“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.”
