Joe opened his eyes and expected to see Iola’s looking back at him…he was supposed to be dead. 

But instead of heaven, he realized that he was in a hospital bed and it was Frank’s troubled face looking down at him.

“You’re not an angel,” he quipped weakly, and then became alarmed when he saw his brother force a smile.  “What’s wrong?”

Frank ignored his question.  “How are you feeling?” he asked instead.

Joe thought about that for a moment as he looked down at his arms.  One was still in a cast while the other one was now wrapped in a bandage. 

“Well,” he started slowly, “I have a broken arm and a bandaged wrist….Oh great, I could hardly get dressed before, what am I going to do now?” he moaned, trying to make light of it.

Frank looked at him sympathetically but didn’t say anything.

Joe gazed at his brother strangely for a moment, and then everything came back to him as he remembered Pharaoh…and Romulus.

“What happened?  Where’s Pharaoh?  Is he okay?  Where’s Romulus?  Frank, he’s still alive!” Joe rushed in his hurry to get answers, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Frank put up his hand to halt the questions.

“Whoa kiddo…slow down!”  The older boy gently pushed his brother back down on the bed when Joe tried to sit up.  “Romulus has been admitted to a psychiatric facility for assessment…“

He paused, not wanting to tell Joe the rest.  Frank knew how Joe felt about Pharaoh and how much this was going to devastate him.

The other boy had been like a brother to Joe, and Frank knew too well the pain of losing a brother….He had lived liked that for two months, and, although in the end he had gotten Joe back, he knew there would be no happy ending this time.

Pharaoh was dead….

And Joe had to be told.

Taking his brother’s left hand in his, Frank gently stroked the bandage covering the injured wrist and said softly, ”When we got there…Romulus and Pharaoh were fighting.  Romulus had the knife and Pharaoh was trying to overpower him.” Frank paused to swallow back the lump in his throat as he saw Joe’s face pale. Taking a deep breath he prepared to continue, “And—”

Joe shook his head, cutting his brother off.  “No Frank….please.  I need some sleep.  Can you leave?  I just need to be alone.”

The younger boy knew that Pharaoh was dead.  He had known it the moment he had looked up into Frank’s eyes, but he was not ready to hear it yet.

Frank opened his mouth to argue – he did not want to leave his brother alone – but Joe stopped him.  “Please, Frank.  I’m not ready yet to hear this….Okay?”  With his vision beginning to blur, Joe just wanted to be alone for a little while.

He didn’t want to hear Frank say Pharaoh was dead.   As long as no one said it, it wasn’t true….

Frank looked at his brother and sighed before giving a brief nod of his head.  “Sure little brother, whatever you want.”  Turning to leave, Frank stopped in the doorway, and without looking back – which was the hardest thing he had ever done, but knowing if he did, then he’d never leave – he said softly, “I’m here Joe. Please don’t forget that, little brother….I’m still here.”

And then he left.

* * *

The next day Joe was released with instructions to take it easy for a few days.

His wrist had been stitched up and placed in a sling, and he stared at it numbly for a few minutes before allowing Frank to lead him out of the hospital.

Joe felt like a zombie, going through the motions of life without living. 

His parents had flown over and everyone was now staying at the house but he didn’t want to see them…he didn’t want to see anyone. 

Joe was just too tired. 

As soon as he got back to the house, he excused himself and went up to his room.  He no longer cared about the ocean smell or the big comfortable bed; he just wanted to be alone.

After Frank left him at the door with one final “Are you going to be okay?”  Joe curled up in a ball, as much as his arms would allow him, on the bed and went to sleep. 

The only time it didn’t hurt was when he was asleep.

* * *

Growing increasingly worried about him, Frank didn’t know what to do. 

Joe didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even him.  And for the hundredth time, he found himself missing the comfort of at least knowing that when Joe didn’t want to talk to him, he could talk to Pharaoh…but neither of them had that anymore.

* * *

Pharaoh’s funeral was held on Saturday morning; Winston had taken care of all the arrangements.

As Joe stood by his family and watched the ivory casket being lowered into the ground, he thought it was ironic that he had only a few days earlier promised his mom he would be home by Saturday. 

This can’t be happening, he just kept thinking over and over. 

He knew everyone was watching and worrying about him, but right now all he wanted to do was sleep.

It seemed that everyone he loved, he lost; and as he closed his eyes Joe thought about Frank, and wondered how he had managed to go on when he believed Joe was dead….

You’re stronger than me, big brother, he thought, much, much stronger….

He wanted so desperately for Frank to comfort him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to be so selfish.  Frank had already gone through this…through losing a brother because of him…because of Joe.

And the younger boy refused to lay any more of a burden at his brother’s feet.

Tucked away in grief, Joe didn’t think about how Frank might be feeling, being shut out like this. He just thought he was doing what was best. 

* * *

Frank overheard his parents talking with Winston later that afternoon. 

Everyone was gathered around the kitchen as the last of the funeral guests were leaving.  The adults were sitting at the table while Biff, Tony, Chet and Phil, who had stayed to support Joe through the funeral, lingered a little further away from them.

Frank was standing near the window and staring out at another beautiful island day.  He saw the sunshine but didn’t feel its warmth; he saw the water but didn’t hear its call; he saw another day and never felt the joy.

Somewhere above them his brother was sleeping….

He turned to look at the adults, gathered at the table, when he heard his mother’s voice.

“I’m worried, Fenton, I think Joe needs help.”

His father nodded his head sadly.  The frustration of watching Joe shut down was evident on his handsome face as he ran his hands through his hair.

“I’m worried as well.  I just don’t know what to do for him – he isn’t saying anything to anyone!”

Winston wanted to comfort the grieving family.  He’d never met Joe before, or his family, but Pharaoh had talked about him so much, impressing on Winston how important Joe was to him, that the older man felt he needed to do something to help.

“Would you mind if I talked to him?”  he offered. 

Frank watched, as surprised as his parents at Winston’s offer…surprised and just a bit relieved.

Joe might tell Frank or his parents to leave…but he might listen to Winston - after all, he didn’t know this man well enough to kick him out of the room right away.

There was something to say about being raised right.

“I don’t know if he’ll talk to you,” Fenton warned the other man, “but you’re welcome to take a shot.  I know we’d appreciate anything you could do.”

“It can’t hurt,” Laura put in, looking at her husband and then smiling gently as she saw Frank watching them.  She knew how much this was hurting her older son…the boys were so close….

And then she amended, thinking of the changes that they’d all seen in Joe, the boys had been so close.

So it was decided, and Winston had a quick word with Mrs. Corradi before going upstairs. 

The little old cook nodded, headed towards the pantry and returned a few minutes later with a small plate of chocolate chip cookies.  Then pouring a large cold glass of milk, she put everything on a tray and gave it to Winston. 

With one final reassuring smile to the anxious family, he left the room.

“I hope it works,” remarked Frank, and his parents and friends silently agreed.

* * *

Joe was dreaming. 

It was the same dream he’d been having since the hospital, and it was the main reason why Joe just wanted to sleep – he wanted to dream….

In his dream he was always on the beach with Iola Morton. 

She looked so beautiful with her long dark hair blowing in the gentle sea breeze as she turned her doe eyes on him.

He was sitting beside her on the warm sand and could smell the cocoa butter of her suntan lotion as she smiled at him. 

They said nothing as they just sat together on the sand. 

Joe reached out to touch her hand but stopped.  He knew if he did she would disappear….Even in his dream, he knew she was dead.

After a little while they saw another person walking along the beach with the waves licking at his bare feet.

As he got closer, Joe beckoned for him to come and sit with them.  Iola smiled warmly at the stranger and then got up to greet him. 

Joe stood beside her saying, “Iola this is Pharaoh; please take care of him for me,” and as he watched, tears burned his eyes when Iola reached out and took hold of Pharaoh’s hand.

“I will, Joey, I promise,” and then they were gone, walking back across the beach in the direction from which Pharaoh had just come….And Joe was left standing on the beach, alone. 

To spend these few precious, extra minutes with them, Joe just wanted to sleep…and so he did.