Laura Hardy watched anxiously as the doctor gently snipped off the tape holding the bandages to her younger son’s face and peeled the soft pads away from his eyes. She had half-expected to see stitches around Joe’s eyes, despite knowing that Dr. Wilburn had used the latest laser procedures.

Beneath the bandages was a layer of what looked like thin cheesecloth. The doctor slid that away, too, then clicked off the light illuminating Joe’s pale face and closed eyes and asked her to draw the shades on the window. Laura did so quickly, then returned to her chair and gripped her son’s hand as the doctor told him to open his eyes. Her heart raced as Joe opened his eyes, blinked once or twice, then frowned.

"Honey?" she asked softly. Joe turned towards her; Laura’s stomach lurched at the redness surrounding the blue of his irises. But worse than that was the fear on his young face.

"M-mommy?" he squeaked, his eyes going wider and wider. "Mommy, it’s- it’s- b-black! It’s all- black!"

"Easy there," the doctor said crisply, but when Laura threw a distracted glance his way, she saw the defeat and unhappiness in the man’s face. "Remember, Joe, the lights are all off. Let’s turn one or two of ‘em back on and see what that does." As he spoke, he reached up and clicked on the fluorescent light above the bed. The fixture hummed as it flickered on. Laura turned her son’s face upward and the light lent a yellowish tint to his pallor.

"It’s b-black!" Joe repeated in a choked, terrified voice. "I c-can’t see an-ny th-thing!" Tears streamed down his small face.

Laura leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her little boy, tears streaking her own cheeks. Joe clung to her, his eyes still wide, as though hoping against hope that a stray gleam of light would make it through his darkness. His slender body shook with sobs as his fingers dug into her arms. "Oh, honey..." What in the world could she say that would console him?

In the end, she didn’t try to say anything. She just held him, stroked his hair, rubbed his back until he cried himself out. Then she lifted her head and stared at Dr. Wilburn. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t want Joe to hear what was going through her mind.

The doctor, still looking depressed, met her accusing gaze and shook his head wearily. Drawing a flashlight from his pocket, he grasped Joe’s chin to turn the boy’s face to him, then shone the light straight into Joe’s eyes. There was no reaction from Joe and Dr. Wilburn shut off his light and dropped it into his coat pocket. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I’m afraid the nerves were too badly damaged to recover." He paused, then added, "I don’t want to raise false hopes, but there have been cases of spontaneous recovery. There’s no telling if or when it may happen- sometimes it happens within days, sometimes after years. It could be a complete recovery, or it could simply be the ability to tell light from dark. There’s no predicting it, and it’s quite rare. I’ll suggest that you not wait for it, but begin at once to help him adjust to the lack of sight. I’ll give you some pamphlets for reference."

Lack of sight. Laura still didn’t trust herself to say anything, so she merely nodded curtly. Her feelings were a jumbled mass of grief and pity, anger and resentment- and an acute guilt, for being able to see what her young son no longer could. "You mentioned running tests," she managed after a moment, as Joe turned his face away from the doctor and held more tightly to her.

Wilburn shook his head. "I was planning to determine just what he was capable of seeing, what percentage- if any- of vision had been lost." Obviously that wasn’t necessary, now. "I’ll have those drops I mentioned waiting at the discharge office, they’ll help him be more comfortable. If he does develop any pain, bring him right back in- though I don’t anticipate that."

"Wanna go home," Joe whispered, his chest still hitching with his tears. "Want Frank."

"We’ll go home," Laura promised, and looked again at Wilburn.

"I’ll fill out the discharge," the doctor assured her. He looked down at Joe, shook his gray head again, and left the room.

Though her emotional haze, Laura noticed that the man was moving without his usual briskness. Then she focused her attention on her trembling little boy. "I brought you your clothes," she said softly. "They told me they were letting you go today, and I didn’t think they’d let you keep that hospital gown. And I doubted you’d want to wear it, even if they did."

To her gratified astonishment, a faint smile peeked over Joe’s teary face. "Want my own clothes," he agreed.

Releasing him, Laura bent down and picked up the little pile of shorts, shirt, socks and sneakers. "Oh, for goodness’ sakes."

"What?" Joe sniffled, rubbing at his wet face.

"I didn’t bring any of your underpants."

"Mommy, what’d they do with my other clothes, when I got here?"

"I took ‘em home. They were pretty dirty," his mother replied, remembering the torn and soot-stained outfit.

"Oh. ‘Cause I had underwear with those, but I guess..." Joe tugged impatiently at the tie-strings at his neck and the gown fell away from his thin chest and arms. The burns were nearly healed, Laura noticed.

"I guess you’ll have to go without, till we get home. Now, here’s your shirt...tag in the back...there you go." Laura watched as Joe pulled the shirt over his head, just as he always did.

"I can do the shorts myself," the ten-year old began, sliding his legs over the far side of the bed. Then he stopped and swayed a little. "M-mommy?"

Laura stood up and hurried around the bed. "What is it, honey?"

"It’s so- it’s so- big! And...and..." Joe burst into tears again and Laura held him against her until he calmed. "I, I got, dizzy," he panted after a few minutes. "And it- it seemed like if I fell, I’d fall right into the black."

"I’m right here, honey, and I won’t let you fall," she assured him gently, trying to keep her voice steady. "Now...here’s your shorts."

Joe slowly pulled the shorts on; while he did, Laura picked up a small box of tissues from the table at the end of the bed and used one to wipe her eyes. Then she withdrew a few more and placed them gently in her son’s hand. Joe silently rubbed his cheeks, blew his nose, then crushed everything into a ball- and hesitated. Laura gathered it up with her own, threw it all away, then helped her shivering son stand up and move tentatively in the direction of the door. It broke her heart to see Joe- who so often charged headlong through doorways and across rooms- inching along one step at a time, plainly fearful of walking into something.

***

Frank Hardy wandered through the living room again, pausing to sniff the sweet smell of baking cake. Chocolate cake. Then he hurried back to the window and peered out at the street. No cars.

"You should go sit on the porch," his aunt told him bluntly. "All this pacing is very distracting, Frank."

Was that what he was doing? Somehow, pacing always seemed to Frank like someone walking in circles. But the thought didn’t keep his attention for long. He sank down on the sofa for a moment, then got up and wandered over to the kitchen door. "I wonder what’s taking so long?" he muttered to the refrigerator. He didn’t dare say it loud enough for Auntie to hear; she’d already told him that he was asking too many unanswerable questions, and that repeating himself wouldn’t help.

The hospital had told Mom that Joe could come home today- after they took off the bandages and tested to see how his vision was. Mom had taken some of Joe’s clothes with her when she left, so Joe would have something to wear on the way home. That had been at nine o’clock. Now it was nearly eleven, and Frank was feeling more impatient with every minute that passed. So was Auntie G, that was why she had decided to make the cake early. But now it was in the oven and she was trying to read a book.

Maybe the tests were taking a while, Frank decided, though he didn’t much like the thought. He wondered if Joe might have to wear glasses now. Maybe that was it, maybe they were getting a pair of glasses so he wouldn’t have to go back and get them made in a day or so. Frank’s knowledge of optometry and ophthamology was minimal, and it seemed perfectly reasonable to him that a hospital provide glasses for a patient whose eyes had been hurt.

As he turned to walk back over to the window, Gertrude put down her book and gave him a look. She didn’t say anything, but Frank decided he’d go sit on the porch after all. It meant he wouldn’t be able to smell the cake, but that was better than getting Auntie mad at him.

Frank closed the door tightly after making sure he wouldn’t be locked out, then sat down on the steps and put his chin in his hands. If only Dad would call! He’d called Sam yesterday and asked him to let the family know he was okay, but he couldn’t come home yet, and he didn’t want to call home direct. Frank figured that meant that the bad guys, whoever they were, might try to listen in on the phone-line. That always meant trouble. But Sam hadn’t had time to tell Dad about Joe before Dad had to hang up. Mom had been pretty upset about that. Frank had the feeling that there was going to be a fight when Dad got home, even if Joe’s eyes were fine.

Over the next half hour, Frank tried to find something that would distract him, something he could concentrate on. He caught and released a few crickets. He turned over a stone and played with a couple rolly-ball potato bugs. He found an earthworm and two centipedes. He picked blades of grass and tied them all together to make a grass-rope that would stretch from the top of the stone to the ground. He watched ants scurrying around their hole and was briefly amused when, after thumping on the ground beside it, twenty or thirty ant-warriors swarmed out. Then he found an early acorn and cracked it open, tossing the inside on the lawn for a squirrel to find. The sun was hot on his back and he wondered if Joe would feel like going swimming. Or maybe even just playing in the hose. Sighing, he moved back into the shade of the porch to wait some more.

***

The sound of an approaching car perked the eleven-year-old’s ears. Frank glanced at his watch, then turned to gaze down the street. His eyes widened and he sat up straight as the family car appeared. It pulled into the driveway and then the driver’s door opened and Mom got out. She didn’t wave or smile or anything, just walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Frank got up and hurried down the steps, then ran over to see his brother, finally!

As Frank reached the passenger door and halted, panting a little from running in the heat, he gave his brother a good looking-over. Joe wasn’t wearing glasses; he looked almost like himself, except paler, and it- he... Frank stared, frowning. Joe looked like he’d been crying. And his eyes- his eyes were open, but they weren’t- they didn’t- he-

"Joey?" Frank asked shakily, beginning to understand, fighting the sick fear inside him.

Joe’s face brightened. "Frank?" He turned towards Frank’s voice as Mom helped him stand up and walk a few steps away from the car. "Wh-where are you?"

Frank closed his eyes and shivered. Then, taking a deep breath, he shoved the door shut, ran the few steps forward, and threw his arms around his little brother. "I missed you awful bad," he whispered.

"Missed you too." Joe was shaking; his fingers clutched tightly on Frank’s shoulders.

Frank summoned his courage and looked up at their mother, who was wiping her own eyes. "Joey..."

"I can’t see anything," his brother murmured. "Just...dark."

Frank sucked in a breath. Just dark. Joe was afraid of the dark. Joe was-

"But- the operation!" the older boy protested, still holding his brother tightly to him. "It- they should’ve-"

"They did their best, Frank," Mom said quietly. "No one can do any better than their best. Let’s go inside now."

"I need to go to my room," Joe explained. "Mommy forgot to bring me underpants."

Frank blinked, and then- to his own surprise- he laughed a little. Joe grinned too, but the grin faded quickly. The dark-haired boy carefully let go of his brother and, wrapping his left arm around Joe’s waist, guided him across the lawn to the front porch. "Step," he warned, and Joe’s foot lifted, felt the step, and then went up. "Hang on, the door’s shut. The air conditioning is on," Frank added, suddenly, acutely aware of his own vision. "And wait till you smell what’s cooking."

"Oh, what?" Joe asked eagerly as the door opened. He stepped inside and sniffed eagerly. "Oooo! Chocolate cake!"

"Yep, Auntie made it this morning. It’s still cooking." Frank walked across the living room, seeing the puzzled and then horrified look in Gertrude’s eyes. "Now, up." He remained right beside Joe as his brother felt for and found the first step, then proceeded slowly up the staircase. The younger boy paused briefly when they were a few steps from the top.

"I forgot it was so many steps," he said in a small voice. "It feels so high up."

"I never noticed either," Frank answered, not sure what else to say. "Only three more."

"Okay. Frank, is Dad home yet?" Joe climbed up the last three steps, paused, then turned to the right, towards their rooms.

"Not yet. He talked to Sam yesterday, but it was only for about a minute, just to say he wasn’t hurt but wouldn’t be home soon."

Joe sighed. "Mom musta been mad," he murmured.

"Yeah, she was. Here’s your door." Frank led Joe to his bed and the younger boy sat down with a bounce.

"That hospital bed was like sleeping on the floor," he remarked, prying his shoes off and then pausing. "My dresser..."

"Which ones do you want?" Frank asked, opening the drawer. "Rocket ships, dinosaurs-" He laughed at the face Joe made.

"I haven’t worn dinosaurs or rocket ships on my underwear in three years!"

"Then how come they’re still in here?"

"Because they’re mine!" the younger boy said indignantly. Frank grinned, picked out a pair of regular underwear, and handed them over. "Those better be plain."

"They are."

"Promise?"

Frank bit his lip. "I promise," he said gently. "I wouldn’t tease you that much, Joey." At the last minute, he remembered that he was supposed to be calling his brother ‘Joe’ now, but Joe didn’t protest the old nickname.

"Thanks," the blond boy said softly, but he didn’t move for a moment. "I- I get...dizzy sometimes," he murmured, gulping. "I don’t wanna fall into the dark."

Frank thought about that for a moment. It didn’t really make a lot of sense, but he thought he knew what Joe meant. "I won’t let you fall," he said reassuringly, coming back to stand beside the bed. "I know you don’t like the dark."

"I really wanted to-" Joe paused. "I wanted you there."

"I wanted to be there." Frank sat down on the bed and his brother clutched at his arm. "Stupidest rule there ever was."

"Yeah. And that doctor, he was mean."

"I could tell. He acted like I was completely dumb. He didn’t care about anybody. People like that shouldn’t be doctors," Frank said decisively.

"Yeah! But the nurses were pretty nice."

"That’s good."

"The water tasted like swimming pool, though. Baby swimming pool."

"Yuck!" Frank exclaimed, laughing in spite of himself. Everyone knew what the little kids did in the baby pool.

Joe grinned briefly, then carefully stood up- and paused. "My door..."

"I closed it. And I guess Mom’s talking to Auntie, they’re still downstairs."

"Okay." Joe remedied the underwear problem with clumsy hands, then sank back down on the bed and groped for his brother’s hand. Frank clasped it and struggled to find something to say.

"Hungry?" he asked at last. "I remember I was, when I came home- hospital food’s no good."

"Not...very," Joe answered slowly. "You’re right, though, the food was terrible. Even the ice cream was nasty, I didn’t know ice cream could taste bad."

"I wonder if it was really ice cream," Frank mused, thinking aloud. "Maybe it was yogurt or tofu or something." He grinned as Joe made a dreadful face.

"Now I’m really not hungry," the blond boy said grimly.

"Sorry..."

"Shhh."

"What?" Frank instinctively lowered his voice.

"I think-" Joe stopped as someone knocked on the door. Then their mother’s voice asked, "Boys?"

"It’s safe to come in," Frank replied, and the door swung open. Laura looked from Frank to Joe and smiled slightly, despite her red eyes.

"You’re aunt and I are getting lunch ready- what sort of sandwich do you two want?"

"Eggs?" Joe asked hopefully.

"Certainly, you can have egg-salad. Frank?"

Frank considered for a moment. "BLT?"

"Sorry, honey, no bacon."

"Oh. Well...then I’d like eggs too, please."

Mom nodded. "I’ll call you when it’s ready." She withdrew, closing the door again.

"She sounded..." Joe paused. Frank waited. "Like she’d been crying."

"Yeah. Her eyes were red," Frank replied quietly. He put his arms around his brother again and the two were silent for what seemed like a long time.

***

Eating when you couldn’t see was a pain in the neck, Joe Hardy decided. He hadn’t gotten much practice at it while he was in the hospital; he hadn’t been hungry and the food hadn’t tasted good anyway. Even the chicken-noodle soup had been nasty- it had tasted like someone emptied a whole salt-shaker into it.

Who would’ve thought that eating would be so hard, he wondered as he tried to take a bite of the sandwich in his hands. He’d always just picked it up and bitten in; now he had to make sure the bread was lined up with his mouth, first. If it wasn’t, he hit his chin or cheek and got the eggy stuff on him. And bits kept falling out. Of course, that always happened with egg-salad; you ate the sandwich and then you ate the bits that fell onto the plate. But he couldn’t see the plate and didn’t know where the bits were, or how big they were. And he’d already nearly knocked his milk over twice; if Frank hadn’t been sitting beside him, the table would be messy. He knew the glass was above the plate and to the right, but he couldn’t remember exactly where, and his hand had bumped it.

How, Joe wondered as he chewed his sandwich, was he going to eat dinner, when he had to use a knife and fork? He could eat a chicken leg or thigh, but how could he cut a pork chop? He might manage potatoes, and corn on the cob would be pretty easy, but what about peas and green beans? Joe put his sandwich down with a sigh and gritted his teeth as his reaching hand closed around air. As he reached further, something sloshed and he held his breath. Then it steadied.

"Try touching it first and then grabbing it," his brother suggested softly. "You keep trying to pick it up before you’ve got your hand on it."

Joe scowled, not liking the mild criticism, but he had to admit it was a good idea. He extended his hand again, fingers spread wide. When he felt the smooth glass against his fingertips, he let his hand close around it and smiled as he lifted it. It was a little slower, but that was better than messy- and much better than depending on Frank to prevent a spill. He pressed the edge to his lips and took a long drink, then slowly lowered the glass again, hoping he could remember where he left it.

Frank didn’t say anything, but his hand came through the darkness and squeezed on Joe’s shoulder. Joe felt his face warm at the silent praise.

Maybe this eating deal wouldn’t be so terrible after all, he thought, picking up the sandwich again. He munched his way steadily through it, and when he was done, ran his fingers over the plate, searching for the bits of egg. "Did I get ‘em all?" he asked his brother, a little reluctantly. If he had, Frank would probably sneak ‘em and eat ‘em himself.

"Most of it," Frank replied. "Here-" Frank’s hand caught his wrist and guided his fingers to three different spots on the plate. Joe gobbled the fragments down, then found his napkin and wiped his messy hands. He felt a little ashamed of himself for assuming Frank would snitch the pieces away.

"Don’t forget to finish your milk, both of you," Gertrude’s voice said from somewhere to the side.

"We left some on purpose," Frank said innocently. "We’re saving it to go with the cake."

Joe grinned. Frank was so smart at thinking of things like that! "Yeah."

"Cake is for later. However, I do have a cookie or two I can spare you, I suppose." There was the sound of footsteps over carpet, a sort of swooshing noise. Then over the linoleum in the kitchen; that was a tapping sound. The pantry door opened, then something rustled, then the door closed again. More footsteps, and a moment later, two small, round, thick things were placed in Joe’s hand.

"Oreos!" Frank said delightedly. Joe beamed and bit into the first cookie, devouring it in a few seconds. The other he ate more leisurely, twisting the top off and licking all the creamy sugar off the bottom half.

"Mm, thanks, Auntie."

"Don’t thank me, I didn’t make them! Don’t forget your milk."

Joe had almost forgotten the milk. Dusting the fine crumbs from his hands, he remembered to find the glass before closing his fingers around it, and drank the cool milk in one breath. Then things got difficult; he stood up, feeling unsteady in the big, wide-open blackness, and reached for his plate. Then he stopped; if he was carrying the plate in one hand and the glass in the other, he wouldn’t be able to feel where he was going. A wave of vertigo took him and he sat right back down in the chair, disoriented and scared.

Hands reached out of the darkness and touched him comfortingly; Frank’s hands, grasping his shoulder and arm. "I’ll take it for you, if you want," the older boy offered. Joe hesitated. That would solve everything- this time. But what about tonight at dinner? What about tomorrow, and next week? Frank would get tired of carrying dishes for Joe in a big hurry.

"I just got dizzy; but I don’t know how to find the kitchen. I mean, I know where it is, but I might bang into something and drop everything," Joe explained, trying very hard to keep his voice steady.

"Then let me-"

"He’s going to need to learn to move around by himself in the house, Frank," Aunt G said, very quietly. She sounded...sad, Joe thought. "Some things, he can do by himself; other things he can learn to do for himself, and some things, he’s definitely going to need help with. Instead of doing it for him- which I think you’d get tired of after a while- help him learn how to do it alone."

Joe took a deep breath and let it out in a relieved sigh. Auntie might get cross more than Mom, but she understood how he was feeling. He was scared and confused- but he didn’t want to be babied.

"Well-" Frank sounded a little weird. Like he felt bad, or something. Joe wished he could see his brother’s face. Maybe he was thinking hard. "Okay, but...hmmm. I have a sorta idea, then," he went on thoughtfully. "You walk in front of me and I’ll walk behind and tell you which direction to go, so you don’t bump into anything."

"Now that’s a solution," Gertrude said, and there was pride in her voice. Joe thought it over for a moment, then nodded. Frank wouldn’t let him get lost or fall down or hurt himself on something. He stood up again, picked up his plate and glass, and- thinking about it- turned so he was parallel to the table. After all, just because the kitchen was right behind the dining room, it didn’t mean he could walk right through the table! And no one had to tell him to go around it.

"Okay, take a giant step left. So you don’t bang into any of the chairs," Frank directed. Joe obeyed. "Now, straight ahead."

Under his brother’s directions, Joe slowly maneuvered around the table and crossed the vast black space between the table and the doorway. Frank had him make a few adjustments- "A baby step right. Okay. Hm, one more, or you’ll hit the corner. Now around-the-corner right- stop! Your other right. Good." Joe felt the carpet under his feet change to linoleum as he went into the kitchen.

"I always forget left and right," the ten-year-old muttered as he paused where his brother told him and laid his plate and glass on the counter.

"Right is the hand you write with," Frank reminded him, and Joe frowned. "Even if you aren’t writing at the time."

"Well, yeah." Joe reached out and found his brother’s arm. "Thanks, you give great directions." He’d stumbled once, but hadn’t bumped into anything at all.

"And you obeyed ‘em good!" Frank pointed out. "What d’you want to do?"

Joe frowned again. What could he do? "Let’s go upstairs," he ventured after a moment, hearing Auntie come in. "And think of something."

"Okay."

***

Frank sat down on Joe’s bed, his brother’s hand clenched tightly in his own, and frowned at the dismal look on Joe’s usually cheerful face. "What’s wrong?" he asked softly. He knew what the general problem was; being blind had to be horrible. But Joe- who had just been pleased at his success in finishing lunch, carrying out his dishes, and going up the stairs by himself- seemed to have lost every speck of happiness that he’d gained. Something had caused his mood to drop- maybe it was Frank’s question of what he wanted to do now?

"I don’t know what I want to do," Joe admitted. "I feel like...like there’s nothing...that I can do, anymore. I mean, everything I can think of, you have to- to see."

Frank started to speak, then stopped. Biting his lip, he tried to think of something Joe could do, something fun, that didn’t need seeing. Something that he wouldn’t worry about bumping into things, or falling. But every game he could think of needed vision. He couldn’t even suggest going to work on the treehouse; how could you nail boards if you couldn’t see where the hammer was hitting? Cards wouldn’t work. Board games... books... Frank scowled. Auntie had been right; some things Joe could still do- but lots of things, he’d need help with.

Frank wanted to help. He didn’t want his brother to feel left out and useless and sorry for himself. He wanted Joe to do as much as he could, as many things as seeing people could. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to, but Frank would help him try.

Before the eleven-year-old could say any of what he was thinking, Joe took a deep, shaking breath. "He said- the doctor- he said my sight might come back by itself, but it doesn’t happen much. And even if it does, it might take years," he blurted out. Tears slipped silently down his cheeks. "This isn’t fair," he complained, sniffling. "I’d rather see and not be able to cry than cry and not be able to see!"

Frank put his arms around Joe and the younger boy buried his face in Frank’s shirt. Tears burned his own eyes at Joe’s fear and unhappiness. Joe was blind, probably for always. He would always be in the dark- the dark he was so scared of. And it was all Sean Everard’s fault. The big dumb ass! "I’ll help you, little brother."

"Frank..."

"I will, I’ll help you. I want to-"

"You can’t help me always," Joe sobbed. "I can’t read! Or- or write, or r-ride my bike, or play on the computer..."

"I can read to you. And you can ride behind me, on my bike. And you can learn to write without seeing. And there’ll be video games for people who can’t see." Frank paused, wondering if that last was true. "I think, anyway. And you can learn the language- I think it’s called Brell or something- that lets you read with your fingers."

Joe sniffled again. "I c-can’t be a detective anymore. I can’t be observant now!"

Frank felt his throat swell shut. "We’ll always be partners, even if we’re not detectives," he answered, his voice breaking.

Joe’s blue eyes blinked- in surprise, not in sight. "You- you still want to-?"

"’Course I do. You’re my brother, an’ my best friend."

"I- I was so scared you- you wouldn’t..."

"Wouldn’t want to be around you, just ‘cause you can’t see?"

"Y-yeah. I hoped not, but I was scared anyway. And, and- Frank, won’t you get tired of having to help me all the time?"

Frank stared around the untidy bedroom, taking in the shapes and colors that his brother would probably never see again. The bed, the dresser, the desk, the closet, the nightstand. He looked into his brother’s vacant blue eyes, then looked at the sunlight streaming in through the window. "I think," he said slowly, "what’ll happen is, I’ll want to help you and you’ll say you can do it yourself. Like you did at lunch. So I won’t have a chance to get tired of helping you."

Joe perked up at that, and his brother smiled sadly. The younger boy always had been fiercely independent. "Well, yeah. Maybe." He wiped at his eyes and sniffled once more. "I really hate crying," he muttered.

"But maybe it’s a good thing," Frank suggested, struck by a thought. "I mean, that much of your eyes is still working right. Maybe..." He didn’t dare go on. It wouldn’t be right to get Joe expecting his eyes to get better and then have them not get better.

Joe’s unseeing eyes widened in surprise. "I didn’t think about that. If one part’s working, maybe the rest might start working again- like that nasty doctor said."

Frank bit his lip, wishing he hadn’t said anything. "Maybe. But you can’t wait for it to come back, just in case it doesn’t," he ventured, trying to let his brother down gently. "Like- like when you do your homework even though it’s snowing out. You hope for a snow day, but you might not get one, so you make sure that you’re ready to go to school anyway."

"Yeah..." Joe sighed and sat up, but continued to hold on to Frank’s arm. "I still dunno what I want to do," he said after a moment. "I don’t think I want to go outside. Inside is so big anyway, but at least there’s stuff to touch. It’s just huger outside, and emptier."

Frank thought about that. "I guess I don’t really understand," he admitted, feeling bad. He’d made his brother get hopeful, and then he’d crashed the hope; now he was letting Joe down again by not understanding what he was saying.

"It’s- everything’s gone away. I know it’s there, but it seems like it isn’t there, until I touch it. And then as soon as I stop touching it, it goes away again and there’s nothing but empty black."

Frank shuddered. "That’s like when I woke up having a nightmare and couldn’t find the light. And then I couldn’t find the table. For a while I thought the only things were me and the bed..."

"Yeah, just like that." Joe’s voice quivered. "And there’s a lot less stuff outside than there is inside- it’s too big out there."

And that was why Joe was afraid to fall- he knew there was a floor under him, but he was still afraid of falling into the darkness that started where the floor ended- where he could no longer feel it. "You sorta feel like you’re walking off a cliff," Frank mused aloud.

"Yeah. Well, not when someone’s beside me, ‘cause they aren’t on a cliff- I guess it’s silly, but I keep expecting the floor to stop," Joe agreed.

"You’ll get used to it," Frank assured him softly. "It won’t be so scary after a while. And maybe it’ll stop seeming like things aren’t there anymore. Maybe everything’ll... sorta... stay in place. Like, you’ll just reach out and it’ll be right where you expected, instead of having to search for it." He hoped. But people went blind and learned how to go places by themselves, didn’t they? They used canes so they wouldn’t bang into things, or had people guide them- or even dogs. But they couldn’t’ve done it if they hadn’t gotten used to it and stopped being afraid.

"I hope so," the ten-year-old murmured. "I sure hope so."

***