**Part 2**
That evening, I placed his medication bottle in the center of our kitchen table.
When Eliam walked in, he noticed it immediately.
“I thought I said I’d take those with me.”
“To your office?”
He stopped moving.
I could see the instant he understood.
“Sandy…”
“I went to your workplace yesterday.”
He slowly pulled out a chair.
“Let me explain.”
“The receptionist told me you’ve been on leave all week.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“And today I followed your car.”
His expression changed.
“You followed me?”
“Yes.”
“Sandy, you can’t just—”
“I know.”
I didn’t try to defend what I’d done.
Following my husband had crossed a boundary.
But so had pretending to work every morning while inventing meetings that never existed.
“You’ve been acting out an entire workweek,” I said.
He sat down.
I remained standing.
“Why are you spending your days at a learning center with Frank?”
His face changed immediately.
“You saw Frank?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
That single word made me angrier.
“Good? Eliam, you’ve been lying to me all week, and that’s what you’re worried about?”
“I made him a promise.”
“What kind of promise?”
“I can’t explain everything. Some of it isn’t mine to share.”
I stared at him.
“Then explain the part that is yours.”
He looked up.
“You took vacation days,” I continued. “You got dressed for work every morning. You carried your laptop out the door. You came home complaining about meetings and traffic.”
He nodded.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because Frank asked me to keep his situation private.”
“Then you could have told me you were taking leave.”
“You would’ve wanted to know why.”
“Of course I would’ve. But you could’ve said someone needed your help and you weren’t allowed to discuss the details.”
Eliam fell silent.
“I thought you’d be concerned,” he eventually admitted.
“Concerned? Do you have any idea how frightened I was when your receptionist told me you hadn’t been there all week?”
He lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do.”
I sat across from him.
“You didn’t have to reveal Frank’s private business. You only had to be truthful about your own.”
He stared at the pill bottle between us.
“I didn’t want to break my promise.”
“I never asked you to.”
“I thought if you knew anything was happening, you’d realize something was wrong.”
“Something was wrong, Eliam. My husband was lying to my face.”
He leaned back.
“I was trying to protect Frank.”
“From whom? Me?”
He looked genuinely hurt by the question.
“No.”
“Then what?”
He hesitated.
“Frank is ashamed.”
“Of having trouble reading?”
Eliam’s expression told me I’d guessed correctly.
But before he could say anything further, I raised my hand.
“Actually, don’t answer that. You’re right. That part belongs to Frank.”
Eliam nodded.
Then he began explaining what he could.
Several months earlier, Frank had contacted him about a problem with his computer.
After Marian died, Eliam had occasionally helped Frank with electronics and online accounts, so the request hadn’t seemed unusual.
“When I got there, he had a form open on his computer,” Eliam explained.
“He kept complaining about how confusing the website was.”
“Was it confusing?”
“Very.”
Despite everything, I smiled a little.
“But that wasn’t really the problem,” he continued.
Eventually, Frank admitted that reading unfamiliar documents had always been difficult for him.
He could recognize common signs.
Names.
Short instructions.
Familiar words.
But long paragraphs were much harder.
Forms were particularly challenging.
Marian had quietly handled most of that paperwork throughout their marriage.
“Did you ever know?” I asked.
Eliam shook his head.
“No.”
Neither had I.
I suddenly remembered all the little things Marian used to do.
She wrote their Christmas cards.
Completed neighborhood forms.
Prepared labels for community gatherings.
Handled written invitations.
At the time, I’d assumed it was simply how they shared responsibilities.
Perhaps some of it was.
But now those memories seemed different.
“So Frank started going to the learning center?” I asked.
“He enrolled himself.”
“Why now?”
Eliam paused.
“That’s something Frank needs to tell you, if he chooses.”
This time, I accepted his answer.
“Why did you take an entire week off?”
“Because he almost changed his mind about going. He was nervous. I had unused vacation days, so I offered to accompany him during his first week.”
“Are you teaching him yourself?”
“No. The instructors handle that. I help him with computer activities and practice exercises. Sometimes I drive him. Mostly, I just keep him company.”
I remembered the scene outside the learning center.
Frank struggling over those cards.
Eliam refusing to interrupt.
Waiting patiently until Frank figured something out himself.
“Why pretend you were going to work?”
Eliam sighed.
“Because I handled it terribly.”
“That’s certainly true.”
“I figured if I kept following my regular schedule, you wouldn’t ask questions.”
“So you invented meetings?”
“Yes.”
“And coworkers ruining your lunch?”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“And traffic from the office?”
He rubbed his forehead again.
“That one was especially stupid.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“It really was.”
Later that evening, Frank called.
Eliam answered while sitting beside me.
“Hello, Frank.”
He listened for a moment.
Then glanced in my direction.
“Yes, Sandy’s here.”
Another pause.
Finally, he held the phone out.
“He wants to speak with you. I told him what happened.”
I took the phone.
“Hello, Frank.”
His familiar, slightly rough voice greeted me.
“I hear I’ve caused a little trouble in your house.”
“You certainly had some assistance.”
He chuckled.
“I told Eliam not to tell you anything.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“So if you’re upset, you can blame me.”
I glanced at my husband.
“Oh, don’t worry. I have enough disappointment for both of you.”
Frank laughed.
Then his voice became serious.
“There’s something I wouldn’t let your husband explain.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I know. But I’d like to tell you.”
I waited.
“Three months ago, my grandson gave me a birthday card.”
Frank paused.
“I told the boy I’d forgotten my glasses. Then I took that card home and put it in a drawer.”
His voice became quieter.
“Because I couldn’t read what my own grandson had written.”
My eyes filled.
Frank explained that Marian had always helped him with things involving reading.
Letters.
Instructions.
Forms.
Greeting cards.
After her death, he’d managed by memorizing information, asking people for help, and avoiding situations where his difficulties might become obvious.
But when his grandson handed him that card, something changed.
“It was covered in dinosaurs,” he said softly. “Terrible drawings, really. But he was so proud of it.”
Frank stopped for a moment.
“And I couldn’t read the words.”
I pressed the phone closer.
“I decided I didn’t want to keep needing another person to stand between me and what my grandson was trying to say.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
Then I told him I was proud of him for trying.
He cleared his throat.
“Don’t get too sentimental, Sandy. I’m still pretty terrible at it.”
I laughed through the tears.
