Karen Cleveland - Need to Know

Powerless to stop it, on my own.

The thought’s in my head, clawing its way to the front. I’m trying to push it back, push it away, keep it from fully forming. But I can’t. It’s the only way.

I leave the picture on the counter and walk into the family room, mug between both hands, trying to warm them. Matt’s on the couch, leaning forward, his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. A flash drive’s attached, a little orange light lit. He glances up as I enter, his face tight, tense. I sit down beside him, look at the screen, the jumble of text, indecipherable to me, the characters he’s typing, a string of them.

“Any luck?” I say.

He sighs, shakes his head. “My encryption code’s not enough. It’s multilayer, pretty complex stuff.”

“Do you think you can crack it?”

He looks at the screen, then back at me, regret and frustration all over his face. “I don’t think so.”

I nod. The fact doesn’t surprise me, not in the least. They’re good, the Russians. They’ve designed this so no one can break in. Not without the other decryption codes.

“What do we do now?” he asks.

I search his face. I need to see exactly how he’s going to react, to all of this. Because I think I trust him. I think there’s an explanation for everything. But I need to be sure. “We go to the authorities.”

His eyes widen, just the smallest bit. I can read surprise, but little else. “What?”

“It’s the only way to keep Luke safe.”

“But we know who it is—”

“And that’s all we know. We have absolutely nothing that can help us find him. Nothing. But the authorities, they would.”

His eyes haven’t left mine. I see hopelessness, desperation. “There’s got to be some other way—”

I shake my head. “We have a name. A Russian name. Nothing on his alias, his location. Maybe if we had more time…”

I watch him process the information, the way I’ve been forced to. It’s the only way. We can’t track him down on our own. Not in time.

“Luke dies tomorrow,” I say quietly. “What if he comes for Luke, and we can’t stop it?”

The crease in his forehead deepens. He’s still thinking; I can see it.

“You’re right,” he says. “We need the help.”

I wait for it, the next question, the one I know is coming. Because this is when it’ll really matter, his reaction. I need to see how he’ll react when I say it.

“So what do we tell them?” he finally asks. And I hear the unspoken part of the question, the one I’ve been running through my mind, as well. How do we get their help without implicating ourselves?

I look up, meet his eyes, memorize the expression, wait to see how it’ll change. “The truth.”

“What?” He stares at me in utter confusion.

I watch him closely. “We tell them everything.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Disbelief, I think. “We’ll go to jail, Viv. Both of us.”

I can feel emotion welling up in my chest, an intense pressure. Being in jail would mean life as I know it is over. I wouldn’t be there for the kids. I’d miss their childhoods. Their lives. They’d hate me for leaving them, for turning them into a media spectacle.

He blinks at me, and the incredulity morphs into frustration. “You’re just giving up? Now, when we’re so close?”

“I’m not giving up.” I’m not, that much I know for sure. I’m just finally standing up, doing what’s right, what I should have done a long time ago.

“After all of this—”

“All of this was for the kids,” I interrupt. “And this is still for the kids.”

“There’s got to be another way. Some story—”

I shake my head. I need to stay firm here. Because he’s right. There probably is another way. Another lie we could tell. I could sit down with Omar, spin a tale that he might buy, that might be enough to keep us out of jail, to keep Luke and the other kids safe. “I don’t want any more stories.”

I don’t want something that’s going to bury us deeper, spiral us further down in deceit. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop, terrified I’ve made the wrong decision, that my children are still in danger. I want them in witness protection. I want them safe.

“And I don’t want to take any chances. They won’t understand how much danger the kids are in, how much of a threat Vashchenko is, or even why he’s threatening the kids, unless we come clean,” I say. “We need them protected. This is what’s best for them.”

“Both their parents in prison? That’s what’s best?”

A cloud of doubt is forming over me, because honestly, I don’t know. But in my gut, I feel like this is right. It’s the way to keep them safe. And besides, how can I be the mother I need to be, if I let the rest of my life be a lie? How can I teach the kids right from wrong? All the times I’ve chastised them for fibbing, all the times I’ve told them to do what’s right, they’re all running through my mind like a movie reel. And Peter’s words. I trust you’ll make the right decision, whatever that is.

“Maybe it is,” I say. I’m still holding on to a fragment of hope that it won’t happen, both of us in jail, but I can’t tell him that, not yet.

And I know, deep down, that we probably will end up behind bars. But maybe what’s best for them isn’t us all being together, after all. Maybe it’s making absolutely sure they’re safe. That we’re teaching them to do what’s right, even if it’s difficult. Maybe someday they’ll look at everything I’ve done, everything Matt’s done, and they’ll understand. But if we keep going like this, keep living this lie, another ten, twenty years, or until whenever the authorities finally catch up with us, then what? How will we be able to look them in the eye again?

I pull my phone out, lay it carefully down on the ottoman in front of us. I see Matt look at it.

I take a deep breath. “I trust you. I hope you can see that now. But you can still leave. I won’t call until you’re on a plane out of here.”

He looks at the phone a moment longer, then his gaze shifts to me. “Never,” he whispers. “I’d never leave you.” He reaches for my hand. I feel his fingers encircle mine, warm and so familiar. “If you think this is what we need to do, then we’ll do it.”

This is Matt, my husband, the man I know, the man I love. I was wrong to ever doubt him. So very, very wrong.

I let go of his hand, reach into my pocket, pull out the little square of paper. Unfold it, lay it down on the ottoman, the two long strings of characters visible to us both. “There’s one more thing I want you to do.”

DAWN IS BREAKING WHENOmar arrives at our house, alone, just as I asked. I greet him at the door and usher him inside. He enters warily, one cautious step forward, then another, his eyes looking around the room, taking everything in. He doesn’t say a word.

I close the door behind him, and then we stand awkwardly in the hall. I feel a flash of regret for calling him here, an urge to back out. There’s still some time to get out of this. Then I lift my chin. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the only way to keep my kids safe.

“Let’s go sit down,” I say, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. When Omar doesn’t move, I start leading the way. I hear his footsteps behind me.

Matt’s already sitting at the kitchen table. Omar sees him and stops, eyes him, then gives him a nod. Still doesn’t say a word. I scoot Chase’s high chair out of the way and drag Luke’s chair to the end of the table, gesture for Omar to sit. He hesitates, and then does so, lowering himself into the chair. I sit in my usual spot, across from Matt. I glance up at him and suddenly I’m at the table weeks ago, the day I learned the news that would change my life, all of our lives.