Frank Hardy poked his head out the door of his room and called back, "What, Mom?"

"Down here, both of you, right away!"

"That doesn’t sound good," Joe said apprehensively from his seat on Frank’s bed. The dark-haired boy had been reading to his brother from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. They were at the Mirror of Erised, which Frank had just told Joe was ‘desire’ backwards.

"Nope. I think she’s mad." Frank raised his voice and called, "Okay, coming!" and flipped the dustjacket edge between the pages to keep his place. Joe stood up and moved towards the door, his right hand out before him. Frank waited as his brother reached him, took the hand, and led Joe down the hall to the stairs. "Top," he murmured. Joe felt cautiously with his feet for the edge, then walked down the steps beside Frank.

It had been two days since Joe came home from the hospital with his vision gone- Frank still hated to think blind- and he was beginning to be able to move around the house more easily. He still walked carefully, but he didn’t seem to be as worried about falling or banging into things. Of course, Frank was always at least in the same room with him; every time he said "Stop!" or "Go left," or "Go right," Joe obeyed right away.

Joe had also started to reject the constant assistance Mom wanted to give him, insisting that he wanted to learn how to do it by himself. That made her unhappy, but she didn’t complain, and Frank didn’t tell his little brother how sad and upset Mom looked sometimes. He thought he understood why she did look that way; Joe did let Mom help him pick what clothes to wear, and a few other things like that, but mainly he depended on Frank. As Aunt G had said, he did need help with things, but he asked Frank for most of it. Mom was glad that Joe was learning to do things himself, but she was probably wishing that she was the one who was teaching him.

Frank was learning, too. He had learned how to tell Joe what food was on his plate and where it was; to explain why he was giving a particular direction; to describe things so that Joe could make mental pictures of them and especially to keep things always in the same place so Joe could remember where they were. Another thing he’d done- yesterday- was to suggest that Joe count his steps between one place and another, and as a result, Joe had spent much of the day counting. Frank knew it would take a few days before his brother memorized how many steps from the stairs to the table, or from one end of the hall to the other, but he was glad he’d had the idea. This way, Joe wouldn’t need to wonder how close he was to something.

Joe was still anxious about going outside- he said all the noise got confusing- but he had ventured out in Frank’s company this morning to walk down to the school playground and use the equipment. The teeter-totter had made him dizzy, and the merry-go-round nearly got him sick, but he’d enjoyed the swings and the jungle gym. Their friends had not been around, but Bobby, one of the Crabbs Corner bullies, had come over and jeered at them for a while before noticing something was different about Joe. He had rudely asked what was the matter; Joe had coolly replied that Stupid Sean had thrown a firecracker in his eyes and now all he could see was blackness. To both boys’ surprise, Bobby hadn’t tried to pick on Joe or take advantage of his blindness, just left in a hurry. Since they didn’t know whether he’d be back or not- maybe with reinforcements- and since Joe was still uneasy about being outside, the two had returned home for lunch.

Now it was late afternoon, Mom had just called them, and she did sound mad.

"What’s up?" Frank repeated as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He put out a hand and stopped Joe with a touch.

"I think you two better find something to do outside." Laura Hardy’s face was red with anger and her voice was strained. She’d been looking very tired and stressed since Joe came home. She and Auntie G had talked a lot lately, but they always got quiet when the boys were around, so Frank didn’t know what that was all about. Either something to do with Joe, or with Dad, he couldn’t tell which.

"Okay," Frank answered slowly, puzzled. "Are we in trouble?"

"No, dear, you’re not." Mom’s voice got a little softer when she said that, but then she frowned again. "Your father just called, he’ll be home in a bit and there’s going to be some words exchanged."

Joe’s hand tightened around Frank’s arm and he murmured, "You’re going to tell him what happened?"

"That, and a bunch of other things that have been making me very angry for a while," Mom agreed firmly. "So you two should probably clear out for a while."

"I guess we don’t really want to listen," Joe agreed. "Let’s go back to the playground, Frank. I want to swing some more."

"Okay. Oh, I don’t have my shoes on. Hang on and I’ll get ‘em."

"You never have your shoes on when we want to go somewhere," Joe complained as Frank turned and started back up the stairs.

"Well, if I’d known we were going somewhere, I would’ve," Frank retorted, and ruffled Joe’s hair as he went past. Joe grinned and sat down on the steps to wait.

A few minutes later, the Hardy boys were walking side by side towards the elementary school playground. Frank noticed again that his brother was walking more confidently; if it wasn’t his former quick walk, he was at least no longer taking small, cautious steps. He still held quite firmly to Frank’s arm, though- probably as much for comfort as guidance. Frank had been comforting Joe a lot- mostly when neither their mother nor aunt was around to see that he was scared or frustrated. It wasn’t as hard to be patient with Joe’s fear as it used to be, either; all Frank had to do was look around at the colors, the shapes- the lights!- and imagine not seeing them anymore. He didn’t really feel pity for Joe, but he did feel very protective and sympathetic.

"I wonder how long we should stay away," Joe muttered as the sidewalk turned to blacktop.

"I dunno. Bad enough Mom being mad, but Auntie G might be, too. They’ve been talking a lot lately, you know."

"Yeah...I heard Auntie say something about ‘intolerable behavior from a grown man’, I guess she meant Dad. She wasn’t talking about Mr. Everard."

Frank agreed. Herman Everard, learning of Joe’s blindness, had not only allowed the police to question Sean, but urged them to keep him in jail until his trial. They hadn’t, because he was too young, so Mr. Everard had sent Sean to live in a strict juvenile home instead. He’d also come to apologize to Joe for what Sean did, had his insurance cover the cost of the hospital and surgery, and offered to pay for people to test Joe’s eyes and see if perhaps an expert could get him some of his sight back. Mom had thanked him and told him she’d talk it over with Dad, when he got home.

"What time is it, anyway?" Joe asked.

"Almost four. And supper’s usually at six, so let’s just wait till then to go home," Frank suggested. Joe nodded.

"Shoulda brought the book," he remarked after a minute.

"I guess I should’ve. Didn’t think of it. What do you want to do first, swings or monkey bars?"

"Oh...swings." Joe didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic, and Frank didn’t blame him. Knowing their parents were probably fighting right this minute made him feel not much like playing, either.

***

Joe sat down in the swing that his brother had led him to and listened to the sand scuff as Frank took the one beside him. Neither of them started to swing- Joe could tell, because there was no wind and the swing didn’t creak. "Wish we didn’t have to go home- it’s not gonna be a nice supper," he said, feeling gloomy. Ever since he’d gotten home from the hospital, he’d dreaded his father’s return. And now there would have been a fight, too. "But at least I don’t have to be there when Mom tells him I can’t see anymore."

There was a quiet intake of breath beside him. "You’re worrying about what Dad’ll say, aren’t you?" Frank asked. His voice was soft, and a little puzzled.

Joe nodded, ducking his head. Frank almost always understood him, and that was good, but sometimes it made him feel a little shy.

"How come? He won’t be mad, you know- it’s not like it’s your fault."

"He might not be mad, but..." Joe chewed on his lip, trying to explain his fear. "I can’t be a detective anymore, he won’t like that-"

"But he won’t blame you."

"Yeah, but he might not like me as much. I mean...he won’t train me, right? No reason, now. And he won’t want to do as much with me, ‘cause I can’t see stuff like- like the circus."

"Joe," his brother said slowly, sounding troubled, "just ‘cause you can’t see didn’t mean I stopped liking you as much. It doesn’t mean Dad will, either."

The younger boy frowned, idly taking in the smells and sounds around him. It was very confusing to be outside, to hear all kinds of noises and not know what they were or how close they were. But the smells were not so difficult. Right now, he could smell the grass and trees in the playground; that and the metal-rubber smell of the swings. The air was warm, and it had a different smell than night-time air. He scuffed his feet through the sand under the swing, feeling it shift, feeling the heat right through his sneakers. His fingers traced over the links in the chain that held the swing up.

He wished he could see...

"I don’t know," he said at last. "It’s- it’s just a feeling. I know he won’t try to baby me, like Mom does, but I...I don’t think he’ll be very interested in me anymore. I sorta think he’ll feel sorry for me, and maybe feel weird being around me, and...avoid me. And he’ll want to keep training you, big brother."

"Well, he won’t get me to leave you all by yourself," Frank said firmly, and his hand was warm on Joe’s arm. "We’re partners. And if you can’t be a detective, I don’t wanna be either, so he won’t need to train me."

Joe relaxed a little; one worry was relieved, but the other remained intense. It had been so easy to imagine his father and brother going into Fenton’s study, closing the door, leaving Joe by himself. Too easy to think of Frank and Dad doing things together, seeing Joe as a nuisance and a burden. Oh, they’d be nice to him when they weren’t busy with important things, but he wouldn’t be one of those important things.

But his primary concern was his father’s response, not Frank’s. Over the last couple days, Joe had come to trust his brother completely. Frank helped him when he needed help, and didn’t try to help when Joe didn’t need it. He read books aloud and described things and gave directions or guided Joe. He was steadying, comforting hands, and hugs, and a calm, friendly, patient voice- and frequently, a warm buffer between Joe and the terrible fear that rose up whenever the blackness seemed too deep to bear.

Dad wouldn’t be any of those. Joe wasn’t sure where his conviction came from, because Dad had always been easy to talk to and comforting and kind. He just knew that, now that he couldn’t see, something was going to change. And it was going to be a bad change.

After a while, the blond boy felt the air moving beside him and knew his brother was swinging. Digging his heels into the soft sand, he set his own swing to moving, enjoying the peculiar feeling of being free yet safe as the device went higher in the air. He wished he could see how high up he was!

Joe had no idea how long they swung; time was another thing that had changed for him. He could tell roughly from the feel of his stomach what time of day it was, and the temperature of the air helped too, but mostly he had to ask someone what time it was. It was funny, but sometimes he thought it was very late when it wasn’t. But other times, he thought it was early and was surprised how much time had gone by.

After a while, Joe had enough swinging and slowed to a stop. A few minutes later he heard Frank scuffing his feet on the ground to slow himself down, and smelled the dust in the air. "Let’s go on the monkey bars, we didn’t get to be on ‘em long before," the older boy suggested.

"Yeah, ‘cause of Bobby." Joe stood up and reached out his left hand; he felt Frank take it and let himself be led over the grass. The swingset behind him faded into the blackness, now that he was no longer touching the swing or feeling the bare, sandy ground. He was starting to be able to hold things in his mind, to make mental maps of the things around him, so that the blackness didn’t take them away. But it wasn’t easy and he hadn’t practiced on the playground yet.

Joe felt the grass turn to dirt and gravel under his shoes, heard the crunch-crunch as he walked, then felt Frank press back on his hand in the way that meant ‘stop’. He stopped and reached out to feel for the metal bars. He located one without much trouble; it was slightly warm under his fingers from the heat of the day. Letting go of Frank’s hand, he got his foot on a bottom bar and carefully climbed up to the top. Some of the bars had little rough spots here and there, but that just made them easier to hold on to. When he reached the top, he sat on the bars and envisioned the whole structure; sort of like a big box, a rectangle, made of metal. Except that part of each end was open for the kids to climb up and swing across. Joe didn’t trust himself to do that yet; he was pretty sure he’d miss a bar and fall. And he’d land on the rocky dirt, not grass, which wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

Joe sighed a little; only a few weeks ago he’d managed to go across on every other bar, instead of each one. He wondered if he’d ever do that again. There was a lot of stuff he wondered if he’d ever do again, actually...but it was better not to think about that. At least he could do some stuff; he wasn’t stuck in the hospital in a coma. And he could hear. If he’d lost both his sight and his hearing...!

"What’s wrong?"

Frank always knew when something was wrong. Joe turned towards his brother, who was sitting behind him, and replied, "I was thinking I’m glad I didn’t lose my hearing. Wouldn’t that be terrible, not to see or hear? Or I coulda been in a coma, and then if I didn’t wake up..."

"You’re thinking a lot of gloomy thoughts lately." Frank sounded worried. Joe hooked his legs through the bars, but didn’t go upside-down.

"I guess they are, but they’re thoughts. They’re not...things. I mean, they didn’t happen. And they’re not going to. I think ‘em, and then I think ‘it’s not as bad as it could’ve been’. I coulda been in a lot worse shape than this. And I don’t know how much anyone could’ve helped me, then. Even you would’ve had trouble, if I was blind and deaf."

"They probably would’ve had to send you somewhere else," Frank agreed in a small voice. "To experts, who know how to help people like that."

"And it would have been a lot scarier, not knowing who was with me or where I was going..." Joe gave himself a little shake. "I think that’s why it’s scarier at night," he added slowly, feeling himself blush. Warm wind brushed across his face; the setting sun was hot on his back and shoulders. "Because it’s so quiet- there’s hardly any noises, and everything seems bigger and- and sorta, farther away, than it is in the day. And it’s...more lonely, too. That’s why I keep...coming in, it’s not really nightmares, it’s just..." Joe shrugged, and felt Frank’s arm wrap around his shoulders.

"That’s why you want to be next to the wall- so it doesn’t seem so far away," he stated. Joe nodded, though he didn’t need to. "I don’t mind you coming in- I kinda like it, actually." Now Frank sounded a little embarrassed. "I have a hard time sleeping, when I...well, it’s hard to explain. "I just worry some, when you’re all by yourself in your room. I know you can’t get into much trouble, just laying in bed, but I worry you’ll have dreams. I don’t want you to be scared."

"You take good care of me," Joe murmured, laying his cheek on Frank’s arm. "And you don’t take too much care of me. It’s perfect." Then he sighed again. "Are we really partners, if you take care of me but I can’t help you with anything?"

"You need to get used to not seeing," his brother reminded him. "You really can’t look out for anyone until you’re adjusted. But after that...besides, you stood up for me today when Bobby was here."

"I guess," Joe agreed, cheering up a bit. Not that getting the better of Bobby was particularly difficult; Bobby wasn’t too smart. But it was still good to feel like a partner.

***

"Guess we better get home."

The words came unexpectedly out of the darkness and Joe wobbled a little on the ‘balance bar’. This was a long, narrow piece of wood, anchored to the ground at both ends, that the kids liked to walk on. The idea was to get across as fast as possible without falling off. It was only a couple inches off the ground, so you tended to feel very silly if you did fall off. Joe had decided to see if it would help his balance any; he still got dizzy sometimes and stumbled when he was walking. Mom thought that maybe his ears had been a little bit hurt when the firecracker went off. All Joe knew was that it was annoying; it wasn’t happening as much as it had been but he didn’t want it at all.

"Go home? Already?" he asked in surprise, carefully placing his left foot ahead of his right on the solid wood.

"It’s a little after six." His brother was beside him now. "And you know how Auntie gets when we’re late for supper."

"I wonder if they’re done fighting," Joe speculated gloomily, stepping down off the bar and reaching out. Frank’s hand clasped his reassuringly.

"Boy, I hope so," the older boy muttered as he guided Joe onto the grass. A few minutes later, the grass became blacktop. "It’s a good sunset tonight. The clouds are all goldy-pink, and the way the sun’s going down, there’s these gold, like, beams of sunshine- like a really huge spotlight, but going up, not down."

"Cool!" Joe tried to picture that, grateful for the image. Frank had been giving him similar images, trying to let him know what there was to be seen around them. "It’s getting cooler-"

"Here."

"Huh?" Joe flinched a little as something crawled over the back of his hand. "Frank, what-?"

"Lightning bug," Frank explained. "I guess he’s out early, it’s not dark yet."

"Oh." Joe smiled as the insect crawled out to the end of his finger, buzzed its wings, and took off. He squeezed his brother’s hand and got a squeeze in return.

A few minutes’ quiet walk later, Frank told him they were at the steps of the porch. Bracing himself, Joe went up the stairs and followed his brother into the cool house. He sniffed quietly at the air and tried to figure out what was for supper. Chicken, he decided. So there would probably be potatoes with it, and maybe peas. He sighed; peas would be a nuisance, rolling away from the fork. Maybe Mom would let him use a spoon. He wondered where everyone was; he couldn’t hear any voices, and he didn’t have the feeling that anyone was looking at him.

"Let’s go wash up," Frank suggested. He sounded uneasy- probably wondering the same thing Joe was.

Joe nodded, but paused as he reached the stairs. Now he felt eyes on him. Frowning, he turned partly around, then changed his mind and followed Frank up the stairs. It wasn’t till they reached the bathroom that he asked, "Who was down there?"

Frank had just turned on the water and was rubbing his hands with soap; now that sound stopped, and the only sound was the water. "How...?"

"I felt someone looking at me. It was him, wasn’t it? And you didn’t tell me." Joe sat down on the side of the tub.

"I’m sorry, Joey." Frank certainly sounded sorry. "He...he shook his head and put his finger on his lips, to make me be quiet."

Joe turned that over in his mind for a few minutes. The sound of handwashing started up again.

"I’m done," Frank’s voice said softly, and Joe stood up to scrub his own hands free of metal-smell and dirt. When he was done, a towel was pressed into his grip.

"I can find a towel by myself, I guess," he said a little crossly.

"There aren’t any more," his brother explained.

"Oh." Joe sighed. "I told you he wouldn’t like me as much. He didn’t even want me to know he was there."

Frank’s arms went around him. "I- I wish you weren’t right, little brother. And I’m sorry, I won’t do that again. It’s not fair-"

"Don’t worry about it," Joe told him decisively. "If he wants me to not notice him, I won’t. It’s not your fault- I should’ve known you’d tell me if you could."

"But-"

"He’s the one being not-fair. Unfair," the ten-year-old corrected himself. "Not you, Frank." He moved to the wall, found the towel rack, and hung the towel he’d used on it. "Wonder where Mom and Auntie are?"

"Dunno." Frank was puzzled. "Maybe in the kitchen, but-" The sound of footsteps coming down the hall- quick ones, and not very quiet. Joe frowned a little; if that was Mom, she was probably still mad. And it wasn’t likely to be Aunt Gertrude. He heard Mom’s voice call down the stairs, and he was pretty sure he heard Dad say something in reply. Then the bathroom door squeaked open.

"There you two are," their mother said in a rather impatient voice. "Why didn’t you come tell me you were home?"

"We didn’t know where you were." Frank’s voice drifted back as he walked out of the bathroom. Joe followed.

"You could’ve asked your father."

"He didn’t want to talk," Frank replied, an edge in his voice. And then Joe ran into his brother’s back. "Sorry, Joe, I shoulda told you I stopped."

"At least you’re not a wall," the ten-year-old joked, rubbing his nose where he’d bumped it on the taller boy’s spine. "Why’d you stop?"

"He stopped because I stopped. What do you mean, he didn’t want to talk, Frank?"

"When we came in, he put his finger on his lips and shook his head."

There was a tense silence. After a minute or two, Joe couldn’t stand it anymore. "He didn’t want me to know he was there. He didn’t want to talk to me. I think he doesn’t like me anymore," he blurted out. "He didn’t even want to say hello."

Mom’s foot slammed down hard on the floor, making Joe start in surprise. Then she was going down the steps, her heels pounding hard on the wood. "Whoa," Frank said softly. "Better stay up here for a while. I don’t think dinner’s ready anyway, the table wasn’t set."

Joe gulped and nodded in agreement. "Let’s go somewhere we can shut the door," he suggested as Laura’s furious voice drifted up the steps.

"Let’s go in my room and I’ll read some more."

"Okay."

***

"Supper!"

Frank Hardy paused in the middle of a sentence, sighed, closed the massive book and shook his head. "Always at the exciting parts," he complained, getting up from the bed where he and his brother were sitting.

"Oh, well," Joe said philosophically, sliding down and picking up the shoes and socks he’d discarded half an hour ago. "I was hungry anyway. At least they quit yelling."

"Yeah." Frank reflected on that as he led the way down to the dining room. Their parents never did yell much, though Mom was more likely to do so than Dad was. And Aunt G was even more likely- not so much to yell as to be sharp and cross. Sometimes Frank felt a little sympathy for Dad; getting yelled at was no fun. But tonight was different. Dad deserved to be yelled at. He’d worried Mom by being away so long, he’d made her mad by not calling, and- the worst part- he’d ignored Joe when they came home. Frank reached his seat in a sour frame of mind and barely looked up as their father greeted them. ‘Just as if he hadn’t seen us when we came in. He’s faking!’

"It’s a chicken leg, macaroni and cheese, and broccoli with sesame seeds," Frank quietly told his brother after Mom filled their plates. He guided Joe’s fork to each of the foods as he spoke, so that Joe would know where to find them.

"Thanks," Joe said, equally quietly, and then he didn’t say another word through the whole meal. Frank was proud of his brother; Joe remembered not to grab his milk, and cleaned his plate almost as well as if he could see. Of course, chicken was easy to eat. So was macaroni and cheese, since it all stuck together.

Joe wasn’t the only one who didn’t talk during dinner; Frank didn’t, either. And despite the fact that they’d both felt hungry earlier, neither of them asked for seconds. Frank had the feeling Joe’s stomach was feeling the same way that his was; too mad and tense to want much to eat. The grown-ups talked, but not nearly as much as usual, and only about unimportant things. Like how part of the gutter was leaking, or how nice the rose garden in the back yard was looking. ‘You can tell they were all just faking polite,’ the youngster thought. Aunt Gertrude, sitting across from them, looked as grim as Frank had ever seen her. Mom, at the end closest to Joe, was clearly still angry. And Dad- Frank inched his chair closer to Joe’s and further way from his father’s. Dad was trying hard to look calm, but he had that pinched look around his mouth that said he was angry, too.

When Joe asked to be excused, Mom said it was all right and the younger boy got up to take his plate and glass out. Frank smothered a proud smile when Joe carried the dishes into the kitchen, then came back out and went right upstairs. Even better than seeing that, though, was seeing the surprise on Dad’s face. He wondered if Joe was trying to show Dad that he wasn’t letting anyone baby him. "I’ll be up when I’m done," the eleven-year-old said to his brother’s back.

"Okay."

"I’m reading Harry Potter to him," Frank explained when Mom looked at him.

"Maybe we could get him some audio books," Dad said quietly.

"He likes me to read to him." Frank replied stiffly, then asked, "Can I be excused, too, Mom?"

"Eat some more of your broccoli and then you may."

Frank sighed. He’d finished the chicken leg and most of the macaroni, but he hadn’t made much progress on the broccoli, which he disliked. Silence fell again as he cut the vegetables up, then took a mouthful and chewed. When he’d finished two of the three stalks of broccoli, he looked hopefully at his mother, who nodded. Two minutes later, Frank hurried into his bedroom and flopped down beside Joe, who was holding the book. "She made me eat more broccoli," he explained as Joe handed him the tome.

"It tastes better with the sesame seeds," Joe remarked, "but that’s not saying much."

"No way." Frank made a gagging sound. "Almost as bad as spinach."

"Did they say anything after I left?"

"I told Mom I was reading to you and Dad said maybe you’d like some audio books."

"I’d rather you read to me."

"I told him that and he didn’t say anything else. Nobody did, actually."

"Oh." Joe was quiet for a moment, and Frank knew why his brother had asked the question. He’d wanted to know if it was his presence that made everyone not want to talk to each other. "I guess they’re still pretty mad. I thought they wouldn’t be, by now." Joe sighed.

Frank wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d been pretty positive that Mom and Dad would not make up so quickly. "Let’s just stop thinking about it," he suggested at last. "Maybe by tomorrow Mom won’t be so mad." He frowned. "I’m still kinda mad myself, actually."

"Well..." Joe grimaced a little, then sat up straighter. Both of them were sitting on the floor, their backs against the bed. "I guess it wouldn’t be fair to be mad and think that Mom shouldn’t be mad."

Frank had to think about that one for a moment. "So you mean if you can be mad, Mom can too."

"Yeah- I said that!" Joe’s elbow nudged Frank’s ribs gently.

"You said it kinda backwards, though." Frank smiled and turned his attention back to the book. "Now...oh yeah, the exciting part."

***

Fenton Hardy slowly went up the stairs, pausing as he reached the top. The normally self-possessed detective was in a state of emotional turmoil and before he spoke to his sons, he needed to sort himself out a bit.

First he had learned that Joe had been blinded while he was away. Then he’d faced his wife’s and sister’s fury over his long absence and his failure to so much as ask after his family while he was away. He had been so upset over the injury dealt to his younger son that he’d made a real mess of his apology on the other issue. He’d known Laura would be very displeased with him, but had hoped that once he explained the need for extreme secrecy, she would soften.

It hadn’t worked that way. Laura had been bearing too much of an emotional burden from Joe’s sudden loss of sight to be forgiving. And Gertrude had an almost equally strong opinion on the matter as well. Fenton had finally managed a respectable apology to them both, and had given up trying to explain anything until they specifically asked for one. That had averted any accusations of ‘making excuses’, and finally everything had settled down for a bit.

Then the boys had come home. A bare two minutes later, a very shaken detective had been confronted by a wife whose level of fury actually surpassed her previous anger. He’d had to raise his voice to her- something he had never done before in the thirteen years of their marriage- before she would consent to listen to his defense. She had relented somewhat, but was still bearing a grudge- he knew he’d be lucky not to sleep on the living-room sofa tonight.

But right now, he needed to clear up this crazy situation with his sons. Moving down the hallway, he paused outside the door. Frank was reading, altering his voice for each character, and Fenton heard Joe giggle as his older brother tried to sound British. He hated to interrupt them, but he’d hate even more for them to go to bed thinking...what they’d told Laura. He lifted his hand and knocked gently on the door; Frank’s voice stopped and he said, "Come in."

Fenton stepped into the tidy room and closed the door behind him. He looked at his boys and felt ill-at-ease, almost as though he were being judged and found lacking. Probably he was, if the hostility on Frank’s face was any indication. "I think we need to have a talk, straighten some things out," he began. "Your mother told me some stuff before supper that made me pretty unhappy. Not mad," he added quickly, "just unhappy."

"Well, you made us pretty unhappy yourself," Frank told him, putting the book to the side. His brows lowered over his dark eyes as he put a protective arm around Joe. Both of them were sitting on the carpet, their backs against the bedframe.

"That’s one of the things your mother told me, and I admit, I’m very confused about that." He focused on Joe’s beautifully blue but painfully sightless eyes and apprehensive face. "I wish I had been here for you, Joe," he said quietly. "You’ve gone through something terrible, and I should have been here to help as much as I could. I’m not going to make an excuse for that; I had my job, but my family is more important than any job. And that’s a hundred times truer if one of my boys is hurt."

Joe’s tautly anxious expression relaxed just a little. "You didn’t even ask," he muttered.

"No, I didn’t, and it was wrong of me. Things were chaotic, but I should have made the time to ask."

The blond boy nodded. Fenton glanced at Frank and saw that the older boy’s expression hadn’t altered. "Well, it would’ve been nice for Mom, anyway. But Joe didn’t need an awful lot of help." There was a note of possessiveness in Frank’s voice. "I help him when he asks me to, and when he doesn’t, I let him do stuff by himself. Mom’s always trying to help too much-"

"She babies me," Joe said quietly. "I don’t wanna be babied. It’s just...worse, if everybody does everything for you."

"You feel helpless that way," his father ventured. "And- rather like you’re a nuisance."

"Yes."

"Of course, you know you are not a nuisance- right?"

Joe frowned. "I..."

"You’re not," Frank told him firmly, giving the younger child a little shake.

"Frank’s absolutely right. Son, there are things that blind people can do as well as anyone else, and there are things that, with practice and a little help, they can learn to do just as well. But unfortunately, there are always going to be things that blind people need lots of help with- or can’t do at all. Sometimes there are ways around them- like learning to read Braille books or getting audio books. But there are a lot less of those than there are books for sighted people." Fenton leaned closer and laid his hand on Joe’s shoulder. "Being blind doesn’t make you a nuisance, Joe. It’s the responsibility of people who can see to help people who can’t. Because anyone who can’t see is at a big disadvantage in our country- in most countries, actually. Most things are made for, and by, people who can see. And that’s really not fair to the blind people. They have different needs- not worse or more annoying ones, just different ones."

Joe had cocked his head to the side and was obviously listening very carefully. Frank was watching Fenton intently, and when the sleuth finished his speech, he nodded slowly. ‘Good,’ Fenton thought, feeling some of his tension ease. ‘I’m making some progress, at least.’ He removed his hand from Joe’s shoulder, rather pleased that the boy hadn’t moved away. It was one of his quirks, not allowing anyone he was angry at to touch him.

"Auntie said something like that, too," Joe murmured.

"Yeah, so if Dad says it and Auntie says it and I say it, why don’t you try to believe it?" Frank suggested. Joe smiled a little, but the smile faded as he turned his face back towards his father. He didn’t say anything, but he looked puzzled and wary.

"I guess you’re thinking about the other things you told your mother," Fenton said cautiously. Joe nodded. "Well, that was where I started getting confused. I don’t understand what I did that made you think I would care any less about you, or not want to be around you."

"You didn’t-"

"Frank. Let Joe talk for himself," the father said patiently. Frank looked startled, then angry, and then- to Fenton’s surprise- he blushed.

"Sorry..."

"It’s okay," Joe assured him and, with the habits of ten years, turned his face towards his brother. Frank ruffled the blond hair and Joe smiled again. Then he turned back to Fenton, who surpressed a twinge of envy. The boys had obviously gotten very close in the past week, what with Frank protecting and helping Joe, and Joe depending on and trusting Frank. "When we came in, you- you were there, but you didn’t say anything. And-" He turned to Frank again.

"You made that ‘keep quiet’ sign. You didn’t want me to tell him you were there."

Fenton Hardy blinked, surprised and then chagrined. "It wasn’t that I didn’t want you to know I was there, Joe. It..." He sighed and moved to sit down in front of his boys, crossing his legs and putting a hand on Joe’s shoulder again. "When your mother told me you’d lost your sight, I was very upset," he confessed. "And after she left the room, I- I wished so much that I had been here, and I felt so terrible that you couldn’t see, I...started to cry." The detective’s face turned uncomfortably red, but he went on determinedly. "When you came in- I thought you’d seen, Frank, and I didn’t really want you to tell your brother. I was afraid it would upset him. Both of you."

Joe’s mouth was a perfect circle of astonishment. Frank’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Half amused, half chagrined, Fenton put both his arms around his youngest and was very relieved when Joe leaned forward and hugged him hard- almost hard enough to crack his ribs. A moment later, Frank was hugging him too, though not with quite as much vigor. For a long moment, Mr. Hardy simply enjoyed the closeness, running a light hand over Joe’s hair and gently patting Frank’s back. It would be all right now... and then he looked into Joe’s eyes and sighed internally. No. Better, but not all right.

"I guess I shouldn’t’ve tried to hide it from you."

"I went and jumped to a conclusion," Joe sighed, sitting up. "But I was worried, Dad. I- I can’t be a...a detective anymore and...and I thought..."

"You thought I’d be spending all my time training Frank and leaving you in the background?"

Fenton could have sworn his boys exchanged a glance of amazement. "I told you," Joe remarked.

"Dad, you don’t read people’s minds, do you?" Frank asked doubtfully.

"My word, no," the detective replied, amused. "If I did, I wouldn’t have been confused about why you two were angry."

"Told you!" Frank retorted to his brother.

"What, did you have a bet going about this?" Fenton teased gently.

"No, just a, um...debate?"

"I see. Well, no, I don’t read minds. But it did seem like a reasonable conclusion. As for the training- Joe, you may not be able to do some kinds of detective work, it’s true. But that’s when it’s good to have a partner. One of you can do the seeing and observing, and the other can take the evidence and start coming up with motives and theories. Besides which, it’s just as often what you hear that is important, as what you see. It will be more difficult, in some ways, and sometimes it will be frustrating, but it is still something you can do- if you want to."

For a moment, Fenton wondered if he was doing the right thing in encouraging his son. But he didn’t want Joe to start accepting limitations without even trying to work around them. If Joe had the determination to be an investigator despite his blindness, he’d be an excellent one- especially with Frank as a partner. And if he didn’t, there was still no harm trying and discovering that it was too much. Time enough to admit defeat when- if- he was actually defeated, not beforehand.

"I want to," Joe said simply, a smile lighting up his face. "At least, I want to try."

"Then we’ll try," his father said cheerfully. "Now...is anyone besides me ready for a piece of chocolate cake?"

***

It was nearly eight p.m. on the third day of August when Joe wandered into Frank’s room wearing a deeply unhappy look. The younger boy had become prone to fits of gloominess and pessimism over the three weeks of his blindness, but Frank had not seem him with such a completely miserable expression before.

"What’s the matter?" he asked, sitting up from the bed where he was reading. He wondered if Joe had decided that the detective training was too difficult for him. Dad had been very patient, and Joe was doing his best, but it was during those times that Joe missed his sight the most. The ten-year-old was pretty hard on himself; he seemed to expect to be perfect the first time, with no help and no hints. Maybe it was because Dad was involved. Joe wasn’t nearly so perfectionist when it came to doing things without Dad.

"I heard Mom and Dad talking," Joe mumbled, sitting down on the bed. "They didn’t know I could hear them."

That wasn’t a big surprise. Joe’s hearing had sharpened to a remarkable degree, and his senses of smell and touch had grown similarly acute. "Talking about you?" Frank deduced.

"Yeah. About school. They’re not going to send me to school, when it starts- I mean, not to our school. To a different one, for...for blind kids."

"Oh, no!" Frank sucked in a breath and quickly scooted over to sit next to his unhappy brother. "That’s not fair!"

"Dad- Mom didn’t like it either, but Dad was saying how hard it would be for me to learn in a regular school, where everyone else can see," Joe murmured. He sounded almost ready to cry and Frank moved even closer, putting his arm around Joe. Part of his mind understood what Dad meant, but he still fought the necessity.

"If we were just in the same grade, I could be in your class and help you," he sighed.

Joe nodded. "I didn’t hear where they were gonna send me. Frank, what if I have to take a bus? I don’t wanna go somewhere I don’t know, all by myself!"

Of course, Joe wouldn’t be by himself, not really, the eleven-year-old mused. But he would be with strangers and it would take time for him to get used to them. And being on a bus, being taken to a strange place... "Maybe Mom or Auntie G will drive you," he offered.

"M-maybe. But what if they don’t? And then what about coming home? Walking home from the bus stop! I’d be scared to get lost!"

"Sometimes busses come right to people’s houses," Frank consoled him. "People who can’t walk very far. Anyway, Mom wouldn’t make you walk from some bus stop all the way home by yourself. She’d meet you."

"I...I’d rather you meet me..." Joe sniffed and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Me too. But I might not be able to," Frank answered unhappily. "I mean, if I get out of school before you get home, I could, but we don’t know that part yet."

The younger boy sighed and nodded. "W-we won’t be together much, I guess," he whispered, his voice going thin with distress.

That was probably true, too, Frank thought. They’d probably only get to be together for a little while before supper and a little while after. And they’d have homework to do, too. And what if the kids picked on Joe? Frank wouldn’t be there to help. And he knew Joe wouldn’t trust the teachers- Joe didn’t even trust Mom and Dad as much as he did Frank.

Worse than any of this, though, was the fact that there didn’t seem to be anything either of them could do to prevent it. If they told Mom and Dad that Joe didn’t want to go to a different school, that Frank didn’t want to be away from him, they’d still say he had to. Even if Joe got bad grades- and he probably would, because he wouldn’t be happy and wouldn’t concentrate- even then, all they’d do would be to tell him to try harder.

Feeling miserable, Frank put his arms around his little brother. Joe buried himself in the hug and cried softly for a while, and even after he stopped crying, he didn’t let go of Frank. He was very quiet through the rest of the evening, seldom more than a footstep from Frank’s side, and said practically nothing at dinner. Mom and Dad, thinking it was another blue mood, were gentle to him and tried to cheer him up a little. Usually that worked, at least for a while, but tonight it didn’t and they both gradually stopped trying, with looks of resignation.

That night, Frank was wakened as his brother crept in to sleep with him, something Joe hadn’t done for about a week. And this time the ten-year-old said out loud- though in a whisper- what both of them had thought many times since the beginning of July. "I wish I could see!"

"So do I!" Frank whispered back, tears collecting in his own eyes. That was the only thing that would help, the only way that he wouldn’t have to go to a strange school without Frank.

As the next week passed, Joe’s depression became more and more obvious to Mom and Dad and Aunt Gertrude. By Friday it was so pronounced that they started talking about sending him to a counselor. They still thought it was the blindness itself that was causing it; Joe hadn’t told them it was the thought of the strange school, and Frank kept the secret, too. It was just like he’d thought on Monday- there was nothing anyone could do about it, and Joe didn’t really want their parents to know that he’d overheard them.

Dad got so worried that he took Frank aside on Saturday and asked if their friends were making things difficult for Joe, or perhaps had just drifted away. Frank replied truthfully that no, they hadn’t. "Actually, everyone’s been treating him about the same. They were all pretty awkward at first, but now it’s back to normal. They don’t tease or play jokes or anything- Biff tried to, once, but everyone got so mad at him that he apologized without anyone telling him to. Of course Joe can’t play some of the games anymore, but we don’t play those as much. Like baseball. We do other stuff, things he can do with us."

"That’s very good to hear," Dad said seriously. "I’m glad you two have such good friends. They look out for him, I imagine?"

"I do that," Frank replied quickly. "I mean, they do help- like when we were at the docks, Joe stumbled on a loose board on one of the piers and Tony caught him so he didn’t fall in. But mostly I do it, he likes it better for me to help him. I guess since I have a lot more practice."

"That makes sense," Dad agreed. "I was wondering if that might be the reason for this low mood of his, having his friends suddenly not be interested in him. It’s baffling," he added, more to himself than to Frank. "He was making such an amazing adjustment. He obviously wasn’t happy without his sight, but he learned so quickly- learned his way around the house, learned to do chores all over again- he doesn’t need anyone to lead him anymore when he’s inside, and he’s gotten much more comfortable with being outside. He can even tell who’s in the room with him, just from listening. I certainly wouldn’t’ve adjusted that quickly. And he still expects so much from himself..." Dad paused.

Frank kept quiet.

"Maybe it’s finally sinking in," Dad said after a moment, quietly, still mostly to himself. "Maybe he was hoping his sight would come back. Or maybe, now that he’s learned and adjusted, he has more time to think about what he’s missing." Dad sighed. "How do you think he’d react to talking with a counselor? Your mother and I thought it might get a lot off his mind."

"I don’t think he’d say much," Frank replied, thinking about it. "He wouldn’t trust ‘em."

Dad nodded slowly, but he was frowning. "Of course, the counselor would have to earn Joe’s trust," he started.

"It would take a long time."

"Why?"

Frank frowned. He wasn’t sure how to articulate his thought, and he wasn’t sure he should anyway- even to Dad. "’Cause even if he trusts them some, or even a lot, it probably wouldn’t be enough to tell them how he feels. He doesn’t even tell me how he feels, very much, so..."

"Ah. If he doesn’t tell you, he’s very unlikely to tell someone he doesn’t know as well as you."

"Or as long," Frank added, quite factually, and was surprised when his father smiled wryly.

"I don’t think ‘as long’ is quite the deal, son. I’ve known him longer, after all, but he’s not talking to me, either."

That was true, Frank thought. He decided not to say anything more; he was getting uncomfortable, talking behind Joe’s back like this. He decided to relay the whole conversation to his brother at first opportunity, and felt a little better.

A few minutes later, when Dad was done, Frank did just that, settling down beside Joe on the floor of his bedroom and quietly repeating as much of the conversation as he could recall. Joe listened without changing expression, nodded, then turned to look up and over the bed. It was obvious there was something else on his mind; Frank thought it must be school, so he was surprised when his brother said, "Your window shade is open, isn’t it?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"It’s weird," Joe explained. "I think- I think it’s a little lighter there."

Frank’s heart started to race. "Lighter?" he asked, trying not to sound too tense.

"Yeah. Like dark gray instead of black." A smile flickered across the ten-year-old’s face. "I thought I was imagining it at first, but when I look in another direction, it goes away. And when I look back, it’s there again."

"Maybe the nerves are getting better," Frank whispered. And with that, a whole host of ‘maybes’ invaded his mind. Maybe Joe would get more sight back- maybe enough that he wouldn’t need to go to that special school after all. Maybe he’d be able to see the sunsets and stars and clouds for himself again. And-

"I’m scared."

"Joey?" Frank was pretty sure his brother had said something, but he’d whispered it so softly that Frank hadn’t really heard it.

"I’m scared," the younger boy repeated, clutching Frank’s hand. "I want my eyes to get better, but I’m scared if I want it, they won’t."

"Oh. Like jinxing yourself." Frank knew the feeling. He moved closer. "Well, just being able to tell light from dark would be good enough, right? And you’re working on that."

"Right..."