Need to Know by Karen Cleveland Read Free Book Online Page A

further.
    “Hi,” he says to me when he walks into the room. He looks hesitant, uncertain.
    “I’ll go bathe the twins,” I say, avoiding his gaze. I scoop them up, one in each arm, turning my back to Matt. I bring them up to the bathroom, run the water, pour in the capful of bubbles, let the water fill while I undress them, peeling off clothes and diapers. I set Chase in the water, then Caleb, absentmindedly run the washcloth over their soft skin, dimpled thighs and bottoms, chubby cheeks, double chins. It seems like just yesterday they were tiny newborns, preemies, that we were bringing them to the doctor for weight checks. Where did the time go?
    Matt’s voice drifts up from the family room. A story, one I know I’ve read to the kids but can’t place right now. I hear Ella giggle.
    I lean back on my heels and watch the twins play. Chase is grabbing the edge of the tub, pulling himself up, laughing gleefully. Caleb’s sitting quietly, mesmerized, marveling at the splash as his little hands hit the water again and again. We only bathe them when we’re both home, when one of us can focus on the babies and one on the older kids. It’d be so much harder without Matt.
    Everything would be so much harder.
    I get the twins toweled off and in their pajamas, and I hear Matt in the next room getting Ella ready for bed.
    “What about my bath?” she says.
    “No bath tonight, princess,” he says.
    “But I want a bath.”
    When has she ever wanted a bath? “Tomorrow night,” he says.
    Tomorrow night. Will he be around tomorrow night? I try to picture bathing all the kids myself, somehow entertaining the twins while I wash Ella, getting them all into bed, alone. The thought seems overwhelming.
    I put Caleb in one crib, Chase in the other, lay kisses on their cheeks, breathe in their sweet smell. I turn the night-light on and the overhead light off and step into Ella’s room, the one that was going to be sunshine-themed. I had big plans for a mural, a painted ceiling fan, the works. Then work got busy. Now it’s a yellow room. Bare yellow walls, yellow throw rug. That’s as far as I got.
    She’s tucked into the twin-size bed, Matt perched beside her, holding a hardcover book angled so she can look at the pictures. It’s the one about the princess firefighter, the one she’s picked every night for the past week and a half.
    She turns to look at me, her eyelids heavy. I give her a smile and stand in the doorway, watching them. Matt’s doing the voices he always does, and Ella laughs, that little high-pitched giggle. Everything looks so normal, and it hurts to see it. She has no idea. No idea that everything’s about to change.
    Matt finishes the book, kisses her goodnight, and gives me a long look as he stands. I move over to her bedside and kneel down. I kiss her forehead, so warm against my lips. “Sleep tight, sweetheart.”
    Her little arms wrap around my neck, holding me close against her. “I love you, Mommy.”
    Mommy
. I feel like I might melt, like the emotion I’ve barely been holding in check might come crashing down. “I love you, too, sweetie.”
    I turn off her light and step out into the hallway. Matt’s there, near the doorway of Luke’s room. “I gave him an extra half hour to read if he got tucked in early,” he says quietly. “Figured we could use the time to talk.”
    I nod and walk past him into Luke’s room, all blues and baseball and soccer. He’s sitting up in bed, a stack of books beside him. He looks so grown-up right now. I kiss the top of his head and feel another pull in my chest. It’s going to be hardest on him, isn’t it? Of all the kids, it’s going to be hardest on him.
    I walk back down into the family room. The house has that eerie quiet after it goes so quickly from chaos to calm. Matt’s in the kitchen, washing dishes in the sink. I start picking up, putting the scattered assortment of brightly colored plastic toys back into their bin, taking apart the wooden