by Kara Isaac
“Think about it. There’s no need to rush to decisions. Take a few days. Read the book. Have your people read the book. You might be surprised.” Max moved as if to push his chair back.
“Think about it? I don’t need to think about it! And you!” He pointed at Donna. “Or you.” A wave at Rachel. “Whichever of you it is. You owe me a book. A proper Dr. Donna book. Or else give me my advance back.”
“I don’t think so, Theo. The contract stipulates three books. You’re holding the third, and it meets every contractual requirement. While they only get the second half of the advance if you publish it, the first half is theirs. You’re welcome to check the contract. I’ve highlighted the pertinent section for you.” Max extracted another piece of paper from his leather folio and slid it across the table, the yellow stripes across a paragraph a third of the way down prominent. This time Max did push his chair back, straightening his lapels as he stood.
Randolph’s body coiled as though he was about to lunge at Max over the table, but he managed to keep himself in his chair. “I’m going to get you for this.” He included Donna and Rachel in his glare. “All of you. This isn’t over.”
- 36 -
Lucas dropped onto Scott’s front porch, the wood creaking underneath him. The front of the house faced the long, dusty driveway he’d just come up, straggling pieces of grass and the occasional wildflower breaking up the brown.
In the distance you could just make out the blur of traffic zooming by on the road leading from Madison to Fitchburg.
He entwined his fingers and propped his thumbs together. The air shimmered before him with early summer heat.
He hadn’t seen his brother, or spoken to him, since he’d ejected him and their father from his house last week.
Instead he’d just replayed their conversation over and over. Half of him wishing he’d never let them in, the other half wishing he’d let them stay.
After sleepless nights, lackluster shows, and days of haunted thoughts, he’d finally just gotten into his truck and driven. Knowing he would end up here, with no clue what he was going to say.
Scott made it all sound so easy. Just forgive him. Go find Rachel and tell her everything was okay.
Did he think he didn’t want to escape the anger and resentment that twisted around inside him day in and night out? To think of Rachel and remember her smile and her laugh and not her deception. To look at their father and remember someone beyond the guy who built himself a second life and then left them for it.
The porch sagged, followed by his brother settling down beside him. “You planning to sit here all day?”
“Don’t know. Maybe.”
“Okay.” His brother propped his elbows on his knees and crossed his arms. “Want a drink?”
“Sure.”
Scott stood, returning a few seconds later with a couple of icy sodas. Cracking his open, he took a couple of gulps, then placed it on the step his feet rested on.
Lucas rolled his behind his hands, then placed it on the back of his neck. Yesterday he’d gone on a long run, resulting in a very sunburnt neck. Ahhhh. Condensation trickled down his back, leaving a trail of momentary icy reprieve behind. Moving the can from his neck, he held it against his cheek for a second, then just held it between his hands.
The silence stretched out. Scott serenely drinking his Dr. Pepper, Lucas trying to come up with words.
“How?”
“How what?”
“How did you forgive him?”
Scott paused, contemplating the distance. “It was just after we had Joey. I realized the only person I was hurting with hating him was me. Well, and Grace and Joey as well. I couldn’t enjoy Joey because I was consumed with being angry at Dad for being able to hold his son in his arms and just walk away. And he was gone. It wasn’t like I knew where he was and I could just call him up and ask him.”
“And?”
Scott shrugged. “I just realized I had to let it go. I didn’t know how. And part of me didn’t even want to. I felt so entitled to hold onto it all. So I just asked God to help me want to.”
He’d known there had to be a sermon somewhere in there. But for some reason he didn’t feel annoyed, just more resigned. “But how did you do it?”
Scott bounced his empty can from hand to hand. “Every time I thought about him, or started feeling angry or resentful or whatever, I just asked God to help me let it go. To remember that the only thing I could control was who I was with my family, not who he was with us.”
Lucas tried to imagine thinking of his father without a well of putrid emotion overflowing. Even trying to imagine it was beyond him. “And if God and I aren’t on speaking terms?”
Scott balanced his can on his pointer finger. “Apart from sorting that out? Remind yourself, you’re the one losing out here. If you don’t forgive him, what he did wins. Dad has his own demons to live with, and I’m pretty sure they haunt him every second of every day. But whether you like it or not, you have a choice whether you let them conquer you too.”
“Are you going to keep seeing him?”
“Probably. He’s a lonely old man, Luc. One who has paid a high price for his mistakes. He’s estranged from all our half siblings, messed that up as well. I want to give him a chance.”
Not that he deserved one. “And what if he disappears again?”
“Better that than living wondering what might have been if I’d let him in.” Scott paused, surveying the grass. “You know, Lucas. Forgiving him doesn’t make what he did okay; it just means refusing to carry it any longer.”
“Do you really think I’m a hypocrite?”
Scott gave him a measured look. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?”
“Every time I think of her, all I can think of is how she lied to me. To everyone. Even if I find a way to forgive him, that doesn’t fix me and Rachel. I told her stuff, personal stuff, thinking she was Donna. It’s like she was the priest in the confessional, all one-way traffic. I don’t even know what was real Rachel, what was Rachel pretending to be Donna, and what was all just spin and PR. How do you think of what might have been, when what you knew was all based on deception?”
“Can I tell you what I think?”
“When have you not?”
“All I know is the woman I met that day, she was sweet and funny and genuine, and I’d bet the ranch it wasn’t an act. And she really liked my brother. And he had a pretty big thing for her too. Sometimes things really are that uncomplicated; everything else is just baggage.”
Lucas crunched his can in his hand. “And sometimes people aren’t who you think they are and you’re better off leaving them behind.”
His words swirled around them. He sighed, shifting his feet on the step. Maybe his brother would get it if he knew what it cost him as well. “I was going to give you the money, you know.”
“What money?” His brother didn’t sound nearly as interested as he’d expected.
“The signing fee from Brad.” He gestured to the land around them. “So you could pay off the rest of your debts, fund more treatment, whatever you needed.”
Scott stilled, his jaw working. Finally he got it. Maybe he wouldn’t be so free and easy with the forgiveness now.
“Lucas, you know I love you, but you don’t know me at all if you thought for a second I would take money that’s come from a cretin like Brad Shipman.”
What? “But—”
“I can use Google. Tell you what, little bro—why don’t you worry about dealing with your own issues, and let me worry about my family. We don’t need you to rescue us. I’m the husband and the father here; it’s my job, not yours.” His brother’s tight tone was the one he used only when he was really annoyed.
“Scott, I—”
His brother stood up and dusted off his jeans. “Don’t be late for lunch on Sunday. Joey misses you.”
- 37 -
Rachel rested her forehead against the cool wood of her front door. A miracle. Th
at was the only way she could describe it. The royalty checks from Randolph were notorious for being late or wrong. It usually took Max weeks to reconcile them.
For the first time ever, one had showed up on time. It hadn’t been huge, as He Wasn’t the One that Got Away was still earning out its advance, but it was enough to buy another couple of months’ breathing space at Sunhaven.
Slipping her key in the lock, she turned the handle and stepped into her small hallway. She slid her coat off her shoulders, and it let out a swish as it formed a puddle at her feet. She kicked off her shoes, left them where they’d landed, and padded toward the living area. There was an ice-cold Diet Coke in the fridge with her name on it. After today, she might even splurge on take-out for di—
“Ahhhhh!” The piercing scream escaped her mouth before she’d even processed what was in her living room.
Her heart pounded in her chest like a runaway carriage in a western, while her three intruders sat as serene as nuns in a convent.
She knew she shouldn’t have given Donna a key.
“That had better not have come out of my fridge.” She pointed at the can of soda sitting next to her publicist, a watery ring visible around its base.
“Whoops.” Lacey raised an eyebrow and offered it back up. “You can have the rest.”
“Thanks, that’s very generous of you.” She snatched it out of her hand and took a gulp. Since there was nothing stronger in the house, she was going to at least get a caffeine hit before they officially delivered the news.
“So how much?” She directed the question at Max.
“How much what?”
“How much is Randolph suing us for?”
Max pulled his glasses off and made a show of polishing them with his handkerchief. She mentally added another zero to her guess with every circular motion.
She looked at her aunt. Maybe a hint? Nope, Donna’s face was inscrutable.
“He’s not.” Max deigned to speak, but his words made no sense.
“He’s not what?”
“Suing us. Any of us. You, Donna, me. None of us. Not that he ever had a legal leg to stand on, but I did wonder a little if that might not stop him.”
“What?” Her body melted, caught, by sheer luck, by her sofa. “He’s not. Really?”
“Really.”
Her eyes skated across the ceiling, trying to absorb the news. The man was as rich as Croesus. Could afford to hire an army of the best lawyers in the country. “The contract was really that good?” She shouldn’t be surprised. Max wasn’t one of the best agents in the business for no reason.
“I don’t know.”
“But it must have been, if he’s not suing us.”
“He’s publishing it.”
Donna’s words couldn’t have had a greater effect if Rachel had stuck a fork in a live electrical socket. Her body jerked, limbs flying, like a flailing marionette doll whose puppeteer was having a fit. “He’s not!”
She looked at Max. This was Donna’s idea of some kind of strange joke. It had to be. Why would he out his own bestselling author as a fraud?
He tipped his chin. “He is. Or at least so he’s saying.”
“But why?” Of course she’d always known it was a possibility. That’s kind of the chance you took when you handed a book in to your publisher, but she’d never thought for a second he would.
Max shrugged his shoulders. “Well, he seems to think his coterie of Harvard lawyers will just slay anyone who tries to sue the company and that even with a bunch of lawsuits, their legal bills will pale in comparison to what marketing are telling him the book will make.”
“Tell her the best part.” She couldn’t tell from Lacey’s tone if she was serious or joking.
“It’s not in the next Fall lineup.”
“Have they moved it back to Spring?”
“Nope. November. Week before Thanksgiving.”
She did the mental arithmetic. Almost fifteen months away. She’d have to start hunting for a job. There was no way they could continue the Dr. Donna act in the interim. They’d get crucified.
“. . . putting a big rush on it, going to be as locked down as Clinton’s memoirs. They want our input on the release strategy.”
“Hold on. What?”
“Well, with it being a couple of months away, it’s all hands to the pump.”
Her stomach rolled like she’d just found herself on Space Mountain. Not next November. This one.
Her eyes locked with Donna’s, who was studying her with an intent look. “What?”
“The release.”
“What about it?” Randolph could do what he liked.
Donna raised an eyebrow at her. “You know where we should go first.”
Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. Her head shook; her mouth wouldn’t even open. She was going to be sick.
“It’s the right thing to do, Rach.”
“He hates me!” Bad enough just knowing it; there was no way she would be able to see it in his eyes. Donna hadn’t been there that day. Hadn’t seen the look of disgust and betrayal on his face.
Her aunt just looked at her, big, knowing quasi-therapist eyes boring deeper than her fears and speaking to her soul.
The one that knew she had to do it. Even when it meant subjecting herself to the revulsion of the one man she’d ever loved.
- 38 -
TWO MONTHS LATER
Stuck. The door stuck, sucking onto the frame like two lovesick teenagers parting for the summer. Why could nothing just work around here? A hard tug broke the seal, and the door flew backward and clipped Lucas’s foot. He stormed through, letting it slam shut behind him, bringing in a whoosh of cold air. Tugging his jacket tighter, he fingered the envelope in the inner pocket. It had been residing there for the last three weeks, just waiting for the right moment to tell Ethan.
Why hadn’t he already done it? Every day that he delayed was another show that he would have to endure. It wasn’t fair. Not on Ethan. Not on his listeners. His brother was right. He was a hypocrite. People didn’t deserve a host who didn’t care about his callers anymore. Not the ones who actually wanted to talk about sports, and certainly not the ones who—for reasons unknown—still insisted on calling and asking for relationship advice.
More fool him. Every night his job mocked him. Daring him to tell the truth. That loving someone was about as smart as pulling your heart out of your chest and putting it through a shredder and expecting it to feel good. That only idiots took chances, gave up their dreams in the hope that their love might be returned.
He took the stairs. Pounding upward, feet beating the Formica into submission. One floor, two . . . By the time he reached the eighth he was barely out of breath. If there was one thing he could thank she-whose-name-shall-not-be-mentioned for, it was ceaseless energy that only seemed to grow the more he tried to beat it into oblivion.
Even refusing to allow himself to think her name, his heart still tanked just at the thought of her.
He pulled open the door to his floor. Empty. Good. No having to make small talk about a job he no longer cared about. Get into the studio, get it done, and get out—that was all he wanted. He slid his hand into his jacket and withdrew the envelope. It stared back, crinkled and grubby from weeks of being carried around but never delivered.
Tonight. After the show, he’d tell Ethan. Hand in his notice. Offer to help find his replacement. Or replacements. He wouldn’t leave them in the lurch. He’d been listening to a new host over on Drive95. She was good, and he’d heard rumors she was open to a new opportunity. He had to do it. He didn’t like who he had become. Cynical, jaded Lucas. Even Joey had noticed. Asked him when “old Uncle Lucas” was coming back. He needed to go find him.
How was it only a few months ago that he thought he might be able to get both the woman and the dream? Huh. What a joke. And it was all on him.
He folded the envelope and shoved it in his back pocket.
He reached for the door to Studio 3. Wrenched his sh
oulder when, instead of turning and swinging, the handle stayed firm. What the . . .? The door was never locked. He didn’t even have a key. He peered into the darkness, tried the handle again. His foot connected with the door.
“It’s closed. Maintenance.” Ethan’s voice spun him around.
“Maintenance? What kind?” In the five years he’d been here, he’d never known John the janitor to maintain a single thing. He was of the “I’ll fix it when it’s busted” school of property management.
Ethan shrugged, black leather collar sliding up his neck. “Don’t ask me—I’m just the producer. We’re in Studio One tonight.”
“How am I supposed to do my prep in a studio that’s already been used?” Lucas strode down the hall, his funk deepening with every step.
He stopped outside the fishbowl. The empty fishbowl. Equipment glowing in the moonlight filtered through the blinds.
“Jack and Lucy are doing a live show from the Governor’s Gala.”
“Fine.” Lucas grumbled, testing the handle before throwing the door open, sliding his palm down the wall to turn on the lights.
“So, Dr. Donna’s new book comes out this week.” Ethan swung the words like a baseball bat.
It took everything in him to keep walking, switching on equipment and snagging a bag of chips out of the samples box.
“I’ve heard it’s been shrouded in secrecy. Not even the sales staff know what it’s about.”
“Good for them.” Lucas stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth. Pulling up a stool, he called up CNN and started scanning the sports headlines.
Strange. He’d thought Rachel had said the next book wasn’t due out until next year. He tried to push the unwanted thought out of his mind, but it stubbornly remained, taunting him.
She must have written something crazy fast after he’d left them in the lurch. Yet another book of lies. Just in time to fleece the masses for Christmas.
Tell me another way, Lucas. You got any better ideas for how I can make a million bucks? Because it’s either this, or my father eventually ends up in an institution where he will be left to fester in his own bed sores because the staff aren’t paid enough to give a fig. Rachel’s voice decimated his bitter thought, her brimming brown eyes ghosting in front of him.