What I Know: An utterly compelling psychological thriller full of suspense

by Miranda Smith

  I think back to the beach. I’d fretted over starting my period that week and was thankful when it held off. That was… three weeks ago. I rub my forehead, like I’m not doing the math right. Surely I couldn’t be three weeks late? That never happens. Had I been so preoccupied I hadn’t noticed? I think of how tired I’ve felt since our return. Nauseous. I’ve been stressing about Zoey and thinking about Brian. But what if there’s another explanation for my symptoms? I move to the next aisle and look around a bit before making my purchases.

  We’ve stayed at this place before. It’s a small one-bedroom with a fireplace in the living room and a hot tub on the wrap-around porch. The perfect setting for a romantic weekend, and yet I feel I’ve already ruined that. And now I’ve got other worries on my mind.

  I grab my luggage from the backseat and slide my pharmacy bag inside the front zipper.

  “You’re in a hurry,” Danny says. He’s still standing at the back of the car, looping grocery bags across his forearm.

  “Bathroom,” I say, nodding my head at the locked front door.

  “Key should be under that rock by the left,” Danny says. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine,” I say for the hundredth time. I skid the rock over with my foot and bend to retrieve the key. The door creaks open, and I see the familiar sight of our rented living room. The stone fireplace reaches up to the paneled ceiling which makes the room forever smell of pine. I walk down the narrow hallway leading to the bedroom. I throw my bags on the bed, immediately opening the front pocket to make sure my pharmacy bag is still inside. Of course it is. But now I feel all fidgety and forgetful, like maybe I’m making something out of nothing.

  Am I supposed to just take the test now? Should I tell Danny first? No, I don’t want to do that. No sense, when it could be a false alarm. I’ll take the test first. I run my fingers through my hair and stare at the vaulted ceiling. The fan spins slowly above me. I don’t even have to go to the bathroom yet! Maybe I am just losing my mind. It feels that way a little bit.

  When I re-enter the living space, Danny stands at the counter preparing a marinade. He stops what he’s doing, walks over and kisses my forehead. “Maybe you should come by the office when we get back in town. Run some bloodwork.”

  “I don’t need all that,” I say, hopping onto one of the barstools. “You know how anxious I get about visiting Mom. I just worked myself up.”

  He finishes seasoning the meat, then puts it back in the fridge. “Wine?”

  “Maybe at dinner.” I should know whether I’m pregnant or not by then. “How about tea instead?”

  Danny picked up a gallon of sweet tea at the market. He grabs two glasses and fills them with ice. “You keep saying you’re stressed out. How are things going at school?”

  “Fine.” I reach over and grab my glass of tea, immediately begin drinking.

  “Are you still worried about that student? Zoey?”

  I don’t like hearing that name come out of Danny’s mouth. The surprise of it almost makes me choke. “Oh, her. She’s still a bother, but not much I can do about it.”

  “She hasn’t caused you any more problems?”

  I clench my jaw and shake my head. “I think I overreacted to the situation, really. I don’t have proof she hurt her classmate.” I’m not going to tell him about her other comments, or the fact I visited Ms. Peterson yesterday. Danny’s already worried enough. Besides, I’m worried about me now, too. I can deal with Zoey later.

  “So.” Danny looks down at his drink, around the room, then at my face. He’s searching for a topic. It’s usually not like that between us. Words come freely. “I’ll get the fire started before dinner.” He leaves his glass on the counter and walks across the room.

  “I’m going to freshen up,” I say, slinking down the hallway. I pull the pregnancy test out of the bag, looking over my shoulder for Danny. It’s not like I’m trying to be secretive. But if I take the test and it’s negative, then all this fuss will have been for nothing. If I take it and it’s positive, well, I still don’t think I’m ready to process that. Danny and I have always said we didn’t want children. Though, at times, I think it comes more from me than him.

  I go into the bathroom and lock the door. By now my bladder is as tight as my nerves. I read the directions over a few times to make sure I don’t mess it up, although I bought a two-pack, just in case.

  I take the test, placing the stick on the bathtub ledge. I look in the mirror. My skin is a bizarre combination of pasty and pink. What I really need is rest. My mind needs rest from thinking about Zoey and Darcy, from remembering Brian. I splash my face with water, savor the immediate coolness. I need to stop worrying about other people’s problems. Ms. Peterson and Pam and Mom. I’m on a weekend getaway with my husband. I deserve to enjoy myself. I brush through my hair with my fingers, making sure each strand is in place. I feel better now. Not necessarily like I can take on the world, but like I can enjoy my dinner. Victory Hills will present enough problems for me on Monday. Tonight, I want to enjoy life for what it is. I can sort out the other stuff later.

  I take a deep breath, feeling much calmer and more capable than I did five minutes ago. I lift the test, expecting to see a single, negative line.

  But I don’t. I see two lines. That means positive. That means I’m pregnant.

  I pull the instruction pamphlet out of the box and read over it again. Maybe I did mess this up. Maybe I waited too long or didn’t provide an appropriate sample. There must be something, anything that would account for this test being positive. I’m a grown woman on birth control, and this can’t be happening.

  Just then, Danny raps against the door.

  “You feel like getting in the hot tub?”

  “Um, no.” My voice is crackly. I hadn’t realized it until I spoke, but I’m crying. “Maybe later.”

  “Della?” He knows something is wrong. “Open the door.”

  I look in the mirror at myself holding the test. I’ve deliberately withheld information from Danny in recent weeks, but this is too much to carry. After all, I guess it’s not just my news. It’s his, too. I open the door. He can see by my face something is wrong.

  “Della, you’re scaring me.”

  “Sit down for a second,” I tell him.

  He does. I stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with my hands behind my back.

  “I know this seems out of left field, but after my fainting spell earlier I got to thinking—”

  “You said that was just nerves.”

  “Just hear me out. I got to thinking about everything. My behavior the past few weeks. I’ve not been myself. I’ve been tired. Emotional. I thought it was just stress at work.” I look down, trying not to think about that. Not now. “It dawned on me at the pharmacy I’m about three weeks late. I picked up a test, just in case.”

  Danny squints and nods with every other word. “A test? You think you might be pregnant?”

  I take the test from behind my back and hold it in front of me. “I don’t know how this happened. Really. But it says positive.”

  Danny stands, taking the test from my hand. He looks at it for a few seconds, then back at me.

  “My goodness, Della.”

  “I know. I never—”

  “This is fantastic.” He wraps his arms around me, lifting me off the floor. He kisses my neck. “You’ve acted so weird since we left your mom’s. I thought you were about to break some bad news or something.”

  “You’re happy?”

  “Of course I’m happy. Especially considering the alternative. A baby… it’s just great.”

  “But I thought we decided we didn’t want children.”

  “Sure, that’s what we said. I figured that lots of couples say that when they’re young and focusing on careers. They don’t always mean it unless…” He jerks his head back, like he’s seeing me differently. “Unless you meant it.”

  I suddenly feel like our relationship has cheated him. Like I’m ro
bbing him of what he really wants. I want to cry, or vomit, or something. I sense a physical reaction coming on, but I’m not sure what.

  “Look, when I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect to find this out. When I took the test ten minutes ago, I didn’t expect to find this out. I need time to process.”

  “Right, right. I’m getting a little ahead of myself.” He rubs the back of his neck, sways from side to side with the test still in his hand. His first reaction to the news was joy. Danny didn’t need time to decide he wanted to be a father, and he judges me for not being as readily taken by the challenge. “I’m going to start dinner.” He starts to hand the test back, before fidgeting and dropping it on the bed.

  A baby. Baby. It’s a terrifying word. I’ve never wanted children. Maybe that’s not entirely true. I used to babysit for some of the neighborhood kids. Monitoring children for a few hours is nothing compared to raising them. I realized that, even back then. But any desire I once had to be a mother fizzled when I realized what Brian had become.

  I never looked at motherhood the same after that. Images of squishy limbs and big eyes were replaced with research about predisposed violence and genetic traits. Even now, as I try to envision a combined version of myself and Danny, all I see are the negative traits I could pass along. What does it matter if our child has my green eyes and Danny’s dark hair, if they end up with Brian’s temper?

  And now it’s not just Brian I’m worried about. He’s not a lone monster, Zoey’s entrance in my life proves that. It’s a dangerous world full of dangerous people. Can I really bring a child into this? What if they become prey? What if they become the predator?

  When I emerge from the bedroom, I can smell the hickory sweet scent of meat. It makes me hungry, not nauseous, and I hope more nasty symptoms don’t start picking up. Danny is setting the table. I walk up behind him and squeeze my hands around his middle.

  “You hungry?” he asks.

  “Starving.”

  He pulls me around to face him. “I’m sorry if I got too excited in there. I wasn’t meaning to put pressure on you.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for being happy. I’m just still in shock.”

  “I never expected I’d be as happy as I was. I’d got myself thinking something bad was going on. I thought you were about to tell me you were having an affair, or something.”

  I slap his shoulder before taking a seat at the table. “Seriously? What would make you think that?”

  “You’ve just seemed so distant. Like you’re holding something back. Even you said you’ve not been yourself. I guess I was just expecting to hear the worst.”

  I feel guilty. I couldn’t imagine my life without Danny, but I’ve been keeping things from him. He doesn’t know how upset this Zoey stuff has gotten me. The pregnancy might even explain why I’ve been so on edge. Zoey Peterson is a damaged girl, but I’ve yet to find proof she attacked Darcy. Maybe my hormones have me overthinking. Overfeeling.

  “I love you. I wouldn’t have kept this from you, but I really thought it was a fluke,” I say. “I didn’t expect for it to be positive, and I’m still racking my brains about whether I did it wrong.”

  Danny walks over and slides a steak from his platter to my plate. My mouth waters just looking at it. “Those tests are more reliable than people think. You’re more likely to get a false negative. If the hormones are in your system, it’s going to pick them up.”

  I feel a pang of disappointment. I was hoping to blame manufacturer or user error. “There’s a second test in the pack. Maybe I’ll take it later.”

  “Do it in the morning. The test is the most accurate then.”

  I nod my head as I cut into my steak. Red juices ink the plate as I put a bite in my mouth.

  “I think this could be really great for us,” Danny says. “It’s not like we aren’t capable. Sure, we might have to cut back on traveling and other things. But we have plenty of income. You have a great schedule.”

  “Danny, you know my hesitancy to have children has nothing to do with my career. Or yours.”

  Danny stands, walks across the room and stares out the window overlooking the porch. “You can’t let him ruin this,” he says. “Being his sister isn’t a precursor for what our child might be. Truth be told, I could have lived the rest of my life with you the way things are. But now that there is a baby in the picture, I’m happy about what’s coming next.”

  “Me too,” I say, even if it’s not totally real. I’ve only had a couple of hours to try and restructure more than a decade’s worth of thinking. Being Brian’s sister, I’ve felt it’s my responsibility not to add more darkness to the world. But is that what this baby would represent? Darkness? Danny seems to think this baby is a beacon of light. A blessing. Maybe I deserve a happy ending.

  Twenty-Three

  Now

  I wake up on Monday feeling restless. The romantic weekend wasn’t what it was supposed to be. We should have been staying up late and drinking wine and sleeping in. Instead of forgetting our problems, we were confronted with a whole other issue. Pregnancy. It still doesn’t seem real. I’ve heard mothers say that before. Even after they take the tests and start gaining weight, a small part of them still can’t believe it. As though someone is pulling a trick on them.

  That’s how I feel right now. Tricked. I hadn’t asked for this. I can’t ignore Danny’s optimistic readiness. Even after we talked and talked about the baby, promised to make rational, mature decisions, he floated around the cabin. He couldn’t hide his anticipation and excitement. I didn’t know, until I showed him the test, how much he’d wanted a child. How much he’d suppressed those feelings in support of me. I’m almost jealous of his enthusiasm. All I feel is unprepared and irresponsible and scared.

  By the time I arrive at school, I’ve pushed my thoughts about the pregnancy away. I’ll deal with family issues at home, I tell myself. Here at Victory Hills, I have other problems. I’d hoped the pregnancy news might explain my behavior in recent weeks. Perhaps my concerns about Zoey were internal after all, a strange mixture of hormones and new life wreaking havoc. Hormonal or not, I can’t wipe the concerned look on Ms. Peterson’s face from my memory. I was surprised she was as wary of her own daughter as I was. I want to hear Pam’s thoughts.

  When I arrive at Pam’s office, two people I’ve never seen before are sitting inside. She sees me standing behind the glass, walks away from her desk and opens the door a crack.

  “Hey, Dell, I can’t talk right now,” she says.

  “No worries,” I say, craning my neck to get a better look at the two people in the room. One man, one woman. Both look official. Both are wearing gray.

  “Come by during your planning period, okay?” She shuts the door, returns to her desk and resumes her conversation with the two official looking strangers. I can’t hear what they are saying, but their constantly moving mouths indicate a lively conversation being had.

  The bell rings and, one by one, the students file in. Devon and Ben and Adam and Darcy. By the end of the tardy bell, Zoey still hasn’t arrived. She doesn’t show up for the entirety of first block. I’m partially happy I don’t have to interact with her, but I’m also suspicious. The only other time Zoey has been absent was after the knife incident.

  As fourth block begins, I stand outside Pam’s office door. She sees me and waves for me to enter. I take my usual seat. Danny and I decided we wouldn’t announce the pregnancy yet. It feels odd sitting here, knowing I’ve got this transformative news, and not sharing it.

  “I was just about to call you in here,” she says, chomping the last bite of her lunch and throwing away the Styrofoam containers.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything this morning.”

  “No, it’s fine. But we’ve had a situation and I knew you’d want to be filled in. It involves Zoey Peterson.”

  My throat closes in. Was I right? Zoey was absent because she’d done something? “She wasn’t here today,” I stammer.

/>   “I know. And there’s a reason for that. Apparently, there was an incident at her house last night involving the mother.”

  “Ms. Peterson?” I recall her sour stare on the porch. “My goodness, Pam, is she okay?”

  “As good as can be expected. Apparently her mother went into a drunken rage last night. She was passed out on the sofa, and when Zoey tried to wake her, her mother started beating her. Zoey called the police and is now officially in CPS custody.”

  I scoot toward the edge of the seat and balance my arm against Pam’s desk. “Wait, you mean Ms. Peterson did something to Zoey?”

  “Yes. When officers arrived last night, Ms. Peterson was barely coherent. They’ve charged her with domestic battery and child neglect. Zoey was transferred to a foster home last night. That’s why she wasn’t at school today.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, leaning forward. “It doesn’t make any sense. The woman just started beating her daughter at random. Why would she do that?”

  “According to Zoey she’s had a drinking problem for years. Last night, something must have set her off. I wouldn’t be surprised if there have been previous incidents of abuse.”

  Ms. Peterson didn’t strike me as abusive during our meeting. She seemed afraid of her daughter. I don’t believe she’s capable of harming her. All of the negative thoughts I had about Zoey have re-appeared in full force. “How do we know Zoey is being truthful?”

  Pam leans back in her chair, gently swaying her weight from one side to the other. “I told you. Police arrived and could see Zoey had been attacked. The mother was wasted. They could barely get her in the car.”

  “But why are we immediately believing Zoey?” I ask, knowing how horrible it sounds, but feeling confident, in this particular situation, the question has merit.