done) Joe went to a shelf that was next to the TV set. There, on the shelf, stood a number of small things: a photograph of Paul and little Joe and souvenirs from countries the Stevensons’ had visited. Among such souvenirs was a statuette of an Asian prayer, which was bought in Japan two years previously when Joe and his father vacationed there.

According to the seller, the statuette was 350 years old. It was made of a special wood, which was made-up in black Japan, the combination kept the figurine looking as good as new. Joe didn’t know why he liked it. It was his father who had bought it, but only because of the statuette’s age.

Joe didn’t really believe the thing was that old. "I wonder if it’s dated," Joe thought. He stretched out his hand to take the statuette to take and study it. As he did so his arm brushed against the photograph, which stood near the edge of the shelf.

The picture fell and the glass smashed into pieces. "Damn it, I'm so clumsy…" Joe scowled at himself as he forgot about the statuette and leaned down to pick up pieces of glass.

Once the carpet was clear of glass he went to get another photo frame. He laid the new frame next to him on the sofa and started getting the photograph out of the old frame. He undid the four clamps and….

"What’s that?" he muttered to himself when he saw what was there.

There were two photographs in one frame.

The one was of him and his father, which was exactly the picture he saw before it fell, but there was a second photo hidden behind it. The writing on it read, "Joe, nine months old." Joe turned it over and looked at an image of three people: a man who was his father, only he was younger and a young woman who Joe knew was his long-dead mother. The woman held a baby in her arms, the baby, if the writing was to be believed, was Joe himself.

"What the…" Joe frowned, looking closely at the picture.

All three people were smiling. Stella, a beautiful young woman, was sitting on something. Paul, who nowadays looked just a bit older than on the photo, was standing behind his wife, his arms around her shoulders. They both had happy smiles on their faces. Even the little baby’s lips were curled into a smile.

It was a photograph of a happy family, but at the very moment it was the last thing on Joe’s mind.

It just couldn’t be true, because Stella died the day Joe was born. And on the photo Joe was already nine months old!

"What’s the point in making it a secret that Mom was, in fact, still alive at that point?"

He watched the woman on the photo. There was something wrong with her, only Joe couldn’t understand what. This face was so familiar; even though he had never known her - Joe loved his mother dearly. Stella indeed was one of the prettiest women he had ever seen. He looked into her eyes.

They were the answer. Her smile brought some sparkles into her eyes, but still they seemed to be tired and worn out. The thing that was wrong was that she was sitting on was a hospital bed.