Karen Cleveland - Need to Know

I stand in the doorway of the twins room and watch them sleep, peaceful and innocent, through crib slats that remind me of bars on a prison cell.

A night-light bathes the room in a soft orange glow. Furniture crowds the small space, far too much of it for a room this size. Cribs, one old, one new. A changing table, stacks of diapers still in their plastic. The bookcase Matt and I assembled ourselves, ages ago. Its shelves now sag, overloaded with the books I could recite by heart to the older two, the ones Ive been vowing to read more often to the twins, if only I could find the time.

I hear Matts footsteps on the stairs and my hand clenches around the flash drive. Tight, like if I squeeze hard enough, itll disappear. Everything will go back to the way it was. The past two days will be erased, nothing more than a bad dream. But its still there: hard, solid, real.

The hallway floor creaks where it always does. I dont turn. He comes up behind me, close enough that I can smell his soap, his shampoo, the smell of him thats always been oddly comforting, that now inexplicably makes him more of a stranger. I can feel his hesitation.

Can we talk? he says.

The words are quiet, but the sound is enough to stir Chase. He sighs in his sleep and then settles, still curled into a ball, like hes protecting himself. Ive always thought hes so much like his father, the serious eyes, taking everything in. Now I wonder if Ill ever truly know him, if hell keep secrets so heavy theyll crush anyone close to him.

Whats there to say?

Matt takes a step closer, puts a hand on my arm. I move away, enough to free myself from his touch. His hand lingers in the air, then falls to his side.

What are you going to do? he asks.

I look at the other crib, at Caleb, on his back in his footed pajamas; cherubic blond curls, arms and legs splayed like a starfish. His hands are open, his pink lips open. He has no idea how vulnerable he is, how cruel the world can be.

I always said Id protect him. Id give him the strength that he lacks, make sure he has every opportunity, keep his life as normal as possible. How can I do that, if Im not around?

I would do anything for my kids. Anything. I uncurl my fingers and look at the flash drive, the little rectangle, nondescript. So small, but with so much power. Power to fix, power to destroy.

Rather like a lie, when you think about it.

You know I dont have a choice, I say, and I force myself to look at him, my husband, the man I know so well, and at the same time not at all.

Bad news, Viv.

I hear Matts voice, words anyone would dread, but a tone thats reassuring. Light, apologetic. Its something unfortunate, sure, but its manageable. Anything truly bad and his voice would be heavier. Hed use a complete sentence, a complete name. I have some bad news, Vivian.

I hold the phone to my ear with a raised shoulder, swivel my chair to the other side of the L-shaped desk, to the computer centered under gray overhead bins. I guide the cursor to the owl-shaped icon on the screen and double-click. If its what I think it iswhat I know it isthen I only have a bit longer at my desk.

Ella? I say. My gaze drifts to one of the crayon drawings tacked to the high cubicle walls with pushpins, a pop of color in this sea of gray.

A hundred point eight.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Weve been expecting it. Half her class has been sick, falling like dominoes, so it was only a matter of time. Four-year-olds arent exactly the cleanliest bunch. But today? It had to happen today?

Anything else?

Just the temp. He pauses. Sorry, Viv. She seemed fine when I dropped her off.

I swallow past the tightening in my throat and nod, even though he cant see me. Any other day and hed pick her up. He can work from home, at least in theory. I cant, and I used up all my leave when the twins were born. But hes taking Caleb into the city for the latest round of medical appointments. Ive been feeling guilty for weeks that Ill have to miss it. And now Ill be missing it and still using leave I dont have.

Ill be there in an hour, I say. The rules say we have an hour from the time they call. Factoring in the drive and the walk to my carits in the outer reaches of Langleys sprawling parking lotsthat gives me about fifteen minutes to wrap up work for the day. Fifteen minutes less leave to add to my negative balance.

I glance at the clock in the corner of my screenseven minutes past tenand then my eyes shift to the Starbucks cup beside my right elbow, steam escaping from the hole in the plastic lid. I treated myself, a splurge in celebration of the long-awaited day, fuel for the tedious hours ahead. Precious minutes wasted in line that could have been spent digging through digital files. Should have stuck to the usual, the sputtering coffee maker that leaves grounds floating at the top of the mug.

Thats what I told the school, Matt says. School is actually our day care center, the place where our youngest three spend their days. But weve been calling it school since Luke was three months old. Id read it could help ease the transition, lessen the guilt of leaving your baby for eight, ten hours a day. It didnt, but old habits die hard, I guess.

Theres another pause, and I can hear Caleb babbling in the background. I listen, and I know that Matts listening, too. Its like were conditioned to do so at this point. But its just vowel sounds. Still no consonants.

I know today was supposed to be a big day, Matt finally says, and trails off. Im used to the trailing off, the evasive conversations on my open line. I always assume someones listening in. The Russians. The Chinese. Thats part of the reason Matts the first one the school calls when theres a problem. Id rather him filter some of the kids personal details from the ears of our adversaries.

Call me paranoid, or just call me a CIA counterintelligence analyst.

But really, thats about all Matt knows. Not that Ive been trying in vain to uncover a network of Russian sleeper agents. Or that Ive developed a methodology for identifying people involved in the highly secretive program. Just that Ive waited months for this day. That Im about to find out if two years of hard work is going to pay off. And if I stand a chance at that promotion we desperately need.

Yeah, well, I say, moving my mouse back and forth, watching Athena load, the cursor in the shape of a timer. Calebs appointment is whats important today.

My eyes drift back to the cubicle wall, the bright crayon drawings. Ellas, a picture of our family, stick arms and legs protruding straight from six round happy faces. Lukes, a bit more sophisticated, a single person, thick jagged scribbles to color in hair and clothing and shoes. MOMMY, it says in big capital letters. From his superhero phase. Its me, in a cape, hands on my hips, an S on my shirt. Supermommy.

Theres a familiar feeling in my chest, the pressure, the overwhelming urge to cry. Deep breaths, Viv. Deep breaths.

The Maldives? Matt says, and I feel the hint of a smile creep to my lips. He always does this, finds a way to make me smile when I need it most. I glance at the photograph of the two of us on the corner of my desk, my favorite from our wedding day, almost a decade ago. Both of us so happy, so young. We always talked about going somewhere exotic for our ten-year anniversary. Its certainly not in the cards anymore. But its fun to dream. Fun and depressing at the same time.