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 be
tter 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.
“Hello,” she said, extending her hand. I shook it slowly, trying to comprehend everything in a flash.
“Hello.” Did Grandmother know yet?
“Ainsley, I’d like you to meet Mei.” Ham turned to the woman. “Mei, this is my baby sister.” He squeezed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Mei.”
Four dogs crashed past us, pursuing an errant tennis ball that nearly took out a window, their nails clawing to gain purchase on the deck. Grover followed them, and then Fiona and Pat, laughing.
“Sorry! Mr. Dog Lover is the worst when it comes to playing fetch. Can’t aim for shit!” Fiona boisterously slapped Pat’s back.
“The launcher is defective,” Pat defended, flashing his I’m busted smile. Fiona and Pat noticed Mei at the same time and fell quiet.
I tugged on the back of Fiona’s shirt to break her trance. “I’d like you to meet Mei.”
Realizing her rudeness, Fee burst into a smile and tightly shook Mei’s hand with both of her own. I feared Mei’s arm would grow sore from being rigorously jiggled up and down. “How wonderful to meet you, Mei. Dee-lighted!”
Mei stared at Fiona, clearly trying to figure out whether Fiona was fucking with her. It usually took people some time to get used to Fiona’s animated ways.
“Don’t break her arm off, Fee. She’s not a water pump.” Ham laughed, easing the tension.
“Is this the big news, then?” Fiona was never known for beating around the bush. She nudged Ham’s shoulder. “You’ve never brought a woman home before.”
Mei’s laughter sounded like raindrops: soft and comforting.
“So you automatically assume marriage?” Ham poked her in the side with his index finger.
The three of us nodded.
Ham glanced at Mei. “It’s hard to get away with anything in this family.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Yes. This is the big news.” His grin was genuine, not his typical politician’s rictus.
“When’s the big day?” I asked.
“Not ’til June, so we can get married here.” He pointed to the sprawling private beach.
“Are we the last to know, then?” Fiona arched one eyebrow in a show of displeasure. She’d always been closer to Ham and me than she was to her only sibling.
“The first, actually. Mei and I only arrived a few minutes ago, and we haven’t run into any family yet. Grandmother is taking an afternoon siesta.” He said the last sentence gravely. Grandmother was nearing ninety-two, and whenever her name came up in conversation, it was with an air of impending bad news. I was sure every major news outlet would have her obituary prepared and raring to go as soon as the announcement was made.
Not that Grandmother was feeble. For a woman in her nineties, she had all of her mental capacities and was quite spry. She was the last surviving child of the great Alistair Carmichael, former governor of Massachusetts. When he
died, at the age of 101, Grandmother became the head of the family. My mother had married into the family, but it was rumored she would be the one left in charge. Grandmother always said Mom was the daughter she had always wanted, which really irked Grandmother’s daughter by birth, Bridget, who always attended these events but was about as sociable as wallpaper.
Grandfather, who’d had to change his last name to Carmichael, died ten years earlier, leaving a gaping hole in our family tree. Grandmother wouldn’t speak about him for the first year. She missed him, but she was mostly angry he’d died without her permission. No one in our family did anything without Grandmother’s stamp of approval, and that included kicking the bucket.
“Have you spoken to Grandmother…” I hesitated, selecting my next words carefully. “About June?” I perched on the arm of a teak Adirondack.
Ham nodded crisply. “We flew in from DC last weekend.” His eyes skimmed the water before meeting mine again, and their seriousness vanished as if a crashing wave had just swept away anything important. “Right. So girls against the boys this weekend?”
He was referring to the tennis tournament, of course. “Don’t you boys get tired of losing?” I asked.
“Want to put your money where your mouth is?” Fiona added.
Ham and Fee squared off like boxers before he finally cracked. “It’s good to see you.” He wrapped Fee up in a bear hug.
“What are you doing? Going soft?” Fiona slapped his back, but she didn’t wiggle out of the hug.
***
Twenty-two Carmichaels, including the grown children of our missing Uncle Liam, sat at the table in the sparse dining room, flanked by Mother and Grandmother at the foot and head of the table, respectively. The room was dominated by the custom-made banquet table for thirty, leaving little room for frivolous décor or bric-a-brac. The curtains were pulled back, the bay window overlooking the Atlantic. Photographers wouldn’t be able to spy on the family from here without a Hubble-like telescopic lens on a boat. The youngsters were tucked away in a room off the kitchen, where staff members could keep an eye on them.
The Chosen One Page 9