One Thing I Know

by Kara Isaac

Lucas’s fingers trailed the intricately carved wooden arms of his chair as he sat. Whoever was bankrolling this place was loaded. Craftsmanship like he was sitting in did not come cheap.

  A bucket of champagne appeared beside the table. The cork was popped and fizzing glasses landed in front of them before Lucas could say he didn’t drink.

  Brad’s glass was already in the air, awaiting its partner for a toast. “Lucas, my man, I am going to make you a star.”

  • • •

  A COUPLE of hours later, Lucas mopped up his plate with the last piece of the best-tasting steak he’d had in his life. Even though he’d managed to get away with barely a sip of champagne, his head spun as though he’d drunk a bottle.

  Dinner had continued the same way it had started. Brad, waxing lyrical about the plans he had to syndicate Lucas, launch him into national stardom, punctuated only by pauses to down copious amounts of booze and eat a pile of ribs so big it must’ve required the sacrifice of a small herd.

  From what Lucas could tell, so far there were a lot of big promises being spun like cotton candy, but not much detail.

  “So, Lucas.” Brad rinsed his sausage-shaped fingers in the bowl of water between them. “What do you say about all that?”

  About all what? “It sounds very interesting, sir.”

  Brad threw back his head and roared. “Oh, I love you Midwesterners. So reserved. If I’d just told anyone in LA what I’ve said to you, I wouldn’t have to worry about recruiting for my casting couch anytime soon, if you know what I mean.”

  Unfortunately he did, and it made him feel tainted just sitting at the same table as the man.

  “Anyway, let’s get down to business.” Brad had a glint in his eye. “There’s one little detail to my offer I haven’t told you about yet.”

  “What’s that?” He was going for nonchalant; it came out eager.

  “Lucas, I want to bring you out to LA and set you up with a new show just like Feelings and Football. Some sports, some love advice. It’s genius. I guarantee, within two years it will be syndicated across America. You, Lucas Grant, will be the person everyone calls when they want advice or to even just shoot the breeze about the Cardinals’ win.”

  He hoped not. That would be pretty sad. People should be calling their parents, or siblings or girlfriends, not him. The fact that so many people called him—a complete stranger with no more expertise than the average man on the street—was proof of how disconnected people were from each other these days. Since when did talk radio and reality TV become a substitute for real relationships? Not that he was one to talk. Scott wasn’t far wrong when he teased him about hiding in a closet behind a microphone so he wouldn’t have to deal with real life.

  “. . . signing bonus of five hundred thousand dollars.”

  Brad’s words screeched across his brain. Lucas was sure the whole restaurant had stopped to stare at the man. Half a million dollars? As a signing fee?

  “Five hundred thousand dollars?” He struggled to get the words out, tongue tripping at putting the words “hundred” and “thousand” next to each other. He could help Scott and Grace, give them a bit of breathing room. Fund some more treatment, help Joey have the brother or sister he desperately wanted.

  “I know, you were probably expecting more.” Brad spread his palms across the table. “And there is more, but it comes with a catch.”

  “A catch?” Lucas took a slug of water. What could be worth even more money?

  “Dr. Donna.”

  Ahhhhhh, now it all made sense. Lucas sensed his dream slipping out of his grasp. “I can’t bring Donna with me. As far as I know, she has no interest in having her own show.” He still couldn’t believe that in the middle of being a bestselling author, she’d shown up for his show for four hours. Even if he’d rather be talking about the baseball picks. Not when she could have had countless shows with a bigger listenership than his.

  “I don’t want you to bring her along.” Brad flicked his hand like she was an annoying blowfly. “You guys are friends, though, right?”

  Were they friends? He’d never really thought about it. “I guess, in a way.” She was funny and a fantastic cohost. But she was old enough to be his mother.

  “Good. I want you to use your friendship to expose her.”

  His water glass stalled halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”

  “I think she’s hiding something. Something big. Something that if it got discovered would destroy her.” Brad’s piggy eyes gleamed at the possibility.

  “Why on earth would you think that?” The guy was nuts. Must’ve had too much to drink.

  “A man in my position hears things. Just little things, but after a while discrepancies start stacking up. One here, another there. Individually they mean nothing, but when taken as a whole . . .” A stubby finger poked the air, a whisker’s distance from Lucas’s nose. “Something isn’t kosher.”

  “Well, I’ve known Donna for years; there’s nothing there.” It had been eight years since the first time she’d been on his show to promote her first book. He’d had the graveyard slot, where people called in about anything and everything, and she’d been so nervous that the first few minutes her voice sounded like something out of a cartoon.

  “Maybe I’m wrong.” Brad shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe what I’ve heard isn’t right, or there’s an explanation. But—” He leaned forward, which was only a slight movement given his size and the table penning him in. “What if I’m right? If I am, then she is a fraud, a con, of the highest order. Millions of people have bought her books. Doesn’t America deserve to know the truth that their favorite therapist leads a double life?”

  A double life. It wasn’t possible. Donna was nothing like his father. She was kind, passionate, warm, witty, intelligent. Besides . . . his head hurt even trying to think about how on earth she would have gotten away with hiding anything significant. Not in these days of 24/7 tabloid journalism.

  “Can you give me an example?”

  “Sure.” Brad leaned back. “There have been times when she’s been doing a signing in one part of the country while on radio at the same time somewhere completely different. How is that possible?”

  Um, it was called a prerecord. And Brad being in the radio business knew that better than anyone.

  “Her old publicist retired a couple of years ago. She’s been saying things too. That Donna isn’t what she seems.”

  Lucas raised his eyebrows. That was all the man had? Some prerecorded interviews that the station promoted as live and the ramblings of someone who was probably going senile?

  “A million bucks.” Brad folded his hands over his expansive girth.

  “What?”

  “A million bucks is what I’ll add to your signing bonus if you can deliver proof I’m right, or, having looked into it, convince me I’m wrong.”

  Lucas stared at him, jaw scraping the tablecloth. “I . . . I . . .” His mind struggled to wrap itself around so many zeroes. With that kind of money he could help Scott and Grace out, clear all their debts, and pay off his own home with the change. But something didn’t sit quite right. “Brad, I’m flattered, really I am. But I’m not a PI. Even if there was something there, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Brad swiped his fat finger around his dinner plate to get the last of the sauce. “Don’t worry. If I wanted one of those I’d hire one. All I’m asking is that you keep your ears open when you join them for the tour, ask a few questions, maybe dig around and see if you uncover anything that doesn’t add up.” He sucked the sauce off his finger with a slurp.

  Lucas eased back in his seat, considering. There couldn’t be anything there. Donna was so high profile that surely, if there was, it would have been discovered by now. And how could he live with himself if he said no and Scott and Grace lost their ranch?

  Brad pulled out his wallet and threw a wad of notes on top of his plate. “Just think about it. You have my number.”

  Lucas made a snap decision. “N
o, I’ll do it.”

  Brad hoisted himself off the booth, the whoosh of his bulk moving causing the candle on their table to flicker.

  Lucas pushed back his chair and stood too. What had he just agreed to exactly?

  “A man who knows how to make a quick decision.” Brad thrust his hand forward, fleshy, sweaty fingers enveloping Lucas’s palm. “I like that. It’s been a pleasure, Lucas—I’ll be in touch.”

  Moving with speed that defied his bulk, he disappeared, leaving Lucas standing at the table by himself.

  - 12 -

  The carpet sucked her feet in. Not that Rachel made any attempt to fight it. The August deadline was getting closer by the day and here she was, in the one place guaranteed to not spring forth even a whit of inspiration.

  “Hey, Rach.”

  “Hey, Harvey.” Rachel threw a wave to the sturdy orderly who had been here so long, he was as much a part of this place as the walls.

  She balanced the cardboard tray of coffees in front of her as the door to room 401 appeared on her left. She paused, her fingers on the handle. It had seemed like a good idea twenty minutes ago, but now it just felt weird. Like the loner in the playground doing anything to try and find a friend.

  The glass sliding door was partly open, the steady beep of the monitors floating out. Anna sat curled up in the easy chair beside her husband’s bed in the same Berkeley sweatshirt they’d met in. Alone. No pocket-rocket preschooler to be seen.

  Rachel’s heart retreated. There was something about Libby that had made the world feel alive, even within these four walls that specialized in bad news and long-term heartbreak.

  Her knuckles tapped the glass and Anna turned her head, motioning with her hand to come in.

  The door slid open and Rachel stepped into the room, pulling it closed behind her.

  “Hey.” Anna gave a glimmer of a smile. “Welcome back. Book tour finished?”

  How . . .? Oh, Lacey. “Weekend off.” Rachel gestured to her tray. “Loretta mentioned you’re here pretty much twenty-four/seven, so I thought you might need some of the good stuff.”

  Anna’s eyes lit up like the star on top of a Christmas tree. “You’re an angel. I swear I’ve been dreaming about proper coffee.”

  “I wasn’t sure what your poison is now, so I’ve got a latte or a mocha.”

  “Full fat?” Anna’s words were painted with hope.

  “Full strength, full fat, and I’ve even got some white magic if you also want full sugar.”

  Anna levered herself out of the chair and padded across the room. “If I wasn’t worried about spilling the coffee, I would lay the world’s largest hug on you right now.”

  Rachel held out the tray. “Left is the mocha, right is the latte.”

  Anna pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. “Oh what the heck, I’ll take the mocha.”

  Rachel ejected it from the tray and handed it over. “Sugar?”

  Anna already had the lid off and was slurping up the foam, a ring of milky bubbles looping her mouth. She shook her head, mumbling something that Rachel semi-deciphered as “this is perfect.”

  The door slid open behind them and an older woman stepped into the room, purse hanging on her elbow, knitting needles and yarn visible in the open top.

  “Hi, Marie.” Anna licked some foam off her top lip. “Marie, this is my old friend from college, Rachel. Rachel, this is Cam’s mom.”

  Old friend from college. Anna said the words easily. Like there hadn’t been almost a decade of silence between then and now.

  Marie nodded. “How’s he doing?”

  “No change.” Anna sighed out the words, rubbing her temple with her free hand. “The doctor said this morning the swelling has gone down a little bit more, but not as much as they had hoped.”

  Marie patted Anna’s arm. “Well, a little bit is better than nothing. Why don’t you take a break, dear. Stretch your legs. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  “We can go sit outside; it’s a nice day.” The words were out of Rachel’s mouth before she’d thought about them.

  Anna popped the lid back on her coffee. “You know what? That sounds like heaven. I think I’ve breathed in about as much recycled air as my lungs can take.” Placing the coffee on the table at the foot of Cam’s bed, she grabbed a gray jacket off the back of the chair and slipped her arms into it. “Lead me on.”

  Rachel threw the tray and napkins in the trash beside the door. Sliding it open, she turned to glimpse Marie extract a large Bible from her purse and cross herself. Hopefully her God would hear her prayers, because from the look of the monitor tracking his brain activity, Cam needed all the help he could get.

  “Has your father been here the whole time?” Anna took another sip of her mocha as they headed toward the closest set of doors leading to the garden.

  “Yes. Straight from the hospital. The only thing that’s changed is he’s moved rooms a couple of times.” She didn’t look at Anna as she opened the door and ushered her ahead, choosing to stare at the still snow-capped Rockies in the distance.

  A semi-choke from beside her. “No change at all?” It was spluttered more than said.

  A bitter laugh. “Yeah, I didn’t know it was possible either.” She wrapped her fingers around her cup, trying to drain every last piece of warmth from it. It was a nice spring day, but not a warm one.

  “What’s . . . I’m sorry, I know this is weird. I’ve lost all my social cues with everything that’s happened. I should have just said thanks for the coffee and let you go on your way.”

  “His actual brain was battered beyond any chance of recovering function. But somehow his brain stem remained intact. So mentally he’s a vegetable, but physically all major organs work just fine. Part of me wishes he’d just stroke out so they can finally go to people who could really use them.” She gasped as her ugly words were carried on the wind. Had she just wished her father dead to Anna, of all people?

  She glanced sideways, expecting to see the judgment and damnation painted across Anna’s face. Instead, her eyes crinkled in thought and she held her hair back with one hand to stop it from flying in front of her face as she drank.

  Finally Anna swallowed and spoke. “I can’t imagine much worse than Cam being here, the same, six months from now, let alone ten years. I could never wish him dead, but . . .” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “Hooked up to machines, unable to function in any sense? What is that? I’m not sure if it even qualifies as life.”

  Rachel patted her on the shoulder, the coarse texture of Anna’s coat scraping across her fingers. “Try not to think about it. It’s early days yet. I’ve seen people come in here like Cam is now and walk out well on the road to recovery.” No need to tell her it had been all of about five.

  Anna fished a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I just pray that whichever it is, God takes it out of my hands. I’ve tried to get my mind around turning off his life support if they told me there was no hope, but I can’t. How could I explain that to Libby? How could I live with myself?”

  Rachel didn’t answer. She had never had to make that decision since her father could breathe on his own.

  “So, you and Lacey work together now.” Anna changed the subject as she sat down on a wooden bench facing the gardens.

  “She’s a great publicist.” Rachel sat down too, stretching her legs out in front of her.

  “That she is.”

  “What about you? What do you do now?” It was horrible. Excruciating. She and Anna had used to talk about everything. Filling their apartment with laughter and yelled conversations across rooms. Now here they were. Worse than strangers.

  “Me?” Anna shrugged. “Nothing really. I’m just a mom. Maybe soon-to-be widow.” Something came out that sounded halfway between a laugh and a sob.

  Rachel was silent. She couldn’t promise it was going to be okay when clearly her situation said the opposite.

  “How have you done it, Rach? What if Cam is like your father? How am I s
upposed to make a life for Libby if her dad . . .” Anna choked, unable to finish the sentence.

  “I don’t know.” Rachel took a sip of her coffee. As far as she could tell, the only thing Cam and her father had in common was this building. “He wasn’t a good father, Anna. I have a whole lot of guilt but very few good memories. If he were still alive he’d probably still be the same selfish, demanding drunk. I wasn’t trying to build a life with him. It was the complete opposite. I was trying to build a life away from him.”

  “We should have just come with you that night. I’ve never quite forgiven myself that we didn’t.”

  “We were twenty-one. It wasn’t our fault.” Even though she’d told herself the same thing many times over the years, for the first time ever, Rachel felt herself starting to believe it.

  Anna leaned forward, hands tightening around her cup. “I tried to find you.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. Six years ago. When Cam and I got engaged. I had this weird compulsion to have you meet him. Wanted to know if you’d approve. But I couldn’t find you anywhere. Lacey couldn’t either. I mean obviously we knew you were connected with Dr. Donna, but eventually I figured you had made yourself invisible for a reason. That you didn’t want us to find you.”

  Rachel flinched. She’d only gotten in touch with Lacey when they had to find a new publicist, and she’d never reached out to Anna. Had always assumed that the things she’d said, the way she’d behaved, would mean they’d long since moved on. It had never occurred to her that they might one day come looking for her.

  Would she have left some clues if it had? Would she have taken a chance and reached out?

  Maybe three years would have been enough time. Maybe they could have found a way to rebuild what they had lost. Maybe if they had, right now she’d have a life with a footprint bigger than a postage stamp.

  - 13 -

  “Why do you think women always seem to go for the bad guy?” Lucas sounded more curious than anything else.

  Rachel swallowed her last mouthful of orange juice and schooled her Dr. Donna voice. “Define a bad guy.” She checked the clock on the wall. Less than ten minutes to go before the show was over. Thank goodness. Lucas hadn’t been quite himself tonight. Distracted. Asking odd questions during breaks.