One Thing I Know

by Kara Isaac

  Rachel set her rib down and sucked the sauce off each finger in turn. “Mmm-hmm.”

  Her aunt cast her a glance, letting her eyes speak since her mouth was stuffed.

  Don’t go there, Rachel. He’s just a nice guy, thanking you for taking a pain of an errand off his hands. It took him all of about two minutes and twenty bucks.

  Donna chewed and swallowed. “Anything you want to tell me, kiddo?”

  Rachel picked up her rib again. Keep cool. “Nope.” She took another bite to underline her point.

  Lacey returned from dispatching the reporter and scowled at her empty plate. “Was it really that hard to get your own?”

  “Yes.” Donna smiled like an angel and turned back to Rachel. “Don’t try and pull one over on me, Rachel—I saw that smile you tried to hide. By the way, just in case you happen to be interested, he has an excellent credit score.”

  Rachel stared at her aunt. “You ran a background check on Lucas?”

  “Not a full one. Just the basics. Great credit score, no criminal record, no ex-wives, owns his own house. Mortgage is a bit more than ideal for his income, but that shouldn’t be a problem soon.”

  “I can’t believe you ran a background check on him.”

  “Why not? It’s great advice from a renowned relationship expert.” Her aunt grinned at her as she licked barbecue sauce off her fingers.

  Never ever underestimate the importance of a good credit score. Butterflies come and go, but bad credit lasts for longer than many marriages. It was a line out of their second book, 101 Questions to Ask Mr. Perfect.

  The book had practically written itself after she’d realized that half the emails she got were the product of women not doing some basic due diligence at the beginning of a relationship. What she’d give for that to happen again.

  “Except I’m not in a relationship with Lucas.”

  “But you like him?” Lacey had grabbed a replacement hush puppy and paused mid-dip.

  Seriously? What were they in? High school? “C’mon. For a start, I barely know the guy.”

  Donna’s forehead puckered. “Actually, you do; he just doesn’t know it. Don’t tell me you haven’t chatted off air.”

  “That doesn’t count—I’m you!” If anything, it made everything worse. Like eavesdropping on an intensely personal conversation and not being able to unhear the information. Especially the stuff about his dad. She had the feeling he hardly told anyone what he’d told her the night before.

  She’d spent this morning’s red-eye thinking about the vulnerability in his voice. Wishing she had been the one he was talking to, instead of Donna.

  All of last night’s show had felt off. For the first half, Lucas didn’t seem to know if he was coming or going. During ad breaks he’d veered from distracted to asking odd, disjointed questions about Donna’s life. Like he was trying to find out something but didn’t know what.

  “If it helps, I think he might have a bit of a thing for you.” Lacey broke her hush puppy in half and tossed it into her perfectly lined mouth.

  Her cheeks burned just at the possibility. Deflect, deflect! “You’ve only met him once. How would you know? Besides, I would have thought he was right up your alley. Single, good-looking, ambitious.”

  Lacey shook her head as she chewed. “He doesn’t drink. Way too much of a good boy for me. A guy who won’t even kick back and have a beer? No thank you. But that makes him perfect for you, Little Miss Goody Two Shoes.”

  Rachel snorted. “Lacey, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re engaged here in the self-help version of Milli Vanilli’s lip synching.”

  Lacey rolled her eyes. “You wish it was that big of a deal. Regardless, soon enough you’ll be free, and no one will ever know.”

  Rachel and Donna exchanged glances. They hadn’t told anyone about the next book being the last. Agreed not to until they’d at least nailed down a concept out of the eight half-baked ones they now had.

  Lacey laughed. “Oh come on, I’m blond, not blind. Anyone with a few neurons to rub together can see that you two are planning for a graceful exit. I’m guessing the only reason you haven’t officially told us is because between the two of you, you still haven’t managed to nail down a book idea.”

  “You got any?” There was no point denying it.

  “Why don’t you embark on a nice little fling with Mr. Grant? Might be just what you need to get some of those creative juices flowing again, if you know what I mean.” Lacey flicked her a mischievous grin and reached for the last hush puppy.

  Rachel slapped Lacey’s hand away, distracting her mind from places it shouldn’t go. “You really think he wouldn’t be able to smell a rat here if we let him get close enough? Or, worse, that eventually I wouldn’t slip up somehow and give it all away?”

  “C’mon, Rach, you’ve been doing this for years. And it could be over tomorrow if you wanted it to be. I’ve already got the PR all ready to go. Dr. Donna confesses to having a ghostwriter. Whoop-de-whoop. Now, the whole pretending-to-be-her thing to maximize media opportunities is admittedly next level. But even that would wash out in a week or two if we managed it right. Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

  Rachel shoved her plate away, appetite gone. “You might be right, Lace. But you could also be wrong. All it would take is one lawsuit and everything I’ve saved to take care of my father could be gone.”

  “Rachel’s right.” Donna took a sip of her soda. “We’ve only got one more book to go; her focus needs to be on getting that written and delivered. We can’t afford distractions right now; we’re too close.”

  “Then—”

  “However,” Donna continued with a twinkle in her eye, “I agree with Lacey. I’m pretty sure if my assistant were old and ugly, we wouldn’t be eating ribs right now, and I can tell that you,” she pointed her straw at Rachel’s face, “have a soft spot for him. So, my dear, I wish you the best of luck in holding onto your heart.”

  - 15 -

  Lucas hummed a made-up tune under his breath as he bounded up the steps to Scott and Grace’s porch. The wood creaked beneath his feet, one plank giving a little more than it should. No doubt fixing that would be on the never-ending to-do list for the summer.

  He let himself in. Hopefully he’d timed it right to grab a couple of minutes with Joey before heading out to give Scott a hand.

  He checked the old wooden clock in the hall as he strode past. Right on three thirty. Rachel should have got the barbecue by now. He’d paid extra for express delivery. A smile played on his lips. What he would’ve given to see her face when it showed up.

  He slipped his phone out of his pocket again and checked it. Just in case he’d missed anything, despite it being set on vibrate and high volume. Nothing.

  Of course not. She was probably busy gorging on ribs. Sauce dripping down her fingers. Tender, juicy pork falling off the bone. He salivated just thinking about it.

  Opening the door to the kitchen, his first glimpse was of Joey sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar, a cup of juice on the counter in front of him.

  “Hey, buddy!”

  Joey turned and his face lit up like a firefly. “Uncle Luc!”

  Lucas picked him up and swung him around. Man, the kid got heavier every time. He set him back on the stool and ruffled his hair, then dropped his tool belt on the counter. “How was school today?”

  “Good.”

  “Just good good or high-five good?”

  Joey’s brow folded in thought. “Well, Mrs. Ford said that I was a good helper in the morning, but then I got in trouble after lunch for calling Kayla a dummy.”

  Lucas stifled a smile. “Why did you do that?”

  Joey shot him an indignant look. “Because she said the Badgers weren’t the best because they didn’t come in first. But they are the best, because Daddy says that having a good heart is just as important as winning.”

  Lucas nodded. “Which is true. But you know, some kids’ dads think it is all about win
ning, so you shouldn’t call Kayla a dummy. Instead it’s probably better to tell her why you think the Badgers have more heart.”

  Joey pondered this for a moment. “Like when that guy kept playing even though he’d hurt himself?”

  Lucas nodded. “Exactly.” He gave Joey’s hair one last ruffle. “I’ve gotta go help your dad now, but I’ll see you for dinner.”

  The sliding door skated opened and Grace stepped through, arms full of flowers and foliage. “Joey, can you . . .” Her words trailed off when she saw Lucas and surprise crossed her face. “Hey, Lucas.”

  A weird, awkward silence tripped into the room. She licked her lips and opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Is Scott expecting you?”

  Lucas grabbed his tool belt off the counter and slung it over his shoulder. “Yup. He asked me last week if I could come help with the chicken coop today. Do you need a hand with those?”

  She shook her head, placed the mound of greenery on the dining table, and then wiped her hands on her striped apron. “Actually, I think he’s pretty much done out there. I’ll go get him; he’s about ready for a break anyway.” She looked back over her shoulder toward the chicken run.

  “I’ll go. Need to stretch my legs anyway.” Maybe they’d decided to give it one last shot and started another round? His brother had told him all the drugs wreaked havoc on Grace’s system. That might explain her being so flustered.

  “See ya soon, sport.” He slipped past Grace and out the door, sliding it closed behind him.

  He strode across the large backyard. Patches of grass had started to show signs that summer was coming, and he jumped over the back fence and headed for the coop. His tool belt bounced against his torso, hammering his ribs, and he reached a hand up to shift it farther onto his shoulder.

  This was the perfect opportunity to tell Scott about Brad’s interest. Probably best not to tell him about the offer, though. Ever since Scott had found God, his take on things had become a little less predictable.

  His brother’s familiar form stood by the coop. Lucas slowed. There was a man next to him that he didn’t recognize. Older, with a bit of a gut, and salt-and-pepper hair that flicked off the back of his collar. Weird; Scott hadn’t mentioned anyone else helping out, and he wasn’t one of his usual hired hands. Maybe someone from his church. Fingers crossed he was more of a worker than a preacher.

  “Hey!” Lucas called when he was about twenty feet away, just in case they were in the middle of some deep theological discussion.

  Scott jolted and turned. “Lucas.” His voice was high, with the same kind of stressed tenor it held whenever he’d tried to lie to their mom. “Didn’t realize you were stopping by.”

  He closed the space between them. “You asked me last week if I could—” His words met an abrupt end as the person next to Scott turned.

  No. No. The face was older, more haggard, but his profile was the same. It was so unexpected, so out of place, the world spun for a second, like gravity had shifted.

  “Hello, son.” His father spoke the words as if it had been two days, not almost twenty years.

  “What are you doing here?” He spat the words out like darts. “No. Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” His heart thundered in his ears.

  “Luc.” Scott put his hand up, as if trying to stop the train wreck of emotion the sight of their father had unleashed. “It’s not—”

  “Not what? What I think?” His fists clenched by his sides. He took a step back, then another. “It doesn’t matter what I think, Scott, because there is nothing, nothing at all, that could explain why he’s here.” He stabbed a finger in his father’s direction. Let loose with an expletive for emphasis. “Either he leaves or I do.”

  “Lucas.” The person he hated more than anyone else on earth spoke.

  “Don’t say my name. Not ever.” His arms shook from the effort of holding them at his sides, quads burning as every muscle in his body clenched. “How could you? After everything he did?” He seared his brother with a look that contained more brimstone and damnation than he’d probably ever gotten from the pulpit.

  “Let me know when he’s gone and never coming back!” He yelled the words over his shoulder as he gave up any attempt at composure and bolted for the sanctuary of his truck and the open road.

  • • •

  LUCAS’S CHAIR creaked in protest as he leaned back, rubbed his eyes, and stretched his arms over his head. A dull throb permeated his head from staring at his laptop screen, trying to find a hint of anything shady about Donna. It had been a good way to spend the afternoon, trying to distract himself from the scene at Scott’s house.

  As far as he could find, her backstory seemed to check out. Not to mention, the single mom who worked two jobs and put herself through night school to get her psychology degree was the kind of Cinderella story the public loved. The only other thing he’d managed to establish was that she was a PR whirlwind. How one middle-aged woman could sustain such a grueling schedule was beyond him. Some days he’d pieced together she couldn’t have managed to grab more than a few hours’ sleep between commitments.

  Something he was about to get a taste of. The schedule that had been sent through for his first official Feelings and Football events started with some schmoozing charity gala event on Monday night, and then went straight into a full day of media and PR appearances on Tuesday.

  He shook his head. So Dr. Donna was a workaholic. Hardly anything to write a memo about.

  I will never, ever apologize for that. The vehement words he was sure he’d heard Donna say to Rachel echoed through his mind. Could there be something of interest in them? Sadly, it was just as likely they were completely unrelated.

  Pushing his chair back, he stood, shook out his legs, and wandered to the kitchen. Pulling open the cupboard, he yanked out a box of macaroni and emptied the packet into a bowl.

  His phone flashed from its charger on the counter. Three missed calls from Scott. Three corresponding voicemails. Not that there was anything his brother could say to explain this afternoon.

  He pulled out the milk and slammed the fridge door shut. How could Scott not have even mentioned he’d been in contact, let alone been standing there like they were any old father and son? His stomach curdled just at the memory.

  A whiff of the milk confirmed his stomach wasn’t the only thing that was off. Emptying the liquid into the sink, he tossed the uncooked macaroni into the trash and grabbed his car keys. Pizza en route to the studio it was.

  His forgotten phone rang as he lifted his wallet off the hall table. He retraced his steps to the kitchen and paused at the name flashing on his screen. Brad.

  Stifling a sigh, he plodded across the kitchen and picked it up just before it went to voicemail.

  “Brad.”

  “Lucas! My main man! How’s the detective work coming?”

  Just the sound of his bold, brash voice vibrating down the line made Lucas cringe. Main man. What was that? Some kind of LA code?

  “I’m doing my best, Brad, but it takes time.” Lucas leaned against the counter and rubbed his temple. Ever since he’d agreed to look into Donna, the man had been all over him like a rash.

  “All good, man. Actually, I was calling about something else.”

  “Oh.” He pulled his phone off the charger and headed for the door. Might as well get something useful done while Brad got to the point.

  “I was talking to the team today and they were so excited that you might be coming on board. So I checked your tour schedule and saw you guys are in LA next week. I’m assuming you have time to swing by and say hi. Let Stacey know your flight details and we’ll have a car pick you up at the airport.”

  “I think Donna’s assistant has arranged a car to pick me up.” He paused halfway down his porch steps.

  “Just let her know you’ve changed your plans and can make your own arrangements. You don’t have anything on until the afternoon, right? Let Stacey know and I’ll see you Monday.”


  The dial tone sounded before Lucas could even respond. Opening the door to his truck, he tossed his phone on the dashboard and slipped behind the wheel.

  He tried to summon up offense at Brad’s presumptuousness, but it was like an escape hatch had opened up above him. A visit to his station would be good. A chance to see what his life might be like. Much better than staying here and trying to avoid the rotten apple on the family tree.

  His phone trilled again as he pulled up in front of Burt’s Pizzas, the multicolored flashing neon sign turning his cab into a mini-nightclub.

  Pulling his phone out, he stilled at the name. Rachel.

  Be cool, Grant. One more ring for good measure. “Hello.”

  “Hi. It’s Rachel.”

  “Hey.” He couldn’t stop the slow smile that spread up his face. What was it about this girl that got to him? Remember the goal, Grant; no distractions allowed.

  “Hey.” Her voice was warm and comforting, like hot apple pie on a winter’s day. “I just wanted to say thanks for the ribs. They were amazing.”

  “I’m glad you liked them.” Noises in the background. “Where are you?”

  A yawn echoing down the phone. “Gosh, sorry. We’re at the airport. It’s been a long day.”

  “I know what you mean.” He leaned against the headrest. It was nice to have a normal conversation. He grasped for something to say to keep it going. “Oh, by the way, don’t worry about sending a car to pick me up at LAX. I’m making a few plans for the morning.”

  “You sure? It’s no trouble for you to use our driver to take you wherever you need to go. We have a generous budget.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Well, our flight’s boarding—I’ve got to go. But just let me know if there’s anything you need before Monday.”

  “Will you be at the gala?” Monday night could be a great opportunity to do a bit more digging. See if he could get Rachel to drop her guard enough to give him any kind of hint as to whether Brad might be right.