The Chosen One (25 page)

***

Mother and Grandmother were alone in the room. I had expected the fixers to be present, but perhaps Grandmother didn’t want them to witness our interaction. Or maybe they were too busy fixing the clusterfuck, and they’d get Grandmother’s report later.

Tea and cookies sat on a tray near the matriarch, and my grandmother gestured for me to serve. I forced down angry words and focused on my social duty, carefully pouring four cups from the Wedgewood teapot that had been brought over from England three hundred years ago. My mother’s great-great-grandmother refused to leave home without her precious teapot and cups. Somehow, they had miraculously survived the perilous trip, and I prayed some of their luck would rub off on me.

Mother declined tea. She was gulping scotch like it was water. In other circumstances, I would have worried how it might look to Agnes and Maya, but today it was the least of my concerns.

“Nice to see you again, Maya,” my grandmother said.

I bristled. The old crone still had a sharp memory, and she must have recognized Maya from Nadine’s or from the recent photo clogging all social media feeds.

Maya just stared. Agnes sat off to the side, ramrod straight as she stared mutely out the bay window. Considering the whole Texas situation, she’d probably experienced more than her fair share of intimidating experiences with powerful people. Maya would have been too young at the time, but I doubt she forgot much either, which didn’t bode well for me.

I had to make a move, but what? Ham always said, “Go big or go home.”
Here goes nothing.

“Grandmother, Mother, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Maya, and her mother, Agnes.”

Agnes nodded a greeting but remained tightlipped.

Grandmother laughed. “No introductions are necessary. Agnes, you look well. And Maya, you’ve grown since the last time I saw you. What was that‌—‌fifteen years ago?” She used a silver demitasse spoon to stir a lump of sugar into her tea, each clink against the fine china reverberating like a hammer blow.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” I sputtered.

Seconds ticked by.

Still no one spoke.

Finally, Grandmother told Agnes, “It seems we have a slight issue.”

Agnes tipped her head.

“A Texas issue,” my grandmother continued.

“Why is that your concern?” Maya snapped.

I admired her bravery. I really did.

“Oh, the jig’s up, Maya. You can drop your façade. With your photo smeared all over the Web, kissing my granddaughter, do you really think you can remain hidden?”

Maya opened her mouth, but Agnes patted her niece’s thigh, effectively shutting her up before she said something they both might regret. Grandmother flashed them a thin smile that was anything but comforting. “This is not how I foresaw things.” She stared at Maya, obviously trying to force the right response.

“What are you saying?” Agnes asked, using an authoritative tone that surprised me.

Grandmother set her cup down and pursed her lips as if carefully weighing her words. The last couple of days had done a number on her. She looked tired, where she never had before. And old. The wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes had nearly doubled, or had I never bothered to notice?

“I don’t want to interfere with your life, but this situation has forced my hand. The way I see it, you have two options. Option one: hope for the best. Option two: let me help you. You’ll get new identities, a new home. Just like we did last time.”

“Last time?” I warbled.

Grandmother stared at me, shaking her head as if I should know everything instinctively. Then she narrowed her eyes on Maya. “You can try to stay out of the limelight, until… But, times are a-changing. Once something goes up on the Internet, it’s always there for someone else to find. It won’t be easy to disappear again, but what alternative do you have?” Grandmother stirred her tea again, urging them to face reality. “Plastic surgery is an option, if we have to go that route.”

“Plastic surgery?” I shook the thought out of my head. “And what do you mean
last time
?” I asked again.

Maya turned her back to me.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I stomped a foot.

It was as if I were a ghost in the room‌—‌one who couldn’t be heard.

No one looked at or spoke to me.

Maya and Agnes whispered behind their hands. Maya said something, which prompted Agnes to violently shake her head. Maya didn’t respond, although she seemed to hold her ground. Her aunt’s shoulders drooped as she whispered again. Maya nodded resolutely. Agnes rubbed at her eye. Was she wiping away a tear?

Agnes cleared her throat. “We choose option two,” she said.

“What? No! You can’t.” I placed a hand on my chest to stop all the air from gushing out of my body.

“Ainsley,” Mother said, “it’s for the best.”

Ignoring her, I spoke directly to Agnes, since Maya refused to meet my eyes. “I love her.”

“I know,” Agnes responded, her voice soft with understanding.

Everyone else, including Maya, resembled petrified trees: stalwart and immovable.

“There has to be another option,” I cried. “There has to be! New identities? Plastic surgery? Do you really want to do that?”

“And what do you propose, Ainsley?” Grandmother asked. “Ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after? Hope this media storm blows over?”

“Fix it!” I shouted. “That’s what you do. You’re the great Carmichael matriarch! Do what you do best.”

“You silly girl. It was reckless of you to continue a relationship once I allowed Chuck to provide some kernels of truth. Do you really think love conquers all?” Grandmother tapped her cane on the floor. “You were reckless with Maya’s feelings, knowing what you knew, and you were reckless with her safety. How’d you think she’d stay hidden? And now I have to save Maya and Agnes from you and…” She shook her head.

No one in the room had mentioned Eckley, but his presence loomed over our heads.

However, I couldn’t focus on that. “I was reckless?” I waggled my finger at her. “What about your role in all of this? How did you even get involved fifteen years ago?”

“That doesn’t concern you, now does it? You’re the one who’s so focused on the future, your future with Maya. How funny that you want to know how we all got here. Young people just don’t understand!”

“Of course it concerns me! It concerns me, Maya, and Agnes.” I paced.

“Sit down, Ainsley!” my grandmother commanded with a wobbly lilt in her words.

My mother swirled her scotch, desperate to be in control of something‌—‌anything.

I studied her. “You knew all along, didn’t you, Mother?”

She stared at her glass.

“At Nadine’s, both of you knew. It must have been a wonderful game for you two. Whose idea was it? To have Maya called in at the last second? We never have two servers, but you probably arranged for Maya to appear when she did to test my mettle, or to trap me. You’ve been following every second of her life. You probably knew we’d meet in class.” I rubbed my forehead. “Everything is starting to fall into place. I knew something fishy was going on at Nadine’s.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.

“That may be the case. But you were too busy putting your foot in it and not thinking. Face it. You aren’t ready to play with the grown-ups.” Grandmother tapped her cane.

“Play? This isn’t a game. This is my life. Their lives.” I waved to Maya and Agnes.

Grandmother’s controlling smile suggested none of us mattered.

I turned to Maya. “I snooped out of love. These two”‌—‌I pointed to Grandmother and Mother‌—‌“only do things to control people. They only think about one thing: How is this person helpful? If you trust them, you’ll never be free. You’ll always be their pawns.”

Maya looked to Grandmother and Mother, and Agnes whispered behind her hand.

I returned to that night at Nadine’s. “Calling Maya in at the last second,” I muttered to no one in particular. “That was probably your doing, wasn’t it, Grandmother? Just one way to torture me. The great puppeteer! The fucking mind game.” I about-faced to Maya. “Can’t you see what’s going on? The manipulation?” I stared hard, trying to convey my meaning:
Think like Louisa May Alcott, who chose autonomy over the easy life.

Grandmother cleared her throat but failed to speak, which answered everything.

My mind whirled, trying to unscramble all the pieces into the real narrative, not the created one. “I never stopped to think why so many daily briefings included information on the Eckleys. But you wanted me to know, on some level, the effort you’ve gone to‌—‌for me. For my future. But why did you get involved in their lives in the first place?” I tapped my fingertips together. “Political capital? To have Eckley cornered and gain access to his billions? You swooped in, saved Agnes and Maya, and then kept them in your back pocket all these years. They were collateral in case you needed them. If I didn’t know you, I’d think that was ludicrous. Who could be so determined? So conniving? So cruel? Who would plot that far in advance? But that’s the Carmichael way: always focus on the long game. Hell, I wouldn’t rule out that you were complicit in the death of Maya’s mom. Or that you’ve doctored evidence to set up Eckley, to keep him in line, and possibly his wife, the governor of Texas. The options are limitless, but you’re always working to cover your bases, aren’t you? That’s what I am. An option. The Chosen One. And that’s what Maya is.”

Maya’s gray eyes soaked up every accusation I made. Then she leapt up and charged the old woman. Agnes, who was one step ahead, interceded, holding her back.

“Let me go!” Maya shouted.

I stood helplessly as she stormed out of the room. No one, not even Grandmother, would make eye contact with me.

“I hope you two are happy! I’m finally seeing everything‌—‌the good, the bad, and the ugly. So ugly I’m ashamed to have the last name Carmichael.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Agnes and I stumbled onto the veranda, where Grover made a beeline toward her.

Pat laughed. “I think he’s hoping for more of your home cooking.”

“I’d be more than happy to oblige if I had access to a kitchen. Cooking soothes me. It helps me think.” Agnes scratched behind Grover’s ear, and he kicked out his back leg in time with the scratching.

“Can we go?” Maya appeared around the corner.

Fiona shook her head. “That wouldn’t be advisable. Word has it your neighborhood is crawling with press, and so is Pat’s. We can go back to The Cottage, where it’s less… stressful.”

That settled it. Our party moved to the small house, but Maya kept as much distance as possible from me. Agnes kept flashing me supportive looks that suggested I give Maya time. She might not be Maya’s real mom, but she always would be in my mind. Any woman who would risk so much deserved the title.

Agnes raided the fridge, pantry, and freezers in the garage and hauled in enough food to feed the whole Carmichael clan. Right then, Ham and Mei joined us, quickly followed by Rory. Not much was said, but the mood was lightening, although Maya continued to scowl.

***

Soon enough, Maya slipped out of the side door in the kitchen, with Grover in tow. Agnes, noticing as I had, sidled up to me.

“Go talk to her.” She nodded in the direction Maya had taken.

I shook my head. “I’m the last person she wants to talk to.” My eyes misted over.

“That may be true, but you’re the only one who can reach her right now. She’s mad, yes, but she’s more embarrassed than anything.” Agnes rubbed my shoulder.

“About what? I’m the one who should be embarrassed. My family…” A sob swallowed the rest of my words.

“Ever since Maya was a little girl, she’s only wanted to be normal. Not her mother’s daughter, not…” Agnes looked at me to see whether I caught her meaning.

I did.

“If you can’t do it for Maya, do it for me.” Agnes whispered.

I half laughed, half sniffled. “That’s not fair.”

“I know, but it’s the right thing to do.”

Dammit, she was right.

I found Maya and Grover down by the water. She was chucking Grover’s ball as far as she could, and the terrier gleefully barreled back and forth, oblivious to Maya’s hunched shoulders and miserable mood.

She reached back to heave the ball again and spied me. She froze in place, and I froze mid-step as Grover yipped at our feet, frustrated she wasn’t throwing his ball. Turning to the beach again, she threw the ball, but with much less force.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” Her tone was frigid, and I imagined myself standing in the middle of Antarctica.

“Can we talk?”

Grover returned, panting. He flopped onto his back and rolled around madly, making happy grunting sounds. He needed a rest.

“It seems I’m under your family’s thumb for the rest of my life, so we can do whatever you want.” She stared at the water and hooked her thumbs through the belt loops on her jeans.

“Please, Maya. Don’t…” I put my hand on her back, but she shrugged it off.

“Don’t what? State the obvious? I’m at your mercy. I should be thankful, I guess, that you were kind enough to look past who and what I am. A bastard.” Slowly, she turned to face me. “Thanks for that. Thanks for all of this.” She waved a hand pathetically through the air.

I wished she hadn’t used the word bastard. I didn’t see her that way. None of that mattered to me.

“Oh, right. Carmichaels talk around things instead of confronting simple facts. My mother was a dancer‌—‌‘stripper’ would be the Susie Q word. Eckley liked what he saw. He made her his own. That’s the way of the rich.” She glared at me. “I wasn’t in the equation, of course, but no matter how hard you try to plan, shit happens. If you learn one thing from this, Ainsley, I hope that’s it. You can’t plan for everything. The long game always evolves and more than likely it’s the little guys that get trampled.” She stomped off, and Grover snorted in my direction and chased after her.

Screw it. I trailed after her, too. “Maya, wait!”

As expected, she didn’t heed my words. I sprinted and got in front of her. With both hands on her shoulders, I said, “What is it you want me to say?”