That evening, I put Eliam’s medication in the middle of the kitchen table.
He noticed it as soon as he came home.
“I told you I’d grab that.”
“From the office?”
He stopped.
He noticed it as soon as he came home.
I watched the moment he understood.
“Sandy.”
“I went there yesterday.”
He pulled out a chair.
“I can explain.”
“You’ve been on leave all week.”
“Yes.”
“I went there yesterday.”
“And this morning I followed you.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You followed me?”
“I did.”
“Sandy, that’s…”
“I know.”
He stood there, frustrated.
“You followed me?”
I didn’t pretend following him had been normal.
Neither was getting dressed every morning to maintain a fake commute.
“You invented an office for five days.”
He sat down.
I stayed standing.
“Why are you going to the adult learning center with Frank?”
“You invented an office for five days.”
His reaction changed immediately.
“You saw Frank?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Does he know you saw him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“You saw Frank?”
That irritated me more than I expected.
“Good?”
“I promised him.”
“Promised him what?”
“I can’t tell you everything, Sandy.”
“Then tell me what belongs to you.”
“I promised him.”
Eliam looked at me.
I pointed toward his tie.
“You took a week off. You dressed for work every morning. You drove away with your laptop.”
“Yes.”
“You told me about meetings that didn’t happen.”
I pointed toward his tie.
His eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Frank asked me not to tell anyone where he was going.”
“Then you could’ve told me you were on leave.”
“You would’ve asked why. And I couldn’t tell you.”
“You could’ve told me that.”
“Frank asked me not to tell anyone where he was going.”
Eliam didn’t answer.
“You could’ve said, ‘Someone I care about needs help, and it isn’t my story to tell.'”
“I thought you’d worry.”
“I worried a lot more after your receptionist told me my husband hadn’t been at work for five days.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
“I thought you’d worry.”
I sat across from him.
“You didn’t have to give me Frank’s secret. You just had to stop inventing yours.”
Eliam looked toward the medication bottle.
“I promised him.”
“I didn’t ask you to break the promise.”
“I promised him.”
“If I’d told you anything, you’d know something was wrong.”
“Something was wrong. You were lying to me.”
He sat back.
“I thought I was protecting him.”
“From me?”
He looked up.
“You were lying to me.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Finally he said, “No.”
“Then why?”
“Because Frank is embarrassed.”
“About reading?”
Eliam hesitated.
“Frank is embarrassed.”
I held up my hand.
“Forget I asked. That’s his part.”
He nodded.
Then he told me his.
Months earlier, Frank had called him for help with something on his computer.
Then he told me his.
Eliam had helped Frank set up his electronics after Marian died, so the request wasn’t unusual.
When he arrived, Frank had an online form open.
“He kept saying the website was badly designed,” Eliam said.
“Was it?”
“Terrible.”
The request wasn’t unusual.
Despite myself, I smiled.
“But that wasn’t the problem.”
Frank finally admitted he couldn’t read enough of the form to complete it comfortably.
Not that he couldn’t read anything.
He recognized familiar words, labels, signs, and names.
“But that wasn’t the problem.”
But unfamiliar paragraphs were different.
Forms were worse.
Marian had handled most of them for years.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“No.”
Neither had I.
Forms were worse.
I remembered Marian filling out neighborhood petitions while Frank made coffee.
Writing their Christmas cards.
Labeling dishes for block parties.
I’d always thought that was simply how they divided things.
Maybe partly it was.
I’d always thought that was simply how they divided things.
“And the learning center?” I pressed.
“Frank enrolled.”
“Why now?”
Eliam looked at me.
“That’s not mine to tell.”
