One Thing I Know

by Kara Isaac

  “You know, the one who drinks too much and flirts and treats women badly, and yet they seem to fall over themselves to date him?”

  “Well, I have a couple of theories.” Putting her glass down, she opened the cupboard, looking for a snack. “First off, it’s not that women always want to go for the bad guy, it’s more that they get tired of waiting for the good guy to finally get off his duff and make a move. Secondly, some women are just suckers for a challenge. Never satisfied with what they can have, they want to be the one to ‘convert’ that guy who has already run through all of their friends like water. Thirdly, I think it’s a stereotype that’s not true. I know plenty of good guys who have more than enough women falling over themselves to go out with them, and, to be blunt, often the women I see falling over themselves for the bad guy aren’t the kind of woman the good guy should want anyway.” Oooh, marshmallows! Fishing the bag out from the back of the shelf, she emptied the remaining sugary puffs onto the counter. She snagged a handful and padded back to the couch to settle in for the last part of the show.

  “Nah, Doc, I’ve seen more than my fair share of smart, kind, good-looking women throw their hearts in front of the bad-guy train wreck and then be surprised when they get run over. But put a decent guy in their path and they don’t give him a second glance.”

  “A decent guy like you?” Rachel teased him.

  Lucas laughed. “I plead the Fifth.”

  “Well, why don’t we ask our callers what they think? What do you think, Wisconsin? Do the bad guys really get the women, or is it just an urban legend? We’ll be back after a few messages from our sponsors and a couple of sports updates.”

  Ethan synched up some ad as Rachel stretched out her legs and perused the chipped coral polish on her toenails. Definitely time for a new coat. After she’d finished the sugary, spongy candy.

  “You really don’t think it works like that?” Lucas was back faster than she expected, forcing her to swallow a half-chewed marshmallow.

  “Of course it does sometimes. And like I said, sometimes it’s because he actually gets in there and makes a move, while the good guy seems content to just warm up the bench. There’s only so many weeks a woman is going to flutter her lashes over the back of a pew and drop hints about going for a coffee before she’ll move on.”

  “Hmmmm.” Lucas didn’t sound convinced.

  Rachel stood up and walked to her window, pondering the traffic and pedestrians passing by on the street below. “Here’s what women want. Most of us, anyway. They want a guy with a bit of an edge who has confidence in himself and who knows what he’s looking for in life. Combine that with someone who treats them well, makes them laugh and that they have chemistry with, and ta-da, magic. It’s not rocket science.”

  Lucas groaned. “You make it sound so—whoops, ads are almost done.” He disappeared into the ether, and radio Lucas reappeared a few seconds later. Rachel wandered back to the couch as he talked about teams she’d never heard of and players she had no interest in.

  “Well, looks like we’ve sparked some conversations out there. We have time for one last call before it’s time to call it a night and let Donna get some beauty sleep. Go ahead, Mitchell.”

  A guy cleared his voice. “So I guess you could probably say I used to be a bad guy.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, you know all the stereotypes. Bit of a smooth talker, didn’t call, cheated, took girls home when I knew I didn’t want anything beyond a bit of nighttime fun, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I think we can interpret that.”

  Rachel almost laughed out loud at Lucas’s dry tone.

  “So what changed?”

  “First of all, there wouldn’t be any bad guys if women didn’t let them treat them badly. I was a bad guy because I got away with it. Simple. I’d take a girl out for a date, not call for weeks, and then when I got bored and called her, she wouldn’t call me on it or tell me off. She was falling over herself to go out with me again. What’s with that?”

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, I guess it just got a little old. I mean, partying and picking up short-term flings when you’re twenty-one is one thing, but I reckon it’s a bit sad when you’re twenty-five and still living like you think you’re some kind of hot-shot frat guy. And secondly, I met a great girl who kicked me to the curb when I didn’t treat her right.”

  “So you changed your ways to get her back?”

  “Well, I tried. But it was too late—she’d moved on to a guy who was smart enough not to mess it up. But the next time I met a great girl, I’d learned my lesson.”

  “Mitchell raises an interesting point. Would we have bad guys if women didn’t put up with it? Matilda, what’re your thoughts?” Lucas asked the next caller.

  “I think it’s a bit rich to be putting it all on the woman. I mean, man up, take ownership for your actions. I get that it can be all very attractive if some woman is throwing herself at you. It requires no work for you to put another notch in the bedpost, but it takes two to tango.” She sounded like she was in her twenties.

  “You’re absolutely right.”

  “You know what I think some of it is?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “These days so few people have the luxury of being raised by both parents. So many times, there’s not a father around. So we have a generation of girls who are growing up with no idea what a father is meant to be. Maybe Mitchell would have looked at that woman he took home for a night of fun differently if he’d asked himself if maybe she didn’t have a father or had an abusive one and was desperate for some sort of male affirmation.”

  “You raise some good points. What do you think, Doc?”

  Rachel almost couldn’t talk. Her throat had closed over at putrid memories of her own. Ones that reminded her she knew all about doing dumb stuff out of desperation for male affirmation.

  “You there, Doc?”

  Get it together, Rachel. “Yes—yes, I’m here.” She cleared her throat. “I think Matilda makes a good point. We live in a world where a lot of children don’t know what a functional relationship looks like. They’ve never known what it’s like to have parents who provide an example of what it means to be in a relationship that works. If you’ve grown up in a household where your dad beats your mom, then that is your normal, and statistics show that you are highly likely to do the same because you’ve never been shown anything different.”

  “There’s no excuse for beating a woman, and any man who does so should be in jail.” Lucas’s voice was grim. “And on that cheerful note, it’s time to wrap up tonight’s show. Doc, a pleasure as always, and for all of you out there in our fair state, this is Lucas Grant. Sports fans, hang tight; we have a jam-packed four hours of sports—and just sports—coming your way tomorrow night.”

  Rachel pressed her forehead against the window, waiting for Lucas to come back on the line for their debrief. Outside the wind blew from the Rockies, an icy chill dancing through the streets. She had to be up to catch a plane to Texas in five hours and she hadn’t even packed yet.

  “Hey, Doc.” Lucas yawned down the line. “You got a couple of minutes?”

  “Of course.” Rachel turned and leaned against the windowsill, jumping back up after the chill leached through her pajama bottoms.

  “You know what you said about the research about if your father beat your mother then you’ll probably beat your wife too?” There was something vulnerable in his tone.

  “The correlation is higher, yes, especially if people don’t deal with it. There are situations where people are determined they are going to beat their past and turn out to be wonderful parents. But the research shows that people do have a tendency to react to conflict the way their parents did, so if a boy used to see his father beat his mother, he’s more likely to do so. If a girl grows up seeing her mother used as a punching bag, she’s more likely to become one, because that’s her normal.”

  “What about other things?�
��

  “Like?”

  “Well, if, say, a parent cheated or was an alcoholic or something like that?”

  A memory flashed through Rachel. Her father, passed out on the kitchen floor, surrounded by vomit; her mother, weak from chemo, on her hands and knees trying to clean it up before Rachel saw.

  “I’m not sure about cheating. I can have a look at the research. I know studies indicate a genetic component to alcoholism.” She paused. “Is everything okay?”

  A couple of seconds’ silence down the line. “My father, let’s just say he wasn’t the world’s greatest guy. Drank too much. Had another family we knew nothing about until he left us for them. Nothing scares me more than turning out like him.”

  She could relate. “You’re nothing like him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve known you for years. No one’s that good at hiding who they really are.” Except for her and Donna, of course. The masters of deception. He deserved better than this. “Lucas, I have to go.”

  “Okay.” His voice was still laden with unspoken burdens. “See you this weekend, Doc.”

  “ ’Bye.” Rachel hung up and placed her phone down on the table. In a few days Lucas wouldn’t be at the end of a phone. He’d be traveling with them. In person.

  The first person in a long time to make her want to be herself again. To stop hiding and take control of her own life. Despite the stakes. And he had no idea he was just part of the publicity-at-all-costs game.

  - 14 -

  “Hello?” Rachel’s voice was so clear, it was like she was standing next to him.

  “Hi, it’s Lucas.” He wiped his left palm on his jeans. What kind of idiot was he? She was going to see straight through his excuse for calling.

  Silence for a second.

  “Hope you don’t mind me calling. Donna gave me your number.” He jiggled his Bluetooth in his ear. Stupid thing never sat right.

  “No worries at all. How can I help?” She didn’t sound thrilled to be hearing from him, but she didn’t sound unhappy, either. He’d take it.

  “So, um . . .” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “The reason I’m calling is I was thinking of getting Donna something—you know, to say thank you for the show and all—and I was hoping you might be able to give me some pointers.”

  Rachel groaned. “Really? She’s a nightmare to buy for.”

  “Please, anything.”

  “Well, she likes nice lingerie.”

  His mind couldn’t even go there. “I was, um, thinking more along the lines of something that wouldn’t get me in trouble with her husband.”

  She laughed. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay? And give you a call back. I honestly don’t know of anything off the top of my head. It took me two months to source her birthday present. What’s your budget?”

  Oh cripes, he hadn’t even thought about that. He scrambled for a figure. This was going to be one expensive ruse phone call. “A couple hundred?”

  “Okay, I’ll do my best. If I find something, do you want me to just buy it? You can pay me back.”

  “I would love you forever.” He almost drove into a ditch as he realized what he’d said. Love you forever? He was trying to pump her for information, not make her think he was hitting on her.

  “Right, well, I won’t hold you to that.” Thank goodness, she hadn’t taken him seriously. “So what are you up to your last couple of days of freedom? Apart from cleverly shifting your gift-buying errand onto me, that is?”

  Lucas gave up on the Bluetooth and pulled to the side of the road, tossing his headset on the passenger seat and putting his phone to his ear. “I’m just on my way to my brother’s. I’m helping re-roof the henhouse in exchange for dinner.”

  “Is he doing the cooking?”

  Lucas squinted his eyes at the glare bouncing off the road. Where had he put his sunglasses? “Grace, my sister-in-law, will be doing that, thank goodness. Scott probably couldn’t boil an egg without supervision. Joey has more culinary skills than he does.”

  “If Joey remembers who I am, can you let him know I took his advice and got rid of that top he hated?” She sounded doubtful that Joey would remember her. Like she was used to being forgotten. Or never noticed at all.

  He cleared his throat. “He will definitely remember you. So, um, how are things going?” Smooth, very smooth, 007.

  “Fine, we’re in . . . where are we? Sorry, it’s a bit of a PR blur at the moment . . . Dallas, I think. Either Dallas or Houston. Or is it Austin? They all start to look the same.”

  “Don’t let any Texan hear you say that. You’ll be run out of the great state.”

  “Hold on a sec.” A scuffle, then, “Lacey, where are we?” The line cleared. “We’re in Houston.”

  Lucas groped through the glove box—no glasses. “Well, make sure you get yourself some good Texas barbecue while you’re there.”

  A snort. “I highly doubt Lacey has worked that into the schedule.”

  “I’m deeply sorry.”

  “You know what? I don’t think I’ve ever had Texan barbecue.”

  “My child, you have not lived.” He salivated just at the thought. “Hickory-smoked goodness, tangy ribs, so tender the juice runs down your arms . . .”

  “Okay, I get the picture. For the record, all I’ve had to eat today is a couple of bites of airplane breakfast, so that was just cruel.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re at the Marriott. Donna’s set up in a room here doing PR for the next few hours.”

  “Okay, I know a great place in Houston. I’ll text you the details. Promise me you’ll try and get there if you can.”

  Another laugh. “I’ll talk to the PR schedule controller and see if she’ll loosen the reins.”

  Lucas flipped down the sun visor. There they were. He slipped the glasses over his eyes and put the truck back into drive. “Good luck. And thanks for the help with the gift.”

  “No worries. I’ll let you know.”

  The beep of her disconnect vibrated through the cab. Lucas allowed a smile to play on his lips. He may not have gotten any measurable progress on the Brad mission, but something told him he’d managed to chink Rachel’s armor a little.

  • • •

  THE KNOCK on the suite door caused the entertainment reporter to frown and lose her place in her question. “Cut—let’s start that one again.”

  Rachel slipped the door open and peered out. A teenage boy in a red cap stared back and held up a large paper bag. “I have an order for a Rachel Somers?”

  She hadn’t ordered anything. “But I—” The pungent smell emanating from the bag interrupted her chain of thought. “What is it?”

  The boy glanced at the receipt. “A dozen ribs, corn, some hush puppies, and an extra serving of special sauce.”

  Lucas. Just his name running through her mind caused a smile to twitch her lips. “Just let me get my purse.”

  “No need, already paid for. I just need you to sign.” The boy held out the receipt and a pen.

  Rachel scrawled her initials and took the bag. She dug into her pocket and extracted a couple of crumpled dollar bills. “Thanks.”

  Clicking the door shut behind him, she carried the deliciously aromatic bag over to the dining table. She pulled out paper napkins and plastic forks and saw a note scrawled at the bottom of the order sheet: “Rachel, hope this rocks your world as much as it does mine. Thanks for the help. Lucas.”

  “My word!” This time it was Donna who cut herself off. “Sorry, sorry.” She waved at the reporter, who was making irritated cutting motions at her cameraman. “Rachel, what on earth have you brought in here? How is a woman supposed to do interviews with that smell tormenting her?”

  Rachel shrugged. “I didn’t order it. Lucas did.”

  “Lucas Grant sent you barbecue. From Wisconsin.” Her aunt sounded more amused than surprised.

  “Noooo.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “From somewhere here. I may ha
ve mentioned I’ve never had it before.”

  Donna raised her eyebrows. “You did, did you? I didn’t realize the two of you were trading culinary experiences.”

  Rachel pointed a finger at her aunt. “Don’t you even start. He actually called about you. And if you want any of my ribs, you’d better be nice.”

  Lacey opened the bag and breathed in the scent, golden hair slipping across one shoulder. “You do realize those things have about a thousand calories each.”

  Rachel looked down at her ironing-board silhouette. “Do you promise?”

  Lacey pointed a perfectly manicured nail at Donna. “None for you until you’ve finished this interview and Fiona says it’s a wrap.”

  Rachel pulled a heavy plastic container out, snapped it open, and extracted a sticky, tender rib, holding a napkin underneath. She took a bite. Tangy, salty, spicy pork goodness coated her mouth and rolled down her throat. Just as Lucas had promised, juice ran down her wrist and dripped onto the table. Across from her, Lacey had stripped off her cropped jacket and was chowing down on a hush puppy, barbecue sauce smudged across her lipstick.

  Rachel raised her rib in a toast to her aunt, who was pouting in her chair. “I’d advise you to hurry. I can’t guarantee there’ll be any left if you don’t.”

  “Fiona, you call it a wrap right now and I promise you’ll get an extra-special interview for the next one.” Donna pulled out her best wheedling voice.

  Rachel hoped she said no, just so she could have more rib time before her aunt got her hands on them.

  “And that’s a wrap.”

  Little did Fiona know that at the rate things were going there wasn’t going to be a next book, so she’d just cut short her interview for nothing. Rachel tore the last remaining strip of meat off her first rib and grabbed a second from the container, her fingers sticking to the napkin like tar on a summer Texas highway.

  Donna flopped into the seat next to her, kicked off her shoes, and nicked a hush puppy straight off Lacey’s plate. “Mmmmm, God bless that boy.”