Karen Cleveland - Need to Know

“We heard about it,” I say. It was a major news story, even here, although everything I read about the operation said twenty-five operatives. Alexander Lenkov was identified as one of those arrested, though details about him were scarce, and the only photograph released was pixelated enough to be indistinct. Luckily I don’t think anyone would have recognized him as my husband. “What’s going to happen to them all?”

He shrugs. “Jail, prisoner swap, who knows.” He eyes me for a moment. “I’m sure you read that most of them are claiming they were framed? That they’re actually political dissidents, enemies of the state, that kind of thing?”

I nod and smile. “At least they’re consistent, I guess.”

He grins, then turns serious again. “The Bureau finally approved the ‘Come in from the Cold’ op. We got two recruits that way, so far. We’re working on using them to disrupt another cell. And we’re using your algorithm to try to find other handlers. There’s a huge amount of resources devoted to it, FBI and CIA.”

I’m quiet for a moment, letting everything sink in. They disrupted an entire cell, and they’re making progress on finding others. I shake my head in wonderment, and then I ask the other question that’s on my mind, the one that’s more pressing, that frightens me far more. “And Matt? Do they suspect him?”

He shakes his head. “No indication the Russians know he’s still out there, or that he had any involvement.”

My eyes flutter closed. A weight lifts itself off my shoulders, freeing me. It’s what I’d hoped; the news stories seemed to credit the disruption to Peter, described as a longtime CIA analyst preyed on because of his wife’s illness, then blackmailed. And to a Bureau agent identified simply as “O.”

“And as for you,” he goes on, “you’re listed as taking a temporary leave of absence. It’s pretty well known in CIC and the Bureau that it has something to do with this case, and there’s a rumor going around that the Russians blackmailed you and you resisted. But no one at the working level knows the details.”

“Who knows the truth?”

“Me. The directors of the FBI and CIA. That’s it.”

I can feel my tension draining away. This conversation couldn’t be going any better if I’d written it myself. But at the same time, what does that mean for us, here? I feel a surge of sadness, like everything around me is tenuous, might be pulled away in a heartbeat. I’m almost afraid to ask the next question. “So what now?”

“Well, from everything we’ve seen, it’s safe to return. We can get you back into your house, your job….”

My mind drifts, even though I don’t want it to. The kids, at day care all day. Seeing them just for brief snippets in the morning, and again at night—if I’m lucky. I try to push away the thought.

“We’ll iron out all the details in the coming weeks. We’ll get Matt some new documents—birth certificate, passport, et cetera. Something that’ll hold up to any scrutiny.” He pauses, looks at me expectantly, so I offer him a weak smile.

“We’ll make the transition back as smooth as possible, Vivian. Nothing to worry about . And we’ll do some amazing work together, you and I. More disruptions…”

He trails off, looks at me with a strange expression on his face. “That’s what you want, right?”

I don’t answer immediately. It’s odd, being in this moment. Because for the first time, it’s actually my choice. I’m not trapped in a job that I’m no longer sure I want. No one’s manipulating me, pressuring me to do anything. I can do whatever I want. I can choose.

“Vivian?” he presses. “Are you going back?

I blink at him, and then I answer.

MATT AND I HAD CELEBRATEDour ten-year anniversary at the beach, just as we’d hoped. We sat in the sand on the crescent beach and watched the kids play, toasted with plastic cups of cheap sparkling wine as the sun slipped closer to the horizon, bathing our world in reds and pinks.

“We’re here, after all,” he said.

“Together. All of us.”

I listened to the crash of the waves, the squeals and giggles of the kids, and I remembered the last time we’d talked about it, the plans for our anniversary, a trip to an exotic beach. It was the morning I found Matt’s picture, just before everything fell apart. I was transported back to my cubicle, the high gray walls, the ever-present feeling of floundering, of failing, of being torn between two things that were so important to me, each of which demanded more time than I could give. My throat tightened, just thinking about it.

I dug my toes deeper into the sand and looked at the horizon, the sun sinking ever lower. And I said the only thing that was on my mind in that moment. “I don’t want to go back to the job.” It was out of the blue, really, because we hadn’t talked about work, not since we’d left the States. “I mean, if it’s even an option.” It felt good, saying what I wanted. Making a choice. Being in control.

“Okay,” Matt said. Just that. Okay.

“I want to sell the house,” I said, pushing further.

“Okay.”

I turned to face him. “Really? I know you love the house—”

He laughed, shook his head. “I don’t love the house. I hated it, in the beginning. Hated that I talked you into it just so you’d be trapped in your job.”

The words felt like a blow, one I should have seen coming. I curled my toes deeper in the sand and looked back at the ocean.

“I love the memories we’ve made there,” he added. “But the house itself? Nah.”

I tried to process the thought, the realization—once again—that so much of what I believed to be true wasn’t really true.

“I love you, Viv. And I want you to be happy. Really, truly happy, like you were when we first met.”

“I’m happy,” I said, but the words rang false. Was I? Being with the kids, with Matt, I was happy. But there was so much about my life that didn’t make me happy.

“Not the way you deserve to be,” he said softly. “I haven’t been the husband I want to be.”

I should have said something, should have argued. But I didn’t. The words didn’t come. I think maybe I wanted to see what he was going to say.

“When you went back to work after Luke was born… That day you came home and said you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave him. There was nothing I wanted more than to say, ‘Don’t.’ To say we’d sell the house, I’d get a second job, whatever. It killed me to tell you to hang in there, to stick it out. I knew how unhappy it made you. I knew. And it killed me.”

I felt tears spring to my eyes, thinking back to that day, one of my lowest. I watched the kids through the blur. A game of tag, Luke sprinting so fast, Ella keeping up. Chase toddling behind, trying so hard. And Caleb, sweet Caleb, standing, taking a few hesitant steps, laughing.

“There are so many times I’ve let you down. When I convinced you to work Russia. When we found out it was twins. I was so focused on keeping our family together, so afraid they’d order me to leave. I put that above being there for you. And I’m sorry for that. From the bottom of my heart.”

I watched the sun slip below the horizon, the ball of fire disappearing. The brilliant reds and oranges had given way to deep pinks and blues, streaks in the sky.

“I haven’t liked the person that I’ve been. But I want to rebuild. I want to start over, to be the husband I know I can be. The one you deserve.”

The kids were still running in the sand, oblivious to the sunset, to our conversation, to the choices we needed to make. Their shrieks trailed over, mixed with the sound of the waves.