"Well?" Joe started the conversation after they had all sat in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes. "Who are my parents?"

"Honey, does it really matter who your natural parents are?" asked Laura. "We raised you. We love you. Can't you just accept that?"

"Not any more," Joe replied. "He chose to have me killed because I wasn't his natural son. I think I have a right to know who my father is."

"Who are they?" Frank asked when neither of his parents spoke. "Why are you trying to keep their identity a secret. Just tell us. We don't have to meet them."

"Joseph," his mother finally said, with tears in her eyes. "Your father, Fenton, was investigating a series of rapes about eighteen years ago. He never found the rapist."

"So?" Joe asked, denying the obvious.

"Your mother was one of his victims," Fenton answered. "You were born eight months later."

"Eight months?" Frank asked.

"Joe was premature by a month," Laura explained.

Joe leaned back in his chair in shock. His father was a rapist! No wonder his Dad had chosen Frank. Joe was a memento of one of his mother's most painful experiences.

"Joe," Laura said tentatively, reaching out and touching him.

He flinched as if he had been shot and jumped up from his seat. He looked at his mom with tears rolling down his face, "I'm so sorry," he whispered, then once again, he took off out the door before anyone could follow.

Frank raced after him. He grabbed the passenger door of the van as Joe backed it out of the drive, and climbed in before Joe could change gears. "Would you please stop running away?" Frank demanded, half angry. "You never used to."

"I've never been unable to handle anything before," Joe responded with tears running down his face.

"It's not your fault," Frank said, looking at his little brother and suffering along with him. "Mom and Dad don't blame you," he added. "Remember what Chief Andrews and Dad were discussing at the hotel?" Frank was still mad at his dad for his choice the other day, but he could finally understand it. Joe was a constant reminder that someone had forced himself on his wife. But it wasn't Joe's fault.

"No," Joe agreed. "But it was my father's. My father. That's a laugh. I've always wanted to be like my dad. And now, my dad isn't who I thought he was." Joe looked over at Frank when he stopped at the stop sign. "Do you think I am like my dad?" he asked. "Could I have, could I be, am..." Joe couldn't finish.

"No!" Frank shouted, shocked Joe would even think such a thing. "That kind of thing isn't hereditary," Frank insisted. "You could never do anything like that. Do you honestly think you could just change over night?" Joe never answered. "Baby brother, that's not who are you are."

"So who am I?" Joe asked, still parked in front of the stop sign.

"You're my little brother," Frank answered immediately. "You're one of the most decent guys ever born. You could no more hurt someone than a butterfly could sting."

"Are you calling me a wuss?" Joe asked with a small grin.

"If it fits," Frank said, smiling back at him. "Let's go home," he said. "We really need to talk to mom and dad."

"Yeah," Joe said, starting to turn the van around. "It may not be my fault, but it isn't theirs either. Just one thing," he added.

"What?" Frank asked.