Sam Radley came back into the waiting room and sat down beside Laura.

“Any word?” he asked, glancing at the pale-faced woman.

“Not yet,” she said, sighing and leaning back in her seat. She smiled weakly at the sandy-haired man.  “Thanks for calling Fenton for me. I didn’t want to leave just in case—” Her voice broke off in another sigh. This had already been an incredibly long day and the day wasn’t even over yet!

“It’s okay,” Sam consoled as he put an arm around her slight frame and gave her a brief hug, “he’ll be fine. Joe’s a tough kid.”

She smiled, grateful for his words and support.  “You really are a good friend, Sam.”

The man shifted under the compliment and shrugged.  “Well, you, Fenton and the boys are the closest thing I’ve got to family – no need to thank me.”  He paused and then added, “Fenton said Gwynne was your brother’s girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah,” Laura snorted, “You might say that. The only problem is she thinks she’s still his girlfriend!”

The detective looked at her questioningly and she elaborated, “She’s never gotten past his death.”  Her eyes widened and she admitted, “I– I think she’s obsessed with him.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Sam commented, and then listened intently as Laura finally told him everything that had happened from the time Joe had arrived in New York City the prior evening. His jaw actually dropped when she told him about the kiss!

Sitting back and letting out a deep, slow breath, Sam ran a hand across his face as he thought about what she said. Finally he looked back at her.  “You need to tell Fenton about this.  From what you’ve told me, she does sound obsessed with your brother, and now– even more disturbing– transferred that affection to Joe.”  He knew of the youth’s remarkable likeness to Laura’s deceased brother.  “I’m not saying that she’s going to cause any problems, but I think Fenton needs to be aware.”

“I know,” Laura agreed, relieved that Sam was taking this as seriously as she was.  “I just hate giving him something else to worry about…” her voice trailed off and the sleuth grasped her cold hand and squeezed it gently.

“Laura, Fenton loves you and the boys – he’s going to worry either way.”

Before she could respond a tall, dark-skinned man, with a friendly smile stepped into the waiting room.

“Anyone here for Joseph Hardy?” he asked, his voice deep and melodious.

“I’m his mother, Laura Hardy,” Laura quickly introduced herself as she got up from the chair and hurried towards the doctor.  Sam followed closely.

“I’m Dr. Maple-Barrs,” the man introduced himself and briefly shook hands with both Laura and Sam, “and I’ve been treating your son since he was brought in. The good news is that he will be just fine.”  Laura visibly relaxed and Sam let out a relieved sigh. Although they had both been sure Joe would be okay, it was nothing like actually hearing the words.

The doctor gave them a quick smile, acknowledging their relief, before he continued, “However he does have a concussion, and some bruising on his torso and lower extremities. While the bruises are painful, they’re not serious and he should heal fairly quickly without any unforeseen complications.”  He paused and then looked from Sam to Laura.  “It’s my understanding that he was thrown from a horse—” Laura nodded and the man continued, “then, given that he wasn’t wearing a riding helmet at the time, Joseph is a very lucky kid. Might I just caution that in the future, he wears one to prevent something like this happening again?  Next time he might not be so lucky…not that I ever consider a concussion ‘lucky’.”

Laura stiffened slightly at the rebuke but then nodded, knowing he was right. They should have been wearing helmets – all of them!

“Good,” the doctor said, satisfied.  “Joseph is conscious right now, if you want to see him, but I would like to keep him overnight for observation; just a standard precaution with a moderate concussion.”

“Of course! Whatever you think is best, “Laura said quickly, “and thank you for everything.”

“No problem,” Dr. Maple-Barrs replied and then directed them towards the elevators.  “He’s just been moved into room 406; a private room as per your insurance. However, please keep the visit brief as, with any concussion patient, the best thing for him is to rest. Even when he is discharged tomorrow – barring complications – he will still need to take it easy for the next week, at least. No strenuous exercise or sports activities, for sure. And then gradually he can ease back into his regular routine. You’ll be given a pamphlet of what to look out for with a head injury, and if he shows any symptoms, please bring him back immediately.”

“Thank you doctor!” Laura said and then she and Sam hurried into the elevator, anxious to see Joe.

* * *

Fenton sat at his desk, lost in thought.  After the phone call, Frank had left the office to go for a walk, and the detective had just been thinking, for a while now. His glance fell on the file folder lying on the desk but he didn’t have the heart to open it right now.

Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. ‘Damn this case and the demons still dogging it!’ Although he knew that what had happened to Joe had nothing to do with this, he couldn’t help but feel it was still somehow connected, on some level; like he was being reminded of what it almost cost him the last time.

And now Ramon was dead….

Fenton felt a weary sadness about that death; about the loss of any life - so brutal and wasted. Worse because he was sure it was his being there that had cost the informant so dearly.  He frowned as he thought of the man’s last comments about how unhealthy it was to be talking to the detective.

‘Oh Ramon’, he sighed heavily, ‘I had no idea just how right you were…’  His musings were cut short when he heard a sound – sad and haunting – drifting in from the living room.

The piano. Someone was playing the piano– Frank.

Slowly, the man pushed himself up from his desk and walked towards the living room, stopping and standing in the doorway, watching his son.

Frank was sitting with his back to him, playing the old upright piano that they had inherited from Laura’s father after the senior Scott passed away when Frank was five. The child had insisted on learning to play it, and both Fenton and Laura thought it was a great idea, so they had enrolled both boys in piano lessons.  Frank was the only one who stuck to it. Joe never had the patience, but Frank had more than patience for it, he had a passion and a surprising aptitude.

Fenton closed his eyes and leaned against the door frame listening to the haunting notes of Bach’s Andante – one of Frank’s favorites. His heart ached at the sad longing in the piece and for one moment he wished that he could play as well; to work his heart out in the same notes as his son did….

Intensity thrilled through his body.

* * *

The dark-haired teen played, oblivious to his father’s attention as he closed his own eyes and felt the music course through his whole body.  Although he did love to play, he hadn’t in a long time and his fingers missed it, as they deftly – almost poetically – moved across the keys, caressing the beautiful piece from the very heart of the piano.

He knew it was more than wood and polish – there was untapped passion in every key.  And it was here that he poured out his heart…and emotion, in every key stroke.

And then he just stopped.

“Why’d you stop?”  The sound of his father’s voice behind him startled Frank, and he whirled around on the bench and then shrugged – he really had no answer.

“It was beautiful.  I’ve always loved to hear you play,” Fenton commented, coming over to stand by the boy. He reached down and ran his own fingers across the ivories but never pressed one.  “And I’ve missed hearing you play.”

Frank moved over on the piano bench seat in a wordless invitation; his father sat down next to him.

“No word from Mom or Sam yet?” he asked, his voice quiet – even for him.

“Not yet,” the detective said and then added, “I didn’t hear you come back.”

“I never left,” Frank admitted, looking down at his hands and then up at his father.  “I– I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Fenton echoed, taken aback by this apology.

“For how I acted,” the teen admitted, “I was– well…it was just a bit of a shock to me to hear about the– to hear what happened…”

“Oh,” his father said.

“I had no idea at all about this…and I guess I got– well, kinda scared, and I just reacted—” Frank added with a sigh.  He placed his fingers on the keys again but not to make any sound.

“Like you do whenever you see your brother in trouble,” his father finished for him; a knowing look on his face.

“Misplaced by eight years– but I’m not angry at you or Mom…not really.” Frank glanced at his father.  Fenton met his gaze.

“At Joe?” his father questioned; his voice soft and curious.

The teen shrugged.  “Maybe…a little. I don’t know. This is just so complicated. I just feel like– that I should have been able to do something, you know?  To help him.”

“You did, Frank. You were there for your brother, like you’ve always been.”  Fenton’s gaze was affection-filled as he looked into the beseeching dark brown eyes watching him. “Son, you aren’t responsible for Joe….You’re his brother– and a damn fine one at that – but he’s not your child....”  Fenton placed his hand over one of Frank’s and for a few moments neither said anything and then with a gentle fluidness, the teen caressed the keys again.

* * *

As the music filled the room, the house and Fenton’s heart, the detective smiled and kept his hand over Frank’s; moving as his moved, and for a few priceless moments, they were the music – father and son; an opus of understanding.

* * *

“Wanna tell me about Blair now?” Joe asked; his voice was still weak-sounding but he was more cognizant than before.  After a brief visit, Sam had left to call Bayport, and his mother was sitting down beside his bed.  His head was throbbing and he kept his eyes closed, but he wasn’t ready to go back to sleep yet.

The teen was still confused as to what had happened at the house – his last vivid memory being of their arrival – and he had been very surprised when he woke up, this time, to see Sam come in the room behind his mother; having no memory of the detective being there.

“Oh, Blair—” Laura started, and then tried to put if off.  “Honey, why don’t you try and get some more rest first?  We can go into this later, when you’re feeling better. Your doctor did tell us to keep it brief—”

“It’s okay, Mom,” he assured her, “I would kinda appreciate the distraction.”  And that was the truth.  His head was pounding but he found listening to the gentle, soft sound of his mother’s voice to be very soothing – comforting the small child inside him.

Joe felt her take his hand, and smiled briefly but still didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to, to know the soft, loving expression that was on her face right now as she was looking at him.

“Well, there really isn’t that much to tell, actually,” his mother confessed. “Blair was just a guy I used to date before I met your father.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Joe surmised and then added, “Jealous ex-boyfriend?”

“We only went out a couple of times– I’d hardly qualify that as a boyfriend!” Laura refuted, and then her tone softened and she sighed, “although I guess he thought about things the same way as you, because he was more than a little upset when he found out about your father.”

“What happened?” Joe pressed, daring to opens his eyes just enough to look at his mother briefly before closing them again.  Man, his head hurt!

“He got drunk and showed up at my house in the middle of night,” his mother said.  “Your grandfather chased him off… actually, technically, Jim chased him off.”

“Jim?” Joe didn’t recognize the name. 

“Yeah. Jimbo, to be precise.  After what happened at the house-” Laura paused briefly, “well… with Paul, my father bought a watchdog; a big black German Shepard– Jimbo– or ‘Jim’ for short.”

“Did he ever come back?  Blair, I mean,” Joe asked, beginning to get a much better understanding of the dynamics between his mother and the Smarts.

“No– strangely enough he never did.  I never saw him again until this morning,” the woman admitted as she squeezed his hand gently.  “Now get some rest.  I’m going to have Sam drop me back at your aunt’s for a shower and change of clothes and then I’ll be back, okay?”

“Mom, before you go, can you tell me one more thing?” Joe asked, forcing his eyes open again.

“Sure sweetie, what is it?”  His mother leaned over and brushed the hair off his aching forehead.

Joe had to know.  “Why did you come here?”  He felt her hand stiffen briefly before she continued to stroke his blond hair.

“Oh honey, I came here because Gwynne wrote an article in her magazine that said something about Paul that wasn’t true– so I felt I had to call her on it. In hindsight, it really wasn’t that important—”

“What did she say?” Joe asked as he closed his eyes again. He’d be asleep soon.

“She implied that Paul made a mockery of the sport because he believed in Grace– his horse,” she explained, “and that couldn’t be any further from the truth!  Paul loved show jumping, but he loved that old horse more.  He had faith in Grace, not unfounded either as she could jump anything!  But the problem was she was an inconsistent jumper and refused almost as many fences as she jumped!”

“But he still believed in her enough to jump with her,” Joe surmised quietly.

“Yeah, and actually the last derby he rode in, she threw him. It really is a wonder that he didn’t get his neck broken.”  Laura’s voice had a faraway sound in it.  And then he felt her hand caress his cheek,  “You really do look like him…”

He winced at the sadness he heard.

His mother saw and immediately asked, “Sweetie are you okay? Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“I’m okay,” he said and then looked at her; his blue eyes regretful. “But I am so sorry, Mom,” he apologized.

“Sorry for what?” she asked. Her hand, warm on his cheek, made him glance away, and swallow hard.

“For causing you so much pain.”

“Joe, honey– what are you talking about?”  He heard the confusion in her voice.

“Because– because I look so much like him. It’s got to be hard,” he looked back at her, penitent and sad, “for you to look at me and see him. I– I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to lose Frank and then see him every day in my own son.”

Laura felt her throat constrict as she closed her eyes and shook her head, fighting back the emotion of hearing her son apologize for something he had never done!

“Oh Joey,” she whispered and was unable to get anything else past the lump in her throat.  She looked at him and felt him tremble beneath her touch.  “Oh, no, sweetie—”

“I just wish I looked like Frank– or anyone else.  But not someone whose appearance causes you so much pain—” Her fingers on his lips silenced whatever else he was going to say as she smiled warmly at him.

“If you looked like anyone else, than you wouldn’t be my Joe. Just as if your brother looked any different, than he wouldn’t be my Frank. I– I will admit there are times that it is hard, but not because of you, Joey, never because of you!  It’s because of my own memories….”  She mentally kicked herself for thinking that Joe had never picked up on her feelings before.

Grasping his hand tightly she implored, her pale blue eyes searching his pale face, “This is so much harder right now because Paul was your age when he died…and it does kind of refresh everything.”  She forced herself to speak candidly about this for her son; whether she had intended to or not, she made him feel this way – so he deserved to hear her say it.  “But pretty soon it will be gone– this likeness– as you continue in the opportunity he never had.”  She smiled through her blurring vision, feeling the emotional toll from this topic diversion.  “And I feel so blessed that if I had to lose my brother– that I can still– still see him everyday…in you.”  She stroked his cheek.  “But I love you, Joe…for you.  Not for anyone else.  Not even for Paul; only for you.”

Her voice choked off in a sob and Joe reached up and grasped the hand that was stroking her cheek.

“I love you too Mom,” he murmured, his hand still overtop of hers. He continued holding her hand, until finally exhausted, and with his head pounding worse than before, he fell back asleep.

As she watched her son sleeping, Laura sighed and wished Fenton was here….

* * *

“That was Sam,” Fenton said, hanging up the phone and going into the kitchen where Frank was in the middle of making a ham and cheese sandwich.  “Joe is going to be just fine.”

The teen let out a relieved sigh, and his father went on to tell him what his partner had told him about the younger boy’s condition.

“Well, it has been said,” Frank quipped, relief reminding him of his sense of humor, “no one has a harder head than my little brother!”

Fenton squeezed his shoulder briefly as he picked up a slice of ham, rolled it up and popped it into his mouth. He swallowed it before adding, “Sam has offered to drive them home tomorrow after Joe’s discharged. He’s going to stay local to help me out with this case.”

“Hey,” Frank said, feigning indignity, “I thought you wanted me to help you!”

“Well, son, “Fenton’s face went grim, “in light of Ramon’s murder, I’d prefer you stayed around home keeping an eye on things here.”

“You expecting trouble?” Frank asked, picking up on something in his father’s voice.

“Let’s just say, I’m not leaving anything to chance with my family’s safety,” the detective said as someone rang the front doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” Frank offered, already halfway out of the kitchen. He wondered who it was.  His and Joe’s friends normally came in the kitchen door.

Swinging the door open, Frank froze in shock!

* * *

“Who is it, son?” Fenton asked, walking into the living room. He stopped dead in his tracks! A man was standing in the room with a gun pointed directly at Frank’s chest!

Before Fenton could do anything, the man squeezed the trigger and fired!!

‘l jkn v rkjngK  – I had to leave this in. Nicole, at the age of three, is a budding author. She felt that the chapter was missing something – so she added it… I think she speaks Austinese [eg]  LOL!!