As the weeks went by, Fenton's condition got worse. However, each day, Charlotte would come over with Ben and Margaret. This would make him feel better for a little bit before he would start coughing and get sleepy.
A doctor saw them and said the hardest words Frank would ever hear. I believe he has two months left.
The next day, Frank went over by himself. He found his father in him and Joe's old room looking around.
"What are you doing dad?"
" Memories, look around. " he said with a small smile.
He was right. Every inch of the house held a memory. The living room was where he spent countless Christmases with his brother opening presents or waiting for their dad to get home. The kitchen brought back memories of all the dinners they'd have or how that's where he first hurt himself.
Frank was only three and was running away from Joe. Joe was chasing him with his chubby toddler legs. Frank wasn't looking and ran into the table. He got a bruise on his head and his ear got a small cut on it.
In the backyard, he played football with his brother and dad and it's where his dog was buried. It was also where he almost lost a five year old Charlotte when she fell in the water in the woods.
The bedroom held sweet and bittersweet memories.
He remembered Joe and him arguing and eventually making up or their countless late night conversations. One came into his mind. He was sixteen, Joe fifteen.
" Frank, you know how everyone says you were born to help people? Was I born to dance?" Joe asked.
Frank looked up from his book perplexed.
"What makes you think you were born to dance?"
" Well, I was pretty good when we had to dance our way out of that room. Wasn't I?"
" Yes, but I think you were born to solve mysteries. Or play football. "
He laughed at the memory. Joe suddenly walked into the room and sat on his old bed.
" You boys made some memories here," said Fenton again.
Joe thought of a particular time where he shared a conversation with Frank. He was about seventeen and was upset about aunt Gertrude.
"She is dying, isn't she Frank?" Joe asked.
Frank set down his book and looked over at his brother.
"She has cancer. We don't know if she'll die. Some people beat cancer." Frank had said.
" She's getting sicker. She throws up and a bunch of her hair fell out when she was braiding it."
" What is happening is a mystery all its own. No one knows why she was diagnosed or why it had to be her. All we can do is be there for her. If she dies, we need to make sure she goes as peacefully as possible. " Frank said.
Joe wasn't able to reply to Frank. He just cried and agreed with what was said. She had died about five or six years later.
Fenton took his medicine and Frank helped put him to bed. He walked back into his old bedroom and found Joe still frozen in his place.
" Joe?"
"How long do you think he has left?" Joe asked.
Frank was shocked at what Joe had asked. How dare he ask that with the children downstairs. However, the answer had to said and the conversation had to be talked.
" I don't know, Joe. I really wish there was something I could do. How can I sit here and try and convince myself he's alright? " Frank said.
Joe comforted his older brother. It was a shock to see Frank break down. Frank was a rock, but Fenton was his rock. That night, Fenton went into the hospital.
