Joe spent the next little while just watching everyone as they worked and carried on. He felt a strange sense of detachment but knew that was in part his own fault. He could have taken his blanket and gone to sit down closer to everyone so he could keep up with the conversations and even get in his own comments now and then. But he didn’t want to. The blond teen was content to sit back and watch; wrapped up warmly in the thick blanket Iola had gotten for him.

From time to time, the young girl would come up to check on him, and he’d always tell her that he was fine; no, he wasn’t cold; and that he didn’t need anything. And that was the truth – well kinda. What he did need was something she could not give him.

He sighed as he watched Frank. His older brother had spoken to him, briefly, before he started painting, to remind Joe to stay put and if he got cold to go inside the house.  Like I needed him to tell me that, he thought.  But since then, neither boy had spoken – not to each other anyway.

Joe figured it might have been different if Iola hadn’t been sitting next to him at the time, but she was, and he was actually glad of that; not ready to talk to Frank, yet.

“Hey, how you doing?” Iola asked, coming up the stairs towards him. Like him, she was very limited in what she could do and occupied herself with keeping him company and overseeing the ‘workers’.

Stifling a yawn – as he was still incredibly tired – he smiled.  “Better now. You going to sit with me again?”  He’d hardly seen her in the last half hour.

“You bet,” the girl smiled and then sat down next to him and snuggled in against his body as he opened the blanket to cocoon it around them both.

“Good,” he murmured, suddenly unable to keep his eyes open any longer. As he felt her settle back against him, he let out a contented sigh, and closed his eyes….

“Hey,” Iola said a few minutes later, rousing him. Joe wasn’t too surprised to realize he’d fallen asleep.

“Wha—” he mumbled forcing his eyes open and looking at her.

The girl scooted out of his embrace to the end of the swing and then patted her leg.  “Put your head here and lie down. You’ll get a crick in your neck if you fall asleep in that position!”

Shifting, Joe did as he was told, finding her lap a much better place to lay his head. Within moments, he was asleep again, barely registering the blanket being tucked around his chin.

* * *

Iola smiled to herself as she heard Joe’s breathing even out, and knew he’d fallen back asleep.  About time too, she thought fondly, not liking how tired he looked. She ran her fingers lightly across his forehead, enjoying the contact while also making sure he wasn’t too cold.  His face was a bit cool but nothing to be alarmed about. If he started to shiver, she’d insist he go inside.

She turned her attention back to the painters and couldn’t conceal a grin when she saw Callie walking towards Frank Hardy.

* * *

“Did I tell you,” Tony Prito was saying to Frank as they painted the same section of barn; the Italian youth was up on the ladder while Frank worked beneath him.  “We put a video camera in the back alley.”

“Really?” the other teen said, pausing in his brushstrokes to glance up at his friend.

“Really,” Tony nodded, his face grim.  “Dad felt horrible about what happened to Joe – we all do – so he wanted to make sure nothing like that could ever happen again.  Besides,” he continued, “It just makes sense.  During any regular shift, our own staff are going back and forth out there anyway.”  He paused.  “We should have thought of it long before now.”

“It is a good security measure,” Frank commented after a moment. He was moved that the attack on his brother had prompted the proprietor to think about preventing such a thing in the future. Too bad they didn’t think of it before, he couldn’t help but mentally gripe as he cast a quick glance back towards the veranda, and then smiled as he saw his brother lying on the swing, obviously asleep, with a very attentive Iola keeping watch over him. He glanced at the time and decided he’d give it another hour before insisting Joe go inside for a bit – his parents would kill him if his brother ended up with a chill or worse after all this!

“How’s it going?” Callie Shaw asked as she stopped at the bottom of Tony’s ladder.  She glanced at their work approvingly.  “You guys are making good progress.”

“Thanks.”  Frank beamed a bit too brightly, thinking again of how pretty she was.  “How are the other guys making out?”  Biff, Chet and Phil were working on the backside of the barn while Tony and Frank were on the front facing the house.

“Not bad, considering how very little work they are actually doing,” Callie laughed, shaking her head.  She had been designated ‘trim girl’ and was in charge of painting the doors, window ledges and awnings brilliant white.

Tony chuckled as he painted.  “I can just hear them now.”

“It’s bad,” Callie admitted, “Last I checked they were discussing why barns are usually painted red – well, in this part of the country anyway!”

“What does Phil say?” Frank asked, standing up and stretching. He’d been crouched down for a bit now, painting the bottom part of the wall.

“Nothing, actually,” Callie admitted.

Frank and Tony exchanged glances with a grin.

“What?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips, knowing they were holding something back.

“That just means he knows the answer,” Frank enlightened her, “he’ll let them argue about it for a while and then when they – or he – gets  tired of it, he’ll give them the answer.”

“Sounds like he’s toying with them,” Callie scowled, not liking it when people who claimed to be friends teased other people like that, “humoring himself listening to his friends sounding stupid!”

Frank looked at her strangely.  Where did that come from?  “Actually it’s nothing like that, and Phil is most definitely NOT like that.  Callie, Phil’s really smart – probably a genius – and he knows a lot of stuff; sometimes pretty off-the-wall stuff too, like why barns are painted red. But he doesn’t like to show off, so when he’s all quiet – like he usually is,” the teen had to admit with a grin, “he’s just giving the rest of us a chance to be right sometimes.  If – and that is a big if – if Biff or Chet do come up with the correct answer, then Phil will say ‘yeah that’s exactly it’.  I mean, to be honest, I don’t know if anyone would want to hang out with him otherwise.  Who likes a know-it-all who keeps reminding you that they do know it all?”

“I suppose so,” the girl mused, and then flushed slightly and apologized, “I’m sorry. I’ve just had my share of run-ins with people like that.”

I bet you have, Frank thought to himself even as Callie continued, “Anyway, I think I’m going to head into the house and grab something to drink; either of you want anything?”  The Mortons had already stocked their fridge with drinks and food in anticipation of the painters.

“I wouldn’t mind a bottle of water,” Tony admitted and Callie nodded.

“And I think I’ll go with you,” Frank said, too modest to admit he had to use the bathroom.

“Cool,” said Callie, already heading towards the house.

* * *

Darius Getty waited impatiently in the small room for Lily to be brought in.  He was still seething over his confrontation with the Hardys, but Fenton had been right – he would not press charges.  In fact, he would never admit he had been there at all.

His jaw hurt, but not as much as his pride. This was the first time he had not been able to buy his daughter out of trouble.  His son, he thought a spineless bully for whom hard time in jail would do some good, but not his Lily…his sweet, precious Lily.  For her, he would sell everyone else to the devil, in a heartbeat…and he pretty much had.

Beside him his wife Marian sat; a plump plain-faced woman who looked years older than her thirty-eight.  Soft spoken and mild-mannered Marian had had no control over her husband or her children, and she knew it.

And then Lily came out….

* * *

“Father, Mother!”  Darius was on his feet and embraced his daughter as soon as he saw her.  Marian stood but never made a move towards her.

“Lily, oh sweetheart, how are you doing? Are they treating you okay?” Mr. Getty demanded as he appraised his pride and joy. Lily looked a bit pale but that had to do more with the lack of makeup than anything else.

The girl rolled her eyes and pulled away from her father.

“Well?” she demanded and he glanced away.

“I’m sorry, my precious,” he admitted, “I tried, but the Hardys weren’t biting.”

Lily glared at him and snorted, “Who’d you talk to?”

“Frank and his father,” he rubbed his chin ruefully. “And his father’s fist.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed.  “And Joe?”

“I don’t know where he was,” her father admitted, “I never saw him.”

“You stupid asshole,” Lily hissed, keeping her voice low so that the police officer standing by the door didn’t overhear her, “I told you to lean on him.  He’s the most damaging…and their weakest link!  If he agreed to amend his statement, Frank would go along with it!”

Darius sighed.  “He wasn’t there.”

“Then hunt him down!” Lily hissed angrily in her father’s face, her blue eyes flashing dangerously.  “Get rid of him for all I care!  I don’t want to be in here!  And I refuse to go to jail!  They are petitioning to try me as an adult!!  Do you have any idea what they do to girls who look like me in the ‘big house’?!!”

“Shhh,” Darius tried to calm his daughter down, “Okay. Okay. Relax, don’t worry your sweet little head.  If leaning on Joe will make everyone change their testimony, so be it.  Don’t worry, sweetie, Daddy will take care of everything!”

* * *

Marian felt her stomach lurch as she listened to her daughter and her husband.  For twenty years she had been under Darius Getty’s thumb; his pawn in a power-play to be someone more than a janitor’s son, and she had put up with up it; for her children’s sake, and for her own pride.  A very homely woman, at best, she knew other women envied her when they saw her husband – and for that she tolerated his cruelty, his womanizing, and his unscrupulous nature.  But as she heard them talk so casually about what – murdering maybe – a fifteen- year-old kid to keep Lily out of jail; to push all the blame off onto her son, Marian knew she had to do something!

Davis was not perfect.  He certainly had too much of his father in him to ever be so; however, as bad as he was, he was nothing like her second-born, and she could not stand idly by and watch him take on the blame – and pay – for things he didn’t do.

Marian shook her head, wondering if it made her a bad mother to think of one of her own children as ‘evil’. But evil was what Lily was…

“Stop it,” she said; her voice purposely loud.  Both Lily and Darius looked at her, having forgotten she was even there.

“Did you say something?” Darius hissed, and his wife nodded her head.

“Yes, I did.”  She looked at Lily.  “You will go to trial and will accept whatever punishment the judge sees fit to give you for the horrendous things you’ve been doing.  And you—” Marian looked at her husband, “you will do nothing to tamper with statements, witnesses or victims. The Hardy family will in no way be touched, coerced or otherwise contacted by either of you, or anyone working for you.”

“Marian—” Darius’s voice held a stern warning note, but his wife stood up to him, her own brown eyes hard and unyielding.

“In return, Mr. Darius Getty, I will divorce you and let the courts decide the division of the assets that were left to me by my father.”

Her husband looked at her, a bit shocked, then angry and finally amused.  He laughed.  “Oh Mari, you are such a funny woman.”  And then he became much more serious.  “You have no power over us – over me.” But his wife was shaking her head:

“Oh yes I do, because, you see, either way I am going to divorce you. However, what you get out of the divorce is completely dependent on how you chose to pursue this lunacy right now,” she informed him.  “If you insist on trying to pin everything on my son, then I will be forced to use the copious amounts of proof I have regarding your infidelity in our marriage.  And then you, Mr. Getty, will get nothing.  N-O-T-H-I-N-G!  Nothing. Except maybe jail time for tampering with witnesses.”

Darius’s face went stark-white!

Lily scoffed, “You don’t have the nerve, Mother,”  she challenged her. “You are nothing without Daddy!”

“Maybe so,” her mother agreed, “But I’d rather be a wealthy nothing than continue to be what I am right now – which is less than nothing.”

“Daddy?”  The young girl turned to her father but Darius didn’t say anything, as what his wife was saying sunk in.  Finally he looked up at Lily apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and then left the room.

Lily turned to her mother, her face a picture of shock, and Marian looked at her sadly.  “Darling daughter, have you learned nothing about your father after all this time?  He is like you – he weighs everything in terms of their value.  And honey, money will always be more valuable than you.”

She started to leave too, but Lily reached out to grab her arm. “Mommy—”

Marian cut her off.  “No Lily.  Not Mommy, just the woman who happened to have shared your home for the past 16 years; merely the vessel in which your embryo developed and then escaped from. You never saw me as a ‘mother’ – and I don’t see you as a daughter. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go and see my son.”

And then Marian left the room, leaving Lily standing there alone; abandoned with only the guard at the door.  And something told her that she had better get used to this.

“Damn Hardys,” she muttered as the guard opened the door and ushered her out of the room.  “Damn them all to hell!”

* * *

“Why do you dye your hair?” Frank asked out of the blue, as he came out of the bathroom and saw Callie still in the kitchen.  She had gotten a bottle of water for Tony and was just finishing one herself.

She looked at him, obviously surprised by his forwardness, but even more surprised to hear herself answering, “I just got tired of being stereo-typed.”

Callie looked at Frank and rolled her eyes at his confused expression.  “Oh please,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’m not stupid, I know I’m pretty, so add my blond hair to it, and automatically I’m stupid, ditzy and easy too!  And I’m sick of it!  I wanted to make friends here who liked me for being Callie Shaw and not for what they assumed I’d be like as soon as they saw my ‘golden tresses’!”

Frank couldn’t help it and the words were coming out of his mouth before he could stop himself.  “Well, I would hardly call them ‘tresses’—”

“Oh stop it,” she scolded, and started to walk away, but he grabbed her arm gently.

“Please don’t be like that.”

Callie sighed and relented.  “Fine.  But Frank, come off it – your own brother is blond.  Haven’t you ever noticed that people respond to him differently because of that, than they do to you? That they have higher expectations of you and kinda humor him along – like ‘oh isn’t that sweet, the little blond boy can spell his own name’?”

“Okay, first,” Frank said, his tone brooking no nonsense, “if anyone did treat Joe that way, they’d have me to answer to about it, and secondly, no, I haven’t.  In case you haven’t noticed it, our group is fairly diverse, and the last thing any of our true friends would ever think of doing was to stereo-type based on social status, ethnicity, or – in your case – hair color.  And to be honest, I find blonds to be vivacious, fun-loving people with open hearts and sensitive spirits; and definitely no more ditzy, stupid or easy than a brunette or redhead!”

The girl looked at him, not totally convinced.  He just shrugged.  “But that is something you’re going to have to find out yourself.  However, Callie, keep in mind, that true friends see past all the cosmetic stuff, and I really do feel sorry for you if all you’ve ever known is people who played ‘friends’.  Anyway, I’m going to head back out. There’s a talk I need to have with my brother, and I’ve been putting it off long enough.”  And then he turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Callie with a lot to think about.

* * *

Frank opened the door and walked out on the veranda, a bit surprised to see everyone had kinda congregated there while he and Callie were in the house.

Joe was awake; he stood up and stretched when he saw his brother come out, with Callie right behind him.

“So why are barns red anyway?” Biff was griping, and Frank couldn’t help but grin – it would seem that conversation was still going strong!

Phil rolled his eyes.  Apparently, he was tired of all this and decided to put it to rest, once and for all!

“Centuries ago, European farmers would use a linseed oil to seal the wood on their barns – it’s kind of a tawny colored oil,” he explained. “They would then add things to it, like milk or lime.  The combo produced a long-lasting ‘paint’ that dried and hardened quickly.”  He looked at his gawking audience.  “Now, where does the red come from?  Well wealthy farmers added blood from a recent slaughter to this mixture so as it dried, it turned from a bright red—”

“Yuck,” Iola said.  Phil ignored her.

“To a darker, burnt red.  But usually it was just from the rust all farmers added to the mixture.  Rust was easy to find on a farm and it killed off many types of fungi that would otherwise attack the wood on the structure.  And then, over time, it just became the fashionable thing to do – have a red barn.”

“Don’t forget, “Frank couldn’t help but add, “Until whitewash became cheaper, red was the most inexpensive paint to buy.”

Callie looked from Phil to Frank and then shook her head.  “You two are just scary!” This set off a round of chuckles.

Oh brother, Joe thought, looking from Frank to Callie, I’m outta here. Shaking his head, he started to trot down the veranda steps and head away from the house.  Frank saw him leaving and quickly started after him.

* * *

“Hey!” Joe heard his brother call out to him but he didn’t stop.  He had woken up with a headache and really did not want to talk to Frank right now.

“Joe!” Frank caught up to him and grabbed his arm, stopping him.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the younger boy said, pulling his arm free but not moving. “I just need some fresh air.”  And a half a jar of headache meds, he added silently.

“Fresh air?” his brother laughed, “I think you’ve probably gotten too much, kiddo!  How are you feeling, anyway?”

Joe looked at him, trying to think of the best way to phrase it, when Frank continued speaking: “You really should go inside for a while. Mom and Dad’ll kill me if you catch a chill or something!”

The younger boy scowled at his brother.  Why the hell does he even bother to ask me anything if he’s not going to give me a chance to answer!!

“Come on Joe,” Frank was saying, “I know something’s bothering you; talk to me!”

Joe closed his eyes for a moment, debating whether or not this was the time, or place, to talk to Frank. No, not yet, he decided. At home later, maybe. Definitely NOT when I have a headache!

But Frank pressed on, “This has to do with Lily, again, doesn’t it?”

Snorting, Joe started to walk away again, heading towards the trees behind the barn. There was a small creek that ran through the wooded part of the property, and the teen enjoyed listening to the sound of the water bubbling and trickling through the rocks.  He sought its solace to help soothe away the headache.

“Joe!” Frank’s voice behind him told him his brother was not about to drop this so easily, so Joe picked up the pace, breaking into a jog. “I’m right, aren’t I? I thought you forgave me, little brother?” His words called after the younger teen.

Freezing on the spot, Joe swiftly turned around and spit out, “You’re wrong, brother! This ISN’T about Lily – this is about you!”

And then realizing he’d said more than he’d wanted to, Joe fled into the woods!

* * *

Frank stood paralyzed for a moment as his brother’s words struck home… this is about you!

“What the –?” he muttered, and then took off after Joe, more confused and determined than ever to find out what was going on!

* * *

Joe heard his brother chasing after him and he tried to pick up the pace, a task encumbered by how sore and tired he was!  His head throbbed as he felt his heart starting to pound….

“Joe!”

He didn’t stop…he just continued in his shambling run.

“JOE!”

He still didn’t stop.

“STOP!!”

He would never stop.

* * *

Frank caught up to his brother, easily enough. Joe was in no shape to outrun him right now.

Reaching out, he grabbed his brother’s arm to try and stop him but Joe stumbled – fell - pulling Frank down with him; the boys ended up in a pile, with the younger teen on the bottom!

* * *

Joe panicked as he felt his brother’s weight pressing down on him, and tried to move but couldn’t!  He’d been through too much over the past couple of days and he felt like he was being crushed… suffocated!

“Get…off…me!” he panted, squirming desperately!

* * *

Frank heard the franticness in his brother’s voice even as he quickly moved off and got to his feet. “You okay?” he asked.  Joe’s face had gone stark-white and he was starting to hyperventilate.

“Easy, brother, easy,” Frank soothed as he crouched back down beside the other boy and put a hand on his shoulder.  He could feel his brother shaking.  “Nice, deep breaths…”

Slowly Joe got his breathing under control and accepted Frank’s hand to stand up.  He stood a bit unsteadily with one arm protectively cradling his midsection again, wincing with movement.

“Joe,” Frank tried again to get the younger boy to open up to him, “I just want you to talk to me…tell me what’s wrong! Please, little brother…”

Angry blue eyes locked onto the pleading brown ones and Joe shook his head.  “No, Frank. You’re not ready for this conversation – and neither am I—”

“Try me, Joe,” Frank cut him off quietly, “I just want to help.”

“All right!  All right, you wanna know what’s wrong?” he gave in. “What’s bugging me?”  He was too tired, upset and hurting to keep pretending anymore.  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong.  I can’t trust you, Frank – there, now I’ve said it.  Does it make you feel any better?  I know it sure as hell does me!  I love these little brother-to-brother chats.  We ought to try them more often.”  His voice was bitter with sarcasm and he turned away to walk further into the trees when Frank’s voice stopped him.

“What?”  How anyone could have put so much anguish and confusion into one word, Joe had no idea. But Frank did…and Joe stopped.  He couldn’t turn around and look at his brother, though – even as he tried to explain, his own voice soft and equally anguished.

“I can’t stop thinking that whatever I tell you, you’re gonna run off and blab it to everyone in hearing!  I trusted you, Frank – I trusted you to keep MY feelings to yourself, not to run off and tell someone that you KNEW I didn’t like OR trust!”

“But you forgave me?”  Again that anguished, confused voice, and Joe actually winced this time. He turned around and faced Frank:

“Yes, I did forgive you – but forgiving is NOT trusting.”

Frank shook his head.  “I’m sorry Joe, I don’t understand—”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Joe said. “You’re too busy thinking about how you feel to give any real thought – or interest – to how I’m feeling. You keep asking me how I’m feeling but you never give me a chance to answer!  You don’t want explanations, Frank; you just don’t want to feel guilty!  Now leave me alone, please.  I have a splitting headache and I really do NOT want to talk to you right now.”  With that, he walked away.

* * *