The Chosen One (11 page)

Fiona winked. The goons did do a sweep, but I sensed Fee knew she had said too much.

She handed him the roach, and he took a hit. After holding the smoke in, he handed it to me. “It’ll help with the pain.” He smiled like he actually believed he was giving out sound medical advice.

I shook my head.

Fiona took the joint and settled on the floor next to him, her legs almost as long as Pat’s. “Don’t bother. Ainsley is determined not to make Clinton’s mistake.”

Pat’s face twisted.

“She doesn’t want to have to explain that she never actually inhaled.” Fiona stood and grabbed some whiskey from the bureau on the far side of the front room. “This should do the trick.” She poured me a hefty dose, taking a sip before handing over the tumbler.

“But drinking is okay?” asked Pat.

“Hell, you can’t be a politician and not drink. And we’re Scottish. We’ve been in training since we were babes.”

Pat shook his head at Fiona’s logic.

“Our moms used to rub brandy on our gums when we were teething, or if we were acting up. Only the cheap shit, though.” Fiona laughed. “I still can’t stand the swill they used for medicinal purposes.” She scrunched her nose.

Pat motioned for me to hand him the whiskey.

“Only if you promise not to mention the girl, or this, to anyone?” I raised my bandaged paw.

“Please. I’m a fourth-generation Irish-American from Southie. I know keeping my trap shut isn’t just good manners; it’s the difference between life and death.” He smiled, but there was certainty in his squared shoulders. I wasn’t positive, but I suspected some of his family members were connected to the mob.

Fiona rested her head on Pat’s shoulder.

My phone vibrated. Ignoring the chemistry between Fee and Pat, I checked the message and groaned.

“What?” Fiona switched from light-hearted to deadly serious in less than a millisecond.

I read the text from my brother. “‘Be prepared.’ It’s from Ham.”

Fiona grabbed the phone. Squinting, she reread the two words before shaking the phone, as if trying to force it to elaborate. “That’s it? ‘Be prepared’? That could mean anything,” she said in a nasal tone.

“Understatement of the year. In our family, anything goes,” I said.

“How is one-eyed Hammie? I haven’t seen that bastard in months.” Pat took another hit of the joint, resting his head against the couch while pulling Fee closer with his other arm.

“One-eyed Hammie? You’re awful.” I threw a James Madison pillow at him.

He caught it and bonked my legs with it. “That’s what we used to call him at school.”

“Why are you getting your panties in a bunch? It’s only because of Ham’s firecracker incident and his damaged eye that your mom and dad went back to the drawing board for an heir, and ta-da, here you are.” Fee sipped the communal whiskey glass.

“What?” Pat asked.

“After that firecracker exploded in Ham’s face…”

Pat nodded as if he understood. “Considering what happened, the damage didn’t turn out that bad. Some scarring on the face‌—‌”

“And the bad eye. It’s unnerving when you aren’t expecting it.” Fee raised the glass in the air and swirled the golden liquid.

“But how does that explain little Ainsley?” Pat batted his surprisingly long lashes at me.

“After Craig died, Ham became the heir apparent. But once he got disfigured, they needed to create another baby to take over the Carmichael reins. Ains was destined to be the Chosen One before she was even in the womb,” Fiona elaborated.

“The Chosen One?” Pat craned his neck to peer into Fee’s eyes.

“To become president.”

“Fee!” I shouted.

“What? It’s Pat‌—‌he’s practically family.” She handed the glass to Pat.

They ignored my indignation. People outside of the family weren’t supposed to know my purpose, although considering the political leanings of our family, it wasn’t that much of a secret. Ever since kindergarten, kids had called me Madame President.

“What about Kylie?” Pat asked.

“Please. She has zero personality.” Fiona’s tone held no malice, just brutal honesty. Kylie would be the first to agree.

Pat stroked her leg. “What about you?”

“I’m freakishly tall and I have linebacker shoulders. Grandmother passed on me years ago.”

“Shit. Your grandmother is a piece of work.” Pat furrowed his brow and shook his head.

“Don’t worry about me,” Fee said. “The last thing I want is to be the Chosen One, and Kylie has her heart set on being a judge. Ham, though, he craves real power.”

This piqued Pat’s curiosity. “Does he want to be president?”

Fiona snorted. “Hell, no. He wants to control the president. Ham is like Geppetto.” She mimed a puppet on strings. “He can be cold, calculating, and a son of a bitch. But he doesn’t want to be in front of the cameras. He wants all the power.”

“How?”

“Be the president’s chief of staff.”

My brother was convinced the president actually possessed little clout. In his opinion, the White House Chief of Staff held all the cards, and more than likely he was spot-on. President was a title, first and foremost. Still, most people recognized the names of former presidents. How many recognized their chiefs of staff?

Ham had landed a job in the White House two years ago, but it would take years for him to reach his coveted spot. Carmichaels always prepared for the long game.

“At least this weekend won’t be boring. Pat, would you like to come along and enjoy the show?” Fiona asked.

“Are you bringing the new girl, Ainsley?” Pat didn’t bother focusing his blurry eyes on me, keeping them on Fee.

“Nope,” Fiona answered. “The Chosen One got shot down.”

“Shot down how?”

“Right after they kissed for the first time, Maya‌—‌the girl‌—‌said it wouldn’t work.”

“Do I need to write you out a script for halitosis?” Pat chortled. “Farting, bad breath‌—‌you aren’t the typical Carmichael, are you? And here I thought all these years you were the perfect one.” He cleared his throat. “Oh, excuse me, the Chosen One.”

“I’ve got a plan in motion to help my dear cousin out.” Fee covered her mouth and whispered in Pat’s ear.

He nodded.

I groaned. Now that Pat was involved in the Maya plot, my chances were slipping away faster than Sarah Palin’s vice-presidential bid.

Chapter Ten

Friday evening, we picked Pat up in my car. Before heading to the Cape, we stopped at Fiona’s mom’s house in Chestnut Hill to pick up Fee’s beloved Grover.

“How come he doesn’t live with you, Fee?” Pat scratched the Boston terrier’s ears, not that Grover noticed. The dog stood on Pat’s legs, stretching out his scrawny white neck to get a better look out the back window. Grover and car rides went together like peanut butter and jelly. To be fair, the dog loved just about everything. Boston terriers were renowned for being happy dogs, and Grover was living proof.

“Can’t have pets in my building. I tried sneaking him in last year, but the landlord found out. Grover hates trash trucks, so every Friday he barked like mad and my bitch of a neighbor turned me in.” Half of Fiona’s body was in the back seat as she tried to get the dog’s attention. Even she couldn’t tempt Grover’s eyes away from the window.

“Oh, please. Grover is at your place more than at your mom’s.” I adjusted the rearview mirror.

“
No pets
is a stupid rule if you ask me.” She shrugged.

“And you haven’t bribed your neighbor at all?” I shifted into third gear and gunned the Focus onto the highway.

“Bribed? Not really. Just had a heart-to-heart.”

Grover barked at a tailgating Mercedes. The driver pulled into the emergency lane to pass me, flipping me the bird as he flew by. I rolled my eyes and maintained the speed limit.

“You haven’t bribed or‌—‌”

“I’m not like Grandmother if that’s what you’re thinking.” She waggled her eyebrows at me and turned back around.

Pat stretched out in the back seat, resting one of his feet on the back of the center console.

“I hope you brought shoes besides the flip-flops you’re wearing,” I told him, glancing in the rearview mirror to see a sly smile creep across his face.

“Nope!” He crossed his arms and nodded as if he had solved some ancient riddle. “No tennis for me.”

Fiona sat back in her seat and eyed me. Then we burst into laughter. “Nice try. But it won’t work.”

Our family was nutty about tennis. Every time we got together, we held a competition. One word described it: fierce. Even guests had to participate. No excuses. Once, Grandmother made Fee’s brother Rory play with a broken knee. She allowed him to use a wheelchair, and to make it fair, his able-bodied opponent had to be in a chair as well.

“I hate tennis. Why can’t we play flag football or something?”

“What, and bruise our pretty faces?” Fiona said in a mocking tone. “We’re a tennis family. We’ll partner you with Ham. He can carry you. Ains will have to play with her burnt hand.”

“As her doctor, I can write a note.” He kept his hairy arms crossed, but the confident, sly smile was rapidly diminishing.

“Ha! Like Grandmother will respect a doctor’s note.”

“Fine! I’ll hide in the guesthouse and sleep in. Playing tennis before eight is a crime.”

“Morning reveille will wake you, and if you want to eat, you better play.”

“Who’s the honorary bugler this time?” I asked. Reveille was considered a privilege in our family, and a rite of passage that went back generations.

Fiona scrunched her brow. “I think it’s Leah. Golly, we’re running out of young ones. How long until we start getting pushed into having kids?” Fiona snorted.

“Ham’s the most likely candidate. That’s if he ever settles down,” I said.

Pat let out a bark of laughter. “Ham settle down? Not bloody likely. He’s a scamp, through and through.”

“Not everyone wants to settle down like you, buster.” Fee shook a finger at Pat. “Love is a Hallmark fabrication.”

Pat guffawed. “Keep telling yourself that. Maybe someday you’ll actually believe it.”

“I do believe it.” Fee whacked Pat’s knee.

“That’s not what you say when‌—‌”

“Irish!”

I turned the radio up so I wouldn’t have to hear about their sex life. Fiona turned it back down.

“Don’t you dare use that against me.” She stabbed the air with an accusatory finger.

Pat leaned forward. “Just admit it; you love me. Every time we break up, you come crawling back.”

“I have never come crawling back. You always plead with me and I feel sorry for you.” Her lips curved into a genuine smile.

“If that makes you feel better, fine.” Pat leaned closer and kissed her cheek. “Just think though, we could move in with each other. Travel the world. Skip having kids. Just enjoy life together.”

I was too busy watching the road to see Fee’s expression, but from the softening of her shoulders I suspected Pat was winning the love battle.

He fell back into his seat, victorious. “I don’t see why you’re fighting it so much. Just admit you love me.”

“You know it’s not that simple.” She gripped the headrest and eyed Pat.

“Right. The monogamy gambit.” He leaned forward again until his face was an inch from hers. “I’m not ruling out the occasional threesome, if that’ll make you happy.”

“For Christ’s sake.” I couldn’t turn the radio up fast enough or loud enough.

***

Ham was standing outside on the circular drive when we pulled up in front of the ten-bedroom clapboard house, originally constructed in 1907. Over the years, it’d been expanded as the family grew. Fee’s dad owned a seven-bedroom house down the street, and my mom had the smallest, around the corner. Mom’s was referred to as The Cottage, or the mini-big house, since it was a near-copy, minus four bedrooms.

Two of my young cousins chased each other around the flagpole that stood smack-dab in the drive‌—‌the original had stood for over a hundred years, but had been demolished two years earlier when Rory crashed into it on the Fourth of July. Fee had loved the irony of her brother proclaiming his independence on the Fourth by creaming the symbol of control on the estate.

Ham, wearing Stevie Wonder glasses to hide his damaged eye, shook Pat’s hand, grinning like a little boy who’d just slipped a frog into the salad bowl. “Irish, so good to see you. How’s the hospital treating you?”

“Kicking my ass, Hammie boy. Kicking my ass.” Pat thumped Ham on the back and laughed.

Grover zipped around our feet, yapping. After being cooped up in the car for more than two hours, he wanted to play fetch.

“Come on, Grover, let’s get your ball launcher.” I popped the trunk of the Focus so Fee could grab Grover’s toy. Fiona gave Ham a quick one-armed hug, and trotted off with her psycho, but adorable, terrier to play on the beach.

Four other dogs ran after them, all different sizes and breeds. Pat loped along after us as best he could in his flip-flops.

Ham watched the two of them, dogs in tow as they made their way to the beach.

As he watched them, I studied my brother. Something was different. His shoulders looked manlier, his six-three frame straighter. Ham had always exuded confidence and charm; now he was exuding something else, too, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Flashing his genuine politician’s smile, Ham said, “So, you’re a college student now. How does it feel, little sis?” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tighter than normal. Was he feeling old now that the baby of the family was no longer a child? More than ten years divided us, and Ham had done his best to fill Dad’s shoes, acting like a father more than brother.

I ignored his diversion and asked, “What’s the big news?” We climbed the seven steps up to the wrap-around porch.

When he ripped off his Stevie Wonder sunglasses, I noticed his good eye twinkled. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

Someone? Did that mean what I thought it meant? Was that the difference I’d seen in him? Had my fiercely independent older brother fallen in love? If so, it was going to blow Fiona’s lid.

Soft footsteps padded behind me, and I turned to see a stunning Asian woman with a beguiling smile that would make most men crumple to their knees. Hell,
I
almost crumpled! The ocean breeze moved through her silky, long black hair.