Chapter Thirty-Four: Past and Present

“Um…”

Mom turned in her chair and smiled wanly at me. “Hi.”

Hi. Not ‘hi, honey’, not ‘hello, dear’, just ‘hi’.

I hesitated, not sure how to handle my request, and finally just blurted it out. “You, ah- said that when I was ready to talk to you…” I let the sentence trail off, taking a calming breath and wishing my stomach would settle down. Then I wished Joe was with me; I had a feeling I would be a lot less tense if he was there. But I’d asked him to give us some space, fearing another explosion of tempers if he got involved in this discussion, and he’d reluctantly agreed and gone into the basement to mess around down there. Dad was off at his downtown office, checking in with his associates, so Mom and I had the place to ourselves.

“Oh!” Mom brightened and set down the whatever-it-was that she was sewing. “Yes, of course, Frank. Come sit down.”

I nervously did so, perching on the edge of one of the old cane-bottomed chairs and trying to control the fluttering in my stomach. Before I could think how to start, Mom began earnestly explaining her point of view. “Your mother was one of my dearest friends," she started. "We met in college and became very close, and I was delighted when she became my sister-in-law. It seemed to make us even closer, being family to each other. Your fa- Stan, was a delightful young man and I grew fond of him, too- he was quieter than Fenton, but had such a sense of humor. We often went out as a foursome, the way you and Joe do with Iola and Callie." She paused, smiling faintly. "I was a little jealous when Phoebe told us she was pregnant, and teased her a bit about practicing before the wedding. She took it in good humor, of course, and teased me back for not-"

"Can we not go there, please?" I interrupted, feeling my face burn.

"Ah- oh, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you." Mom shook her head, her cheeks flushing. "Well, you were born, and I stayed with Phoebe and Stan after they brought you home. She'd had a more difficult time than expected and it took her a few weeks to recover her energy. We lived in the same apartment complex, so it was simple enough to help them out, and Fenton often came with me. As much to see his nephew as his twin." She stopped again and heaved a giant sigh. "You- I guess you heard how they went out and Fenton and I stayed home that night, since I wasn't feeling very well. I thought it was stomach flu... We started to get worried when midnight passed and there was no sign of them. Fenton was pacing, I'd never seen him so disturbed. Around one a.m. he began calling hospitals, convinced that there'd been an accident. Nothing. Then he tried the theater and when there was no answer, he slammed down the phone and said he'd drive over. And he did. The police had to drive him home, he was too stunned to drive himself, and when they brought him in, I truly thought Fenton had lost his mind. He wouldn't respond to me, so I did the only thing I could think of and brought you out of the crib and made him hold you." She looked at me, her eyes shining with tears. "And it worked, Frank. It brought him back from that terrible emptiness. He held you as often as he could over the next few days, and all through the funeral. He never once looked at the coffins, just focused completely on you."

I stared at the floor, thinking of that and feeling more sympathy for my father than I ever had before. But I also felt supremely self-conscious; I wasn't comfortable with the thought of Dad being so...fragile, and more, I didn't like the implications much. But I wasn't sure how to voice them; they seemed so petty and mean-spirited. A baby isn't much of an individual anyway; he's pieces of his parents, until he grows up enough to develop a personality. "Because I was me?" I asked at length, breaking the silence. "Or because I was his twin's son?"

"At first, because you were all he had left of his twin," Mom agreed quietly. "But after he closed the case, he began to talk about whether or not we should keep you, whether it would be fair to me- and you. We knew by then that I was pregnant, and he pointed out that most women didn't have another baby when they already had a four-month old, and that it would be difficult to have two baby sons to tend to while he was out at work. He said since I would be the one doing the majority of the child-raising, it was for me to decide." She paused again, picking up things from her desk and then putting them down again randomly. "From the way he spoke, I knew he was seeing you as his child, so-"

“So you did do it because you knew he wanted to?” I asked, feeling miserable.

“No- I never would have suggested raising you if I wasn’t willing, Frank!” She leaned forward as if to touch me and I recoiled a little.

“Well, that’s what you make it sound like. Some obligation you had to fulfill, because of your friend and your husband.” I sounded surly, even to myself.

“For your sake first, honey. And for my sake, too. For a long time, I thought you were the only child I’d ever have. I thought I was barren.” Mom paused for a moment, and I looked at her in surprise. “We tried for so long, and I never- that's why I was a little jealous of Phoebe. I was grateful to have you, and I loved you for yourself, as the son I wanted so much to have.”

I felt a chill go through me. The son she wanted. “And then you had Joe.”

“I had Joe, and it was a miracle, but it was a miracle with complications. It was a terrible pregnancy and I was so afraid I’d miscarry. I nearly did. I almost lost him even before he was born. He was nearly six weeks early as it was, and so small…but he was a little fighter, from day one. But I’ve never gotten over that fear of losing him, Frank. And he’s so reckless! He has no caution at all, he leaps into things without ever thinking about getting hurt. So I- I hold onto him a little harder. You’ve always been level-headed and sensible and I never worried that you’d do something dangerous and get yourself hurt or killed; I feel more comfortable in giving you space and freedom than I do him. Felt,” she amended with a sigh. “To come so close to losing you- it tore me apart to see you so hurt, and it made me realize that being careful and sensible is no proof against being injured- or killed. I wake up from dreams that one of these wretched cases of yours will be the death of one of you…”

She had a good point, but I wasn’t nearly as interested in safety considerations as I was in the other thing she’d said. “So I was right- you were ready to settle for me until you had Joe. I was acceptable until you had a kid of your own and then I got to be secondary, because he was really yours. And you almost lost him, so you gave everything to him- all your worry and affection and attention and favor- and you left me nothing but scraps!”

Mom stared at me, an appalled look wiping out the anxiety in her face. “You never seem to want it, Frank! You always hold back, stay away, keep your distance! When have you ever come to talk to me or been affectionate-”

“Like Joe? When did you ever encourage me to?” I challenged bitterly. “You laugh and joke with him, you listen to him, pay attention no matter what he says- but let me try to get your attention and I might’s well be talking to a wall. You take any and every excuse to leave and do something else! Going to bed more important to you than talking to me! And so is taking out the garbage!” I clenched my sweating hands on the edges of the chair and felt myself shaking with anger and fear. I hadn’t wanted to fight, but there I was doing it, too upset to control myself and talk civilly. I hadn’t known what a depth of anger was inside me.

“Honey, you never seem to want to talk to me. I always feel like you’re just waiting for me to go away. I’ve wished so many times that I knew what to say to you, how to encourage you to talk to me, tell me what’s on your mind. But whenever I ask, you always say, ‘nothing’. I gave up asking, hoping that sooner or later you’d feel ready to tell me.” My mother paused and touched my hand gently. “Frank, when you told me you didn’t want to talk to me, I was positive that you never would come to me and say ‘I want to talk.’ I had no doubt that you’d be content to leave things exactly as they were, that you’d rather walk through fire than confide in me- even about how you felt about me!”

“Do you blame me, after what you’ve said and how you’ve acted? Would you have wanted to talk to me, if I’d said such cruel and hateful things, if I’d practically disowned you?” I looked down, willing myself to yank my hand away, but it didn’t happen.

“No. No, you’re right, I wouldn’t want to confide in someone who hurt me and treated me callously,” she replied sadly. “And I’m not blaming you for your recent attitude, Frank, not at all. I blame myself for it. Not solely for saying such cruel things, but for the situation that made them seem like confirmation of what you’d suspected.”

“What?”

“When you heard what I was saying to Joe, you took it as the- the reason why I never seemed to love you.”

I nodded, finally pulling my hand away.

“And that’s my fault- for not making clear to you, years ago, that I do love you. Perhaps not in the exact way that I love your brother, but I truly do. Because of me, you got stuck in a mindset that says, ‘if she loved me, she’d treat me like she treats Joe; she doesn’t, so she doesn’t love me.’ And it’s simply not true. Every mother in the world would tell you the same thing: you love your kids equally, but you express it to them differently, because they’re different people.”

There was a long, long silence as I struggled with that idea. Maybe she had a point; maybe getting a duplicate of the affection she gave Joe wouldn’t have satisfied me, either. Probably it would have felt insincere…“But I’m not your kid, you said so-” I protested at last, but weakly.

Mom sighed, nodding and averting her gaze. “If I could take that back…I was speaking in a purely technical manner, honey, but it was still a denial of all I feel, and a horribly cruel thing to do. You are my son, my eldest son, and I love you very much.” She paused, then added quietly, “Your father has taken me to task in the past for showing favoritism to your brother. But once I reminded him that he has praised you for certain qualities and Joe for other qualities and asked if that wasn’t a form of favoritism, he dropped the issue. I do feel badly when I overlook your achievements or make you feel left out, but again, you never seemed very interested in sharing them with me. It’s always your father you go to.” She sighed again. “Fenton’s been more fortunate than I have; he seems to have your trust and affection.”

“You wanted it?” I asked, more amazed than disbelieving.

“Terribly, Frank. But I never seem to be able to win it.”

“I wanted yours- not trust so much, just…affection,” I admitted, my throat tightening painfully. “And I tried and tried…and nothing worked!” I would have given examples, if I wasn’t so close to tears. Mom abruptly leaned over, wrapped both arms around me and rocked me back and forth. I didn’t try to get loose; I needed a hug too much to fight this one off.

“I never would have guessed it, honey. You seemed perfectly content without it. You seem to get all you need from Joe, and from your father. I feel so- unnecessary in your life.”

Damned if that’s not exactly how I feel in your life- totally unnecessary.

“S-so do I-” I put my own arms around her, holding on tightly, feeling as though some fairy had granted a long-unanswered wish. It was a minute or so before I noticed that I was crying, and tried to keep it relatively quiet. It didn’t work, of course; tears have a momentum of their own, and before I knew it, I was sobbing into her blouse, feeling her hands smooth my back and hearing her voice murmur endearments in my ear.

Even when I stopped crying, she didn’t let go- and I didn’t want her to. Not anymore. Up until then, the only person I’d ever let hold me during a crying jag was Joe, and I wondered if Mom knew how significant a breakthrough this was. Possibly she did.

“Frank, you are absolutely vital to me, to my life. I would suffer, or even die if it meant saving your life- just as I would for your brother,” she said suddenly, taking me completely off guard. I nearly started crying again, but I wasn’t sad. Stunned and overwhelmed and strangely happy- and very tired, I noticed after a moment.

“I never suspected...”

“I never told you.” She sounded tired, too. “I guess there’s a lot we need to tell each other, a lot we need to change. We can’t do it all in one day, baby, but at least we’ve begun.”

I nodded; she was right. But I wished somehow we could do it all in a day and make all our future days perfect. “Wish we could,” I murmured.

“I’ll do my best, Frank, if you’ll meet me halfway. Tell me things that bother you. Don’t stand halfway across the room like you don’t want a hug; talk a little more about your feelings, be receptive.”

“I’ll try, I really will,” I whispered. “But it’s hard, Mom. It’s hard to talk about how I feel, or show it. Even to Joe.”

“As long as you’re willing to try. We can start small.” She hesitated, gently pressing me back and lifting my chin; I blushed, embarrassed about meeting her gaze after I’d cried so much. But I made myself do it, and immediately saw that she’d cried, too; her face was all pink and her eyes red, and she looked worn out and a little worried. “The most important thing to me now is, do you believe that I do honestly love you?” she asked slowly.

I nodded again. I didn’t trust my voice.

“No less than I love your brother?”

“I-” I gulped, looked down, and mumbled, “I’d really like to say yes, but…I-I’m not quite sure on that part yet.” My insides quivered. Please don’t let her get mad. Not now. “Right now, as…as long as you do love me, that’ll do. For now.”

Her hands pressed gently against my hot cheeks. “Thank you for being honest,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “We- we’ll work on that first, right?”

“Right.” I dragged my arm across my eyes. “Mom- the drive by? Honest, it had nothing to do with a case. Nothing at all. It was- it was just one of those crazy, violent things that happens when you’re not expecting it. I wouldn’t lie to you about it, really. It mighta been someone who recognized me and decided to get revenge, but I don’t think so. ”

Where did that come from?

“Just life.” My mother sighed. “I believe you, Frank. But from now on, I don’t want you ‘editing’ what you tell me, all right? It makes it very hard for me to trust you.” She held up her hand as I would have spoken: “You were right when you said I wasn’t one to talk about being less than honest, though. Your father and I should have told you about Phoebe and Stanton- kindly, not the way I told your brother- as soon as you were old enough to comprehend. Not doing so was dishonest, no matter how we felt about you. Your father doesn’t agree with me, but-”

“I know. I just hope he doesn’t love me only ‘cause I’m his twin’s son.” I sniffed and she hugged me again, shaking her head. Before she could delve into that any further, I went back to her previous subject. “Mom, I- I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk Joe out of taking on investigations. And I don’t want to stop, either. But I promise, I’ll take care of him. I don’t want him to get hurt any more than you do. And we will be honest, from now on, about what happened and what sort of danger we got into. Will that help?”

“I’ll be content with that, for now. If something changes in the future, we can talk about it then.” Mom kissed my cheek, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, goodness, look at the time! I better put this away, I’ve got a more important project...” She opened the sewing cabinet and started putting her material and pins away.

“You mean like dinner?” I asked, smiling weakly as I registered five p.m. Mom smiled too, standing up as she closed the drawers.

“Exactly. Come help me pull something together, I need the inspiration if it's going to be edible tonight. Not that your brother would notice,” she added ruefully. “You could put a tin can in front of that boy and he’d do his best to get it down.”

“Especially if it had gravy on it,” I agreed.

“Truly. I’m glad you’re a bit more, um, refined in that respect.”

“Sophisticated, that’s me.”

“Well,” Mom began, giggling suddenly.

“What?”

“Oh, I just had a flashback of you licking out your ice-cream bowl when you were little.”

“Hey, among eight-year-olds, that’s the height of sophistication,” I explained, following her across the living room and into the kitchen. “Licking the bowl without getting any on your nose or chin.”

“I see!” Mom laughed. “Submit that to Gourmet Magazine, Frank, see if you can start a new trend-”

“But only at the very best restaurants!”

“Of course!”

“And they can stop using stars to rate with and use bowls instead!”

By now Mom had opened the refrigerator, but she was giggling so hard she nearly dropped the packet of chicken breasts. “Oh, dear, what a sight that would be,” she said at last, wiping her eyes. “Ah…All right, so, what can we make with chicken that we haven’t had twice already this week? Something simple.”

“Cordon Bleu,” I said promptly.

“Yes! And we'll use up the ham, too. My genius…pull out the Mozzarella, honey, and start on that. And we’ll drag Joe down to set the table.”

“Up, actually,” I corrected, and went to the basement door to call my brother. And paused, smiling. My brother, my father- and my mother. It would take some more getting used to, and in Mom’s case some more work…but I had my family back again and I was very happy about it.

I guess I don’t really need to tell the gang anything. No point confusing them when not much is really changing.

Decision made, I reached over and flicked off the basement lights. It’s a surefire way of getting Joe’s attention, and almost at once, his yell of protest floated up the steps.

“Get up here, brat, and help us with dinner!” I called back, grinning.

Yeah…things were getting back to normal in a hurry.

***

 

END of 'Finding Me'.  TBC in 'Ultimatum'.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.