Four chapters of 'Les Miserables' takes considerably longer to get through than I anticipated, and the story fails to capture my attention. Reading out loud is a lot more work than I remember it to be.

Maybe it's because they were not the same as chapter books. My the now-not-so-little but still the baby of the family half-brother Chris was the last person to ask me to read to him. Chris treated my moving to France as a personal gift to him. I was the only adult who not only told him what to do but who helped mix up the slime, listened to his retellings of the cartoons he'd watched, and let him be the taster of any food I whipped up. His favorite part was when I read to him every night before he went to bed—chapter books at first, and then my favorite YA.

Thinking about Chris as a little boy cycles my thoughts back to Benny and then to my Ben, and then I lose track of where I am in the book and take a break to blow my nose, which is indeed still runny. To give myself a break, I grab the glass of water and drain half of it in long slow gulps.

"Spill it already." Tall's comment puzzles me for a second. I look at the glass of water safely ensconced in my hand, in no danger of letting even a drop of water leaving it.

"Spill what's on your mind," he says.

My confusion must be evident because Tall tilts his head and gives me a minute to process his words. I put the bookmark into the book, close it, and put it back onto his bedside table.

"What d'you think I need to spill?" I'm not admitting to anything. There's no way he can read my mind.

"You've been unfocused, and it's not like you. Is it about Ben? Angie? The move? Your work?"

Why did he start with Ben? He should've started in the reverse order of subjects, then his questions would've been more appropriate. I wipe my nose again. I can't keep blaming it on the dust in Tall's apartment anymore.

"Not really." I don't even have to lie in this case.

"You know I know you're hiding something. And I promise I won't judge. I've learned the error of my ways when I've made assumptions about you when you first met Ben. I'll always have his interests at heart, he is like a son to me, but I'd like to help you too if I can. And I'm a decent listener."

"Like a son?" It's an interesting turn of phrase he keeps using when he talks about Ben.

"So it is about Ben then." Tall's sly smile is a carbon copy of the one he had on the photo with his dead son. With Benny.

"Benny." It slips out. I roll my lips between my teeth as soon as I hear what I said, but it's too late.

Tall's face is serious, and his eyes narrow and inspect the flush I can feel creeping up from my chest to my cheeks.

"Have you been snooping, or did Ben tell you?" I know the answer to one of my questions. Ben does know about his namesake. But how much and what exactly is there to know? The obituary didn't state the cause of death, nor were there clear indicators of what happened to his wife. My curiosity is stronger than the shame over my having rifled through his stuff. I had an almost legitimate reason for doing that anyway. How was I to know he doesn't have wifi at his place?

"Not snooping exactly, but looking for your router, so I could use my devices."

"And you accidentally stumbled upon what?"

"The wife box." I cringe. "In my defense, it looked awfully close to wifi, so I assumed—"

"You don't need to give me elaborate lies. You found the box with my late son's pictures. You have questions. Right?"

"Right."

"And you'd like some answers. Right?"

"Yea—, I mean not that any of it is my business. I'm sorry, I shouldn't've—"

"Too late. You already did. But I have an idea of how you can make it up to me."

I'm a little bit scared. I've already committed to visiting him and reading to him. If he's going to ask me to stop pushing his walking regiment on him, I'm not going to agree, even if I have to move out of the apartment. I can't betray Ben or damage Tall's health because of my stupid curiosity. But I bite.

"How."

"Let's play truth or dare."

"Wow, Tall, really? What kind of dares are we talking about here?"

"Nothing crazy, I'm an old man, and we need to keep it within reason. But I'm bored, and you are curious. What can be better than a round or five of truth or dare."

"I can refuse to answer, though," I say.

"That's the whole point of the game, my child. You don't answer, and then you have to do the dare instead."

I tap my fingers together. It doesn't feel like a trap. It may even be fun. And we can stop at any time.

"OK. I guess we can do it."

"Let's do a coin flip to decide who's going first," says Tall.

"Tails—I go first, heads—you do." I get the same lonely quarter from my wallet that I used a bit over a day ago to decide if Mike or Angie was going to start talking about their issues. Now it's going to decide if I get to ask the questions first. The coin flips a couple of times in the air and lands on Tails. My turn.

"Why did Benny die? What was the reason, the cause?" That was by far the most pressing question on my mind.

"Truth." He launches into his answer. "Complications from polio. The epidemic was on the decline, we didn't even worry anymore. His condition worsened, and then he was gone. And there was nothing Connie and I could do."

Connie. Must be Constance's nickname. What happened to her?

"So Connie—"

"My turn, remember?"

"All right." I get another tissue and dab under my nose.

"Are you going to snoop around my apartment some more?"

I laugh. Then I stop laughing and consider the question.

"Truth," I say. "I might. Not like on purpose or anything, but I wouldn't say no. Is there a place you don't want me to look at?"

"Truth," says Tall.

"No, that was not an actual question."

"Sounded like a question to me, and the answer is—no. Benny's death wasn't a secret. It was something we've never talked about, ture, but not a secret. My turn."

"Cheat."

"Careful there." Tall chuckles. "My turn. Would you move back to France again, and if so, why?"

"Good one. Truth. I don't know. I don't plan to, at least not in the near future, but maybe if I didn't have a job and the only place I could find it was away from here? But I hope not." I really hope not.

"I'm choosing to believe you. Your turn."

"Ok. What happened to Constance?"

Tall lowers his eyes. His face is serious enough to make me regret my question.

"Truth." He lets out a long breath. "The whole truth then. We moved into the apartment the year after Benny's death. We sold the house and moved into the city, and for a while, I thought the change of scenery would help us. Not help us forget, we never wanted that, but will help us not just be the parents of a dead child but partners again."

He stops and sucks a ragged breath in. "One day, it was Wednesday, I remember that well, I came home and there was this note on the kitchen table, saying she left to stay with her parent in California for a while. A lot of her things were gone too. She never came back. We divorced a year later, and that was it."

I get off the chair, and I'm at his bedside within a second. My hug isn't tight, I'm too afraid to hurt him, but my heart aches for him, and his wife, and Benny. And a little bit for myself, as I remember my dad and my grandparents, who left me in the most permanent way as well. Tall's hand holds mine, and he squeezes it, then he does it again as if he expects a reply. The firm pressure of his bony fingers is reassuring. He squeezes my hand again.

"I'll let you in on a secret now," he whispers into my ear. "You need to squeeze too. As hard as you can."

I do. He squeezes back. I do as well. We might be having a conversation in morse code, but I don't know the alphabet.

"My turn," says Tall louder.

I disentangle myself from his hug and reach for another tissue, first to wipe the tears and then to blow my nose.

"Would you want to date Ben if he weren't with Linda?"

What?

"What?"

Why would he ask me that?

"I'm meddling again, but I want to know where you stand. I don't want Ben to suffer as much as he did when you left. It took him a year to recover."

"It feels like you are accusing me of something."

"It's not an accusation. It's a question."

"What's the dare?"

Tall's sly grin returns.

"You tell Ben how you feel about him as a dare, or you tell me how you feel about him as the truth."

"You're trying to tick me. I don't have to answer that."

"Well, you know the rules."

"No. I think I'm done playing."

Tall's demeanor changes, and he's sober and stern, the sly grin nowhere to be seen.

"I promise not to tell him anything. And not to use the information against you."

I haven't talked about Ben and my feelings for him to anyone since my move to France. I asked Angie for the latest updates on him all the time over the years, but I refused to answer her questions. And the truth was burning me inside. It would be nice to share it with someone. Not that there'd be any consequences to this. It could be like a confessional—admitting I wanted Ben and disliked Linda out of stupid jealousy.

"Ok, but you must promise not to tell him. Ever. Even if he asks you. Can I trust you?"

"You can. I'm a vault."

I get up and close the door to Tall's room as if Ben might materialize from New York into the room and eavesdrop on us. I walk back to the bed and lean to his ear.

"I've imagined so many times in my head what it would be like for us to be together again that sometimes it feels real. Like I'm not the only one who wants for it to happen." My confession is complete. I go back to my chair and say the rest in full voice. "Most of all, I want him to be happy."

Tall smiles. "That's what I want for him too."

My chest does feel lighter. The words that weighed heavily on my mind are out, expelled into the universe to live in Tall's ears and in the crevices of this room. I no longer have to pretend that my feelings for Ben did not return the day I came over to his place to plan Angie's shower.

No. It's time for the whole truth. I should stop lying. I've never ceased loving Ben. Over the five years, I might've shoved that feeling away, hid it from myself, and chose to pretend it wasn't there, but it was. And it still is living inside me. Confessing it to Tall and myself is the truth I can deal with. Confessing it to Ben is the dare I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for.

The idea of a game was not mine, I was my CP's but when I thought about it - Truth or Dare was a perfect fit. 

Did you enjoy learning all the secrets?

NaNoWriMo: Day 23  40,150  done.

9,850 words left till my 50K goal and 7 days to go do it.