It took a minute for me to recognize the four figures on the steps as Dad and three police officers, but when I did, the relief was so great I actually got lightheaded. Frank must have recognized them just as I did, for I felt him go limp and he let out a shaky sigh.

All four of them halted on seeing us, and then Dad brushed past the cops and ran down to us, calling our names. The cops followed, and for a while things were extremely confused. All four of them launched questions at us and I tried to answer, but after a couple minutes of constant interruption, I got fed up.

"Hold it!" I hissed, and everything paused. "Forget the questions, we need to get Frank where it’s warm- he’s half-frozen! We can explain a lot better when he’s not too cold to talk."

They saw some sense in this; Dad and one of the cops helped Frank stand up and climb the stairs to the kitchen. A gust of icy air made me shudder and I quickly wrapped my jacket around me as I followed the other two cops out to the driveway. Dad’s car was there, as well as two squad cars; we all squashed into Dad’s bigger car and Dad turned the engine on for heat. Dad, Frank and the policeman who’d helped him walk sat in the front; I sat in the back with the other two.

"Now," Dad said after a moment. "First of all, are you two all right?"

"We’re okay," I answered for both of us, aware of how hard it was for my brother to talk right then. I could hear his teeth chattering even over the engine noise. "There’s a room behind a sliding panel in the basement, it’s wired to a fake outlet in the wall. Some kind of root cellar or something, that was where they left him. Tied up," I added grimly. "And I think there’s another room like that on the second floor. I bet that’s where the bank robbers are right now."

Dad started to say something, but one of the officers cut him off. "Which room?" he asked sharply, leaning towards me.

"The one with the fireplace in it."

"What makes you think there’s another secret room?" the other asked more skeptically.

I explained the configuration that had alerted me, then added, "And it was directly above that area of the cellar, too. Seems like both rooms might’ve been added at the same time."

"We’ll check it out," the man in front said, and they all got out, leaving us alone with Dad. I watched them stalk into the house and reflected on the fact that I didn’t recognize any of them. I thought I knew most of the officers on the Bayport force.

"Where’s your car?" Dad asked, breaking the silence. "I saw your bike at the front, Joe, but..."

"They dumped the car in the river," I said with a sigh. "I don’t know how in the world we’re going to get it out, it’s completely sunk and the current is pretty strong here. By the time we get a wrecker, it’ll probably be washed into the ocean." [Joe notes: That burst of pessimism was completely justified- never saw the old clunker again. We got the convertible soon after that.]

"Well, as things go, a car’s not so important as the fact that you two are safe," he said quietly. Then he looked at my brother. "Warming up, son?"

I watched Frank’s head nod and suddenly mused over the unusual fact that Dad hadn’t joined the police in their search. I wondered about it, but didn’t inquire- he was probably still worried about Frank. Now, if it had been me... things might have been different, I concluded sourly. I knew I was being unjust again, but I indulged myself anyway.

Then I remembered something else, something I’d thought before. I'd wondered what Dad had seen when he came out here the first time- more specifically, I wondered why he hadn't found Frank. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I changed my mind at the last minute. Apart from not wanting to show that much interest, I also didn’t want to upset Frank by talking about it. I was sure he wouldn't be too happy to know that Dad hadn't thought it necessary to search here...again.

"Joe, is there a blanket back there?" Dad asked me. I started, then turned to look around.

"Nope." Movement caught my eye and I turned around to see- "Hey, look!"

"Ahhh, they’ve got ‘em!" Dad’s voice was full of grim pleasure. I thoroughly expected him to get out of the car and go over to the cops, and I was right- he did. But he surprised me again when he came back to the car a moment later and sat down in the driver’s seat. I watched with immense interest as the four sullen-looking men were ushered into the two squad cars and grinned as one of the officers turned and gave me a thumbs-up. "We’ll go in to the station tomorrow to make statements," I heard Dad say. "Right now, I think getting home is the better idea."

"My motorbike," I remembered suddenly, and opened the door. "I left it up at the front of the driveway. Guess I’ll see you at home-" I was stopped in mid-word when Frank whipped around and grabbed my arm. His fingers were still very cold.

"Don’t." It was all he said, and I gawked at him for a moment.

"It’s too cold and too close to dark to be driving that, Joe," Dad agreed. "You can come back and pick it up tomorrow."

I shrugged, closed the door, and leaned against the back of Frank’s seat. "Okay." Dad’s remark made sense; it was quite cold and the sun was nearly set. By the time I got home, it would be full dark and I’d be freezing, but I didn’t think that was why Frank had reacted so sharply. I’d have to ask him about that- maybe.

As Dad drove silently through the dusk, I reached up with my free hand and started rubbing a little warmth into Frank’s cold fingers. Dad’s silence made me cross. Wasn’t he even going to say I did a good job in finding Frank? Or was he so annoyed that I’d succeeded and he hadn’t that he was going to try and forget it had happened at all? If so, it wasn’t going to work; I wasn’t going to forget, and neither was my brother. ‘Maybe he’s just not giving me any credit at all, since he had to come get us,’ I thought suddenly, and that made me even madder. He’d only come to the house because I’d said I was going there; if I hadn’t, he and the cops would have been searching elsewhere for Frank.

By the time we got home, Frank was dozing- his hand still on my arm- and I was feeling drained from the release of tension. Dad shooed us into the house; I helped Frank up the stairs to the bathroom, for he wasn’t quite awake and would have walked into the walls if I hadn’t guided him. I soon had a hot bath going and at that point my brother woke up and thanked me and assured me he could soak without help. "And without falling asleep in the tub," he added as I looked a little dubious.

"Okay, but if you’re not out in forty-five minutes, I’m coming in with a life-preserver," I replied lightly, and went back downstairs to find something hot to eat.

An hour later we exchanged places, more or less. I heard the swishing in the pipes as Frank let the water out of the tub; a few minutes later he came down to get his share of the leftover salmon and rice.

"Where’s Dad?" he asked as I was putting my plate in the dishwasher and thinking I’d better not try to start it yet. I shrugged, closing the dishwasher door.

"I think he went into his study. He didn’t hang around to eat anything."

"Oh." Frank looked a little puzzled. He also looked a lot better; there was color in his face, he seemed alert, and as he rummaged in the refrigerator he muttered something about ‘the eating machine’. He always calls me that when I get to leftovers before he does. He’d put on his nightclothes and wrapped up in his bathrobe, but was barefoot.

"Put some socks on, you make my feet cold just looking at you," I suggested, then hurried upstairs. "And you better not have used all the hot water," I added, hearing him pattering along behind me.

"Only about half of it- maybe a bit more," he teased, and I felt him muss my hair. I swatted at his hand and was pleased to feel how warm his skin was. Ducking into the bathroom, I lost no time in getting my own hot bath, though I did start running out of hot water sooner than I would have preferred.

"Not all of it, just most of it," I muttered, but I wasn’t really annoyed. At least he wasn’t hypothermic anymore.

***

When I got out of the tub, I didn’t put my pajamas on. It was only a little after seven-thirty, and jeans and a sweatshirt were warmer than nightclothes and a bathrobe. I pulled out fresh clothing and pitched the dirty stuff into the hamper, noting in passing that it was nearly full. Then I went looking for my brother.

I found him in the last place that I had thought to look- and in fact I hadn’t even really ‘looked’ in Dad’s study, just paused by the partly open door when I heard his voice coming from inside. I listened a moment; he was explaining to Dad how he’d gotten caught. Intent on noises coming from one side, he had been grabbed from behind and overpowered despite his struggles. "A diversion, I guess," he said ruefully, and I winced guiltily. I should have been with him! They wouldn’t’ve been able to sneak up on him that way if I’d been there.

"I think Joe must be out of the tub," I heard Dad saying, and froze, not sure what to do. Then I heard footsteps. It was too late to scoot away, so I did the next best thing and lifted my hand as if to knock as the door swung open. "Oh," Dad said in surprise as he saw me. "Good timing. Come in, I wanted to talk to you both."

I lowered my hand and walked in, smiling a little as I saw Frank. He was on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket with his feet tucked under him. "Warm enough?" I asked, half-joking.

"Sure," he replied, smiling back. I saw him take in my clothes as I sat down. "Not ready for bed yet, I guess?"

"It’s not even eight o’clock," I pointed out, looking at my watch. Frank grinned at me as Dad sat down in the chair behind his desk. I didn’t look at him, but sat regarding the spick-and-span desk.

"That was an excellent piece of detecting you did this afternoon, Joe," Dad said, and I blinked at him in surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d given me such praise. "I was just telling Frank how I didn’t think it was necessary for you to search for him at the Meade place, since I’d already gone over and checked it out. I’m glad you decided to go there anyway."

"It was just...it was the best place to start," I answered with a small shrug. "Even- even if he wasn’t there, there would have to be something to tell what happened, some kind of clue."

"Yes, but the clue you got was a misleading one," my father observed. "What made you decide to search inside the house?"

I explained, feeling sulky and expecting a reprimand about entering a house suspected to be a criminal hideout.

"The tire tracks," Dad mused when I was done. I glanced at Frank, who smiled and nodded. So he had made his footprints deeper on purpose. "Well, the only things that were really working against you," Dad went on, and I dragged my attention back to him, "were that you didn’t have any way of contacting anyone, and that the two of you riding one motorbike would have been dangerous."

"Not as dangerous as remaining in the cellar," Frank pointed out.

"Hard to say, Frank," Dad said gravely. "You were already hypothermic; the wind chill could have been catastrophic- and Joe only had one helmet."

I looked away again, clenching my teeth. Here it was. The all-too-familiar recital of everything I’d done wrong. I hadn’t planned well enough. Just charged out to the old house to look around, not thinking what I should bring with me... But how could I have guessed the car would be sunk in the river, undriveable? And how could I have contacted anyone, when Frank had taken the cell phone? Dad had known where I was going- that wasn’t good enough? If I’d been much later, Frank could have been in very serious danger...

"Well," Dad was saying, "I wish I had been more observant when I was there, son-" He was looking at Frank. And then he focused on me. "-but at least you kept your eyes open and saw what I’d missed. And acted on it at once." He paused a moment. I didn’t respond. "Joe, I hope it’s becoming more clear to you why exactly we do need your help on cases like this one."

My thoughts were reeling from one extreme to another. I'd been praised, yet ovbiously I hadn't done as well as I ought. I should have been with Frank, but I could not have caved in and let Dad talk me back into working with him. But it had been me, not Dad, who found my brother, who deduced where the thieves were... A headache began to gather at my temples, pounding in time with my pulse. 'Cases like this one. How interesting; first he tries to convince me he needs and wants my help in his investigations, now he suggests I’ll only be needed on particular ones.'

"The only thing," I said slowly into the silence, "that could have possibly gotten me involved in this case of yours is danger to my brother. That’s the only reason I went out to that house, and I had no intention whatsoever of figuring out where the thieves were. If I’d known this would be the result-" I couldn’t make myself say it. It simply wasn’t in me to wish for criminals to escape. I shrugged and shut up.

"But you solved it," Dad insisted, frowning.

"And I wish I hadn’t!" I shouted, my temper breaking through without warning. "All I wanted to do was find Frank! Find him and get him home safely. Nothing else!"

"Aren’t you even proud of yourself for doing a good job?" My father sounded bewildered.

"What’s to be proud of? You already pointed out how I screwed this up, too! Going into a known criminal headquarters alone- unable to contact anyone- unable to get away from the house without help- couldn’t’ve used my ‘bike- and I should have known the car was in the river and planned for it!" I snarled back furiously. "I didn’t plan, did I? I just jumped up and ran in and could have ended up in just as big a mess myself, couldn’t I? You had to come get us! Obviously, I failed one more time- chalk it up to one more thing I can’t seem to learn and just leave me alone!" I stood up to walk out, barely noticing my brother’s wide eyes and shocked face.

"Joe, you saved my life!" he said hoarsely, and I froze, looking down at him. "You did the best you could with what you had!"

"Not to hear him tell it," I growled.

"Joseph! Sit down."

I inadvertently stepped back and sat down, frightened by the tone of Dad’s voice. He hadn’t yelled, but there was something in his look as he stood behind his desk that told me my arguing was at an end. I clenched my fists on my knees and stared at them, refusing to look up.

"I have been patient with you," Dad said curtly. "I have tried to talk to you. You’ve been rude and sullen and uncommunicative, and I have had enough of it. You’re not leaving this room until you answer me." He paused, moved around to the front of the desk as I sat shivering, still refusing to look up. Maybe he thought I was ashamed of myself.

"Why are you so angry? Why do you keep insisting that I think badly of you, think you’re a poor detective? You said you were sick to death of the way I treat you- what treatment? If I’m doing something that upsets you, why don’t you tell me what it is instead of refusing to talk about it? You say I’m not listening-"

"You aren’t," I muttered. "I’ve told you and told you and told you and you still don’t even know what you did. What am I supposed to do- skywrite it?"

Dad sat down on the edge of his desk and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Then it’s not a matter of me not listening," he said wearily. "It’s a matter of not understanding what you’re trying to tell me. And you haven’t even allowed me to try to explain myself to you."

"Tit for tat," I said, almost under my breath.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked sharply. "Joe, I’m warning you, I’ve had about enough of your smart remarks."

That fired my temper again. He ignored me, then thought I should be polite about it? "You don’t hear me; I see no need to hear you or listen to your reasons. You make up your own mind about what you’re going to believe, never mind what I’m saying in plain words- so I’ll make up my own mind on your motives, whether it’s right or not."

"When did I-?" Dad sounded cross now. Well, good.

"When you kept insisting Frank was responsible for me not wanting to work with you! When you kept trying to get me to work with you again and wouldn’t even accept that I was saying NO, that I’ve already said NO a dozen times! Right now, asking me again even though I told you I wasn’t going to change my mind!"

"All right. All right, son." Dad sighed again, his shoulders slumping. "You’re right. I’ve...I’ve ignored what you were saying to me. I hoped you would change your mind, despite knowing how stubborn you are."

I felt a weird mix of anger and satisfaction at his words.

"But I want to know why, if I really didn’t need your help, I would keep asking for it. Why else would I hope you’d change your mind, unless I very much wanted you to do so?"

"Asking," I spat contemptuously. "Insisting! And it’s only because you haven’t given up hope of making me into the kind of person you want me to be. Like him!" I pointed at my brother, who was watching us both with wide, half-scared eyes. "You want to change me around and make me work the same way he does. And I can’t! I’m me! I can’t be anyone but me, and I’m not going to let you change me! I don’t care anymore how inferior you think I am- you’re stuck with me as is!"

Silence fell over the room; I sat panting for breath, my head pounding, my heart racing, shaking from head to foot. Dad sat on the edge of his desk, his dark eyes fixed on me, his expression bewildered.

"What in the world?" he asked softly. "What ever have I said to make you think I-?"

"Nothing I do is ever good enough for you," I told him. I couldn’t shout anymore, my throat was too tight. "Everything I do, you yank it apart and find the faults and tell me I should know better. That you taught me better. That I need to do it differently, think differently, act differently. And that’s all that matters to you- finding what I did wrong and telling me how to correct it."

Frank started, sat up straight, and caught hold of my arm. I turned to look at him and he pulled me up against him. I was too frazzled to resist or wonder; I was desperate for affection, for anything remotely resembling sympathy. I pressed my cheek against the warm blanket that surrounded him, closed my eyes as his arm went around me. "It’s okay," I heard him murmur. "It’s okay, little brother."

"My head hurts." I tried to speak normally, but it came out in a whimper.

"I believe it," he whispered, and I felt his fingers brush gently across my splitting forehead. "You don’t get it," I heard him say to Dad.

"I’m trying," Dad said through a sigh. "I’m trying..."

"I can explain," my brother said gently into my ear. "You want me to tell him?"

I considered that for a moment. Did he really understand?

"I’ll tell him, and if I get it wrong, you correct me."

"Okay," I whispered. And felt something twist inside of me. "Maybe you’ll succeed where I keep screwing up," I added miserably. Another thing I couldn’t do right- couldn’t even explain my own reasoning.

***

"I’ll try to explain it- I understand because it’s the same thing I did."

I lay as I was, cradled against Frank’s body, feeling his arms around me and wondering if I looked as miserable as I felt. Except- I didn’t feel nearly as miserable now as I had a minute ago. There was something deeply comforting about this sudden, protective hug. How could I have forgotten how protective Frank could be?

I pulled my wandering mind back to the study and listened as my brother began to talk- and to my amazement, Frank was speaking not to Dad, but to me.

"We both did the same thing- Dad and I. We made a big mistake in how we approached things- me in tutoring you and him in training you. Joe-"

He gave me a little tug; I sat up a bit to meet his gaze.

"You have strengths, abilities, that we don’t. Like your intuition. And we have strengths that you don’t, like being orderly and logical. And we all have weaknesses, too- we’re human. We can’t possibly be perfect."

I nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"And we don’t expect you to be perfect, any more than you expect it from us."

I nodded again.

"What we try to do is- is to help you with the things you’re not so good at, and we try to get you to do the same for us. And that’s where we- Dad and I- made our mistake. We weren’t trying to- to wipe out your weaknesses, that’s not possible. We just wanted to ease you down from extremes. Not to get rid of your intuition, but to help you get less emotionally involved, to not let yourself get tunnel vision when your instincts take over. And in my case- to help you understand math without getting confused and frustrated."

I listened, feeling his fingers brush gently against my forehead, feeling drained. "So?"

"So we did it all wrong. We focused on your weak spots and left your strengths alone. We told you what you needed to get better in- but we never mentioned what you excelled at. It was all criticism, no positive reinforcement, no encouragement. And since we never had any praise for your strengths, you concluded that meant you didn’t have any."

He understood.

"Son," I heard Dad say softly, but I didn’t look at him, just nodded at my brother.

"It gets worse," Frank went on quietly, still looking intently at me. "Not only did you think we felt that way, you started to believe it yourself. You saw yourself as a complete failure, a burden, with no redeeming qualities at all. You tried to convince yourself that there were things you were good at, but-"

"They didn’t matter," I whispered. "They- weren’t what counted."

My brother bit his lip. "So you went around thinking you were bad at what you needed to be good at, and good at stuff that no one had any interest in, or use for. And you translated that to, ‘I’m useless. Unneeded.’ Yeah?"

I swallowed hard and nodded again.

"We didn’t know," Frank said very softly, his eyes searching mine. "I didn’t know until you erupted at me on the bleachers- when you said, ‘at least now I know what you really think of me’. It made me realize that I’ve always known your strengths and depended on them, and that I always- very stupidly- assumed that you knew it too. I didn’t think you needed positive feedback, because it was so obvious- to me- when you did well. Better than well. So I didn’t give you any, and you..." He gave me a half-questioning look.

"You were being nice," I murmured bitterly. "Charitable. Not pointing out all my mistakes, because you didn’t want to make me feel bad. Letting me feel like I was part of something big and important- but I was just on the fringes, so I wouldn’t screw up anything really important."

Dad groaned. "Oh, son..." he said again, his voice ragged with sorrow. "Is that what you thought? That I wasn’t proud of you, that everything I tried to help you with-"

"Help?" I gasped, glaring at him. "What kind of help was that! If I criticized half of what you did and said nothing about the other half, would you call that ‘helpful’?"

He buried his face in his hands, a gesture that unsettled me deeply. I gazed at him for a moment, frowning worriedly, then turned to Frank, who held me closer again. Mad as I was at my father, I did not want to witness... no matter how slight the possibility...

I didn’t even want to think about the possibility. As far as I knew, my Dad never cried in his life, and if I was wrong, I didn’t want to know about it.

"Dear God..." I heard my father murmur. "What have I...? Of all the people in the world, I should have known better," he said more loudly, letting his hands drop. "Joe, I was dyslexic- that was before they recognized that dyslexia was a legitimate condition, a learning disability. Every day of my life I had to face the thought that I was stupid, useless, that I would never be good at anything. I was told to try harder, I was told I was lazy, and finally I was told that I was too stupid to learn. As far as I was concerned there was nothing good about me."

I traded a shocked glance with Frank; this was something neither of us had known.

"Joe, I understand what you’ve been feeling," Dad said gently. His face was full of some emotion I didn’t quite understand. "I know what it is to be convinced that there’s nothing good about you. And I’m truly sorry I failed you, failed to tell you how very important you are to me- as my son, and as a detective. But son- I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me I was making you feel inferior."

I sat for a moment, biting my lip. It was either tell him the truth, make something up, or just not admit it. He wanted to know; he wasn’t likely to let me clam up now. And if I didn’t tell the truth, he’d probably figure it out in a hurry. Feeling backed into a wall, I blurted, "W-why didn’t you tell the teachers they were wrong, that you really could learn, just not that way?"

Dad looked taken aback. "Well- it wasn’t recognized. I didn’t know-"

"But you thought you weren’t dumb- at first."

"True..."

"But you didn’t tell them anyway," I insisted. Dad looked confused again.

"They- I thought they knew better than me..."

"They were in authority," I said softly, trembling. "They knew what they were talking about and you didn’t. And if you tried to tell them their business, they wouldn’t’ve listened." I clenched my hands in my lap and felt Frank pat them gently. I could have stopped there, but some perverse stubbornness pushed me on. "And they might even have- have punished you."

Dad’s eyes narrowed in perplexity, then went very wide and he stood up suddenly. "Joe!" he exclaimed, and I braced myself for an explosion. "Son, are you- are you saying you thought I’d punish you for coming to me with- with-"

"With something you wouldn’t want to hear?" I choked. "Something you’d think you knew more about than I did? When have I ever dared talk to you like I have this week? I figured if I was gonna be punished, I might as well make sure I deserved it!"

My father slumped back down on the desk and buried his face in his hands again, his shoulders bowed. I turned back to my brother; Frank was pale and his mouth was set tightly; he met my gaze and squeezed me, whispering, "You always were braver than me," into my ear.

Maybe Dad heard; he asked, "Frank?" in a thick voice. My brother jumped and I patted his blanket-covered shoulder encouragingly.

"I...uh..." Frank set his shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, "I get...intimidated...a lot more often than you probably think."

"By me." Dully.

"Y...es. You...when you’re angry or disappointed, I...I sorta want to get clear as fast as I can, it makes me feel-"

"About an inch high," I muttered.

"Yeah, about that."

Silence- heavy, dark silence- filled the room. I stared away from my father’s shaking shoulders, longing to leave the den, wanting nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep and wake up thinking it had all been a bad dream. I laid my head against Frank’s shoulder and felt him lean back against the sofa, as weary as I- or moreso. He’d been through more than I had, today. ‘What a way to start a weekend,’ I thought vaguely.

Something touched me suddenly on the shoulder and I gasped in shock, jerking my eyes open. I felt Frank’s startled reaction, and before I really knew what was happening, Dad was hugging both of us tightly. "I’m sorry, son," he was saying, almost pleading. "Can you give me another chance? Let me prove to you how much I care about you, how I really see you...what I honestly think of your talents?"

Tired and dazed and stressed, my head rung at what I was hearing. I couldn’t answer- what could I say? How could I say no? I had craved his approval, his praise, for so long- the thought of hearing it on a regular basis was almost irresistible. But I had the same doubt of him that I’d had of Frank: what if the change didn’t stick? What if he just forgot? What if he was only humoring me and as the days and weeks passed, it stopped being a matter of importance to feed me praise?

Could I really believe it in the first place?

"I’d be more likely to believe it if I didn’t feel like- like I- was arranging a deal or something," I said at last.

"You doubt my sincerity," Dad said bluntly, and I blushed. He patted my shoulder. "No, it’s all right. I don’t blame you, Joe. That...is another thing I need a chance to prove to you; that when I say you’ve done well, I mean it. Today, for example. You gave me a long list of what you did ‘wrong’, but I still say you did very well, better than I did. You thought more and observed a great deal more. You reasoned correctly. I did not, because my emotions were getting the better of me. You harnessed yours and made them work for you; I let mine fluster and mislead me."

"You couldn’t’ve called anyone," Frank pointed out softly. "I had the cell-phone. It’s in the river, now. You didn’t have any other way to get there, except maybe a cab or a bus. That would’ve taken longer, and left us both completely stranded. And Dad knew where you were-" He paused as I frowned. "You don’t like that."

I shook my head. "It makes me feel like I wasn’t prepared enough," I answered tiredly. "Should’ve planned well enough to get there and get home."

"Oh, but son," Dad protested; "think of all the times I’ve asked the two of you to be somewhere to collect me, or take me somewhere. The airport, the harbor, a hotel, the middle of nowhere..."

I had to smile a little at Dad’s last example. He was right, of course; we’d had to chauffeur him around a lot. Well, Frank had, since he had his license. I had just gotten my learner’s permit.

"You have high expectations of yourself, don’t you?" my father said thoughtfully. "I think yours are set quite a bit higher than mine."

That was another surprise. I’d always felt like I could never reach Dad’s expectations. Was it really my own I was straining so hard for? "I- I don’t know," I answered uncertainly. Dad regarded me for a moment or so, then looked back and forth between us very gravely.

"Boys," he said solemnly, "I don’t want to be a distant authority figure to you. I don’t want you to be afraid to come to me when you need help and understanding, or to fear that I’ll think you’re weak, or silly, or that your problem is too trivial to merit my attention. If I’ve made you feel this way...then...perhaps, if we work at it, we can alter this. I would...I would like to start by spending time together- without any investigations to distract us."

I leaned against Frank’s shoulder, feeling both overwhelmed and terribly uncertain. The thought of doing something with Dad- something unrelated to a mystery- would once have thrilled me, but now I didn’t feel thrilled. It would be awkward, I thought. Would it even work at all? Would we have anything to really talk about? How could our puny experiences ever hold his attention? Why would he be interested in our schoolwork, our frustrations with teachers or students or assignments? How could I ever mention my strange new feeling for Iola Morton? Dad was too busy, too important for stuff like that- he was-

He was our father. Why wouldn’t he be interested? He wouldn’t lie and say he wanted to know when he really didn’t care.

I looked at my brother, who was looking at me, who must have seen the doubt and confusion in my eyes. "Can we...sleep on it?" he asked wearily. Dad looked away and nodded. He released us both and stood from where he’d been crouching before us, an expression of defeat on his face.

"You two are tired out," he remarked quietly. "I shouldn’t’ve put you through such an emotional wringer when you’re weary. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow."

I slowly got to my feet, feeling exhausted and stiff, and helped Frank up. I noticed how pale he had become as we moved towards the door, and steadied him when he stumbled over the edge of the blanket.

"Joe...Frank..."

"Yes?" Frank asked softly.

The sound of footsteps and Dad’s arms went around me again. "Son, I love you more than I can say," he murmured. "You’ve made me a very proud man, and I want you to remember it. I know it hasn’t been easy for you to say what you’re feeling, and you have my respect for that."

I stood dazed as he released me, embraced Frank, and spoke softly again. I couldn’t hear what he said, only stood until someone patted my hand and then guided me down the hall. I collapsed onto a bed with those remarkable words drifting through my memory, and wondered if something good would come of all my misery after all.

***

True to his word, Dad stopped taking cases for the next few months, until the holidays had passed entirely and the New Year had been rung in. At first it was strange to have him around so much, strange to go out and do things with him that had nothing to do with investigations. Then, gradually, it became pleasant, something to look forward to and enjoy. I was actually disappointed when he took another case at the end of January and I missed him when he away for three days.

It wasn't until March that finally I consented to help him and Frank with an investigation. I was terrified of jeopardizing the easier, friendlier rapport I’d achieved with Dad. And in several ways, I was testing him, too. Testing to see if he really would value me as much if I never did work on another case. And setting up another, more complicated test. Sooner or later, I knew I would agree to work with him once more, and I both expected and dreaded that he would fall back into the old habit of criticizing my mistakes and ignoring my successes.

It gradually became a pattern of its own. Dad would sit us down and tell us the details of the case. Soon he and Frank would be exchanging theories and speculations while I sat silent, listening. Within a few minutes Dad would pause and look at me, would say, "Joe?" in a hopeful voice. I would shake my head, watch his face fall as he nodded resignedly, and quietly leave the study.

Later, Frank would come to me in my room and tell me where they would be, when, for how long, and what I should get alarmed at. I resented, at first, being involved even to this extent, as their ‘safety net’. But when I said so, my brother pointed out that the alternative was to tell me nothing, let me worry and wonder, and possibly never see them again. I stopped resenting the information right then and there, and apologized for being such a jerk about it.

What finally got me to agree to help was nothing that Dad did- for he put no pressure on me and accepted my decisions without argument. I could tell it saddened him, but he never let my refusals anger him. And when he was home, he treated me with the same affection that he did Frank, sharing more in our lives than he had since we were in Elementary school.

There were two catalysts that finally urged me into acting- sooner than I had planned, which is typical of me. The first was that every time Frank helped out and I didn’t, a sort of awkwardness fell between us. He wanted to talk to me about the cases, get my opinions and advice, yet he felt constrained not to discuss them much for fear of pressuring me. He was in an unenviable position, my older brother, and I regretted that I’d put him there.

The second catalyst was the cases themselves. I had found my interest getting stronger, not weaker, my curiosity kicking in. And I was noticing something that bothered me, too. Out of five cases, Dad took Frank with him three times and worked alone twice. The mysteries he took solo, he solved. The ones where Frank helped him went unsolved, and not only that, they ran on for longer than expected.

Unsolved mysteries and extended investigations happen, but in our family, they are both extremely rare.

The clincher was the sixth case. Dad called us in and told us what was up- a missing man who might have run into foul play, and who was wanted on suspicion of embezzling. This time my brother said nothing, sitting as silent as I on the old sofa. When Dad gave him a concerned look, he explained tautly that he felt it was better to steer clear, since he’d been more hindrance than help the last few times.

I realized right then that something had to be done or I might never work on a mystery with my brother again. I turned to him and said, very hesitantly, "What if...if I...come along?"

My father broke into a huge smile; my brother’s dark eyes went wide and he outright gawked at me for a moment. Then he took a huge breath and flung an arm around my shoulders. "Count us in," he said to Dad, and beamed at me. "I’ve got my partner back and we can handle just about anything."

"Oh, hush, you’re gonna jinx us," I told him with a smile, elbowing his ribs. "When do we leave for California to look for Mr. Grafton?"

***

END