My sister, Kylie, who was studying law at Princeton, arrived an hour before dinner, and after Grandmother gave her the nod, she rose, her black judge’s robe swallowing her petite frame, and tapped a gavel on the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, I call the proceedings to order.”
Ever since she’d been a toddler, Kylie had initiated every meal, toast, or whatnot with a judge’s gavel that William Howard Taft had used many years ago. Ironically, Grandmother had tracked down the gavel that had belonged to the twenty-seventh president, arguably one of the worst leaders in American history. Years after leaving office, Taft became the tenth Chief Justice of the United States—the job he’d always coveted. Even if Grandmother had gently attempted to break the news to my only sister that she wouldn’t be part of the presidential quest, Kylie wouldn’t have cared. The tedium of court decisions and precedents got my sister’s blood pumping. Ever since I could remember, she had aspired to sit on the bench.
Ham stood and cleared his throat.
“Some of you may not have heard the news yet, but we have a serious matter to discuss this evening.” It looked like Ham was fighting to keep his lips from curving into a smile. “Ains, would you stand up please? Carefully.” He motioned for me not to rush.
I thought he had been about to break the news of his engagement. Why did I have to stand? Confused, I complied.
“I first learned of the gravity of this situation from Susie Q’s Tattler.”
Some family members tittered. My cheeks burned. I had no clue what he was about to say, but I had no doubt I’d be displeased, not to mention utterly humiliated.
He tossed me a wrapped gift. “Go on. Open it.”
I ripped off the paper, revealing a bottle of Beano. Channeling my anger, I focused a glare at Ham that had all the intent of striking him dead.
“As much as I liked Susie Q’s headline ‘The Fart Heard Around the World,’ I think we need to nip your problem in the butt… I mean bud.”
“Hear, hear,” Rory rapped his knuckles on the table. “Giving the family a bad name.”
That was rich coming from Rory.
“No, don’t encourage her,” Fiona countered.
Witnessing Fee side with her despised sibling hurt even more than Ham’s sabotage.
Everyone chuckled. Uncle Hugh laughed enthusiastically, his bald head turning redder than a raspberry.
“It was the chair!” I exclaimed.
Everyone howled.
“I’ll get you for this,” I mouthed to Ham.
He shrugged and raised his wineglass. “To Ainsley, who’s never afraid to make a statement.”
Grandmother nodded at my mother, and I sensed neither was enjoying the knowledge that I’d made another ignoble appearance on Susie’s blog. Before the end of the night, I’d get the “everything you do in public will be scrutinized” lecture.
Grandmother cleared her throat.
Ham duly noted the command. He put a hand out for Mei to stand next to him. “Some of you may be wondering why we are gathered here this weekend.” He encircled Mei’s waist. “It’s to welcome Mei to the Carmichael clan. We’re tying the knot this June.” Ham kissed the top of her head, and she wrapped loving arms around his waist.
“It’s about damn time,” Rory boomed.
Even though none of us met Mei before today, it wasn’t all that surprising to me or the rest of the clan, I assumed. Ham always kept his private life out of the news, which meant keeping it from family members as well. Did he agonize over asking Mei to marry him? Keeping a girlfriend out of the spotlight wasn’t easy, but a wife would be nearly impossible. Part of me wondered about his motives. Ham was many things, calculating most of all.
Mother proudly smiled. She looked thin in her Lilly Pulitzer cashmere wrap cardigan, but everything else was perfect: her hair, makeup, and posture.
I used to be proud of her, but I was starting to realize it was all an image: a carefully constructed political narrative. She was always on point, and unlike me, gaffe resistant. She hadn’t remarried, and even though it was never spoken aloud, it was assumed she never would. She would maintain her widow status—voters gobbled that shit up.
Was this the life I wanted: public orchestration even behind closed doors? Or did I want to be free?
Looking at Ham and Mei, I realized what I really wanted was Maya.
***
Later that night, after dinner, most of the younger generations were on the beach. It was fairly dark, but light from the full moon danced on the waters, providing some illumination. More importantly, it reminded me why I loved the family’s private beach. I could watch and listen to the ocean for hours on end. And the best part—Susie Q couldn’t get to me here.
Fiona was streaming music on her iPad, and she and Pat were dancing on the sand, or Pat was trying to dance. Oddly, Fiona, who was a fabulous tennis player, had never mastered dancing, probably because she made a competition out of it. When Pat zigged, she zagged, constantly forcing him to follow. Grover yapped at their feet, making an odd threesome.
Rory joined in too, much to Grover’s delight. Fee’s brother had recently finished another stint in rehab, and he looked pale and thin, a ghost of the man everyone expected him to be. He put on a brave face, nevertheless.
“Do you think he’ll kick the habit for good?” I asked Ham.
“It’s nice to think he will, but…”
It’s been said that heroin is the most addictive narcotic, but it wasn’t just that, although Ham and I understood. As if he knew we were talking about him, Rory crashed onto the sand between us.
“So you’re really going to do it?” Rory asked.
“Get married?” Ham clarified.
“No. Fly to Mars. Of course I mean get married. That’s why we’re here, right?” Rory leaned back on his elbows.
“I am. What about you? What are your plans?”
“Lie low. Dad wants me to go back to school.” He looked down at his bare feet. “But it’s not in me. The drive to succeed at all costs skipped me.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t cut out for this.” He waved to the house and all the relatives on the beach. “My main objective is to stay off the radar, especially away from the likes of Susie Q.”
“How?” I asked.
“Moving to Oregon. Mom’s family has a cabin out there. Guess I’ll figure things out from there, but I need to get out of this state. After the holidays, I think.” He hopped up and rejoined the dancers.
Fiona attempted to twirl Pat without telegraphing the move, and the two of them tumbled onto the sand. Rory applauded, and Grover licked their faces.
Ham laughed. “Do you think she’ll ever settle down?”
“Not likely. Fiona views life like she views her dancing: never settle into any type of pattern. Speaking of which, I never thought you would either.” I cocked my head, focusing on the outline of his angular face in the moonlight. His damaged eye was out of view, and I wondered whether he did that subconsciously, even around family. We both sat on a sand dune, partially hidden by beach grass.
Ham sifted sand through his hands, letting the granules fall through his fingers. “Never thought I’d fall in love, or even could fall in love.”
“But you did?”
He cupped his hand, staunching the flow of the sand, and looked to his right, where Mei stood with Mother and Uncle Owen.
“I did,” he said, his voice light-hearted yet determined.
Remembering an incident during dinner, I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Oh, I was thinking of Shirley.” Shirley came from a wealthy family with all the right connections and had married one of our dim-witted cousins. For better or worse, she was dumber than a yellow lab and looked like one. Earlier in the evening, when she’d shaken Mei’s hand, she’d said, “You speak English very well.”
“Thank you. I was born in New York,” Mei responded in a thick New York accent.
“I was surprised Mei didn’t smack h
er right in the kisser. That’s a sore subject with her,” Ham said.
“How so?”
“Let’s just say it’s not the first time she’s been told she speaks English very well.” Ham spoke the last three words slowly, mimicking Shirley. “It’s 2015 and people still act like this country is for whites only. Mei’s great-great-grandfather immigrated to the West Coast when railroad companies were hiring Chinese laborers to lay track. He was one of the few who escaped, in the hope of leaving racism behind. No one in her family has yet.”
We both sat in quiet contemplation, watching the others on the beach. Maya’s insistence that we came from different backgrounds infiltrated my mind.
“It’s funny,” Ham said, “both of our families can trace their American roots to guys who didn’t belong, were brought here as cheap labor, and only wanted to lead a normal life. Mei’s grandfather ran away because he wanted to have a family. Most Chinese immigrants couldn’t marry or have kids back then.”
“How was that enforced?”
“Not many who came to work on the railroads or in the mines were women. One year, more than 4,000 men came and only seven women. White Americans feared the ‘Yellow Peril,’ so they clamped down on the cheap labor. Government officials claimed the women who did arrive were prostitutes, so in 1875 Congress passed the Page Act, denying entry to women who were considered ‘obnoxious.’ Not much has changed in this country.”
I nodded, understanding. “Now some want to erect a wall along the Mexican border.” I thought of Maya and of how desperately I wanted to walk along the family beach with her at my side. I doubted that would ever happen. I glanced at Mei; maybe it could, though.
Ham shifted his weight in the sand. “Mom doesn’t look good.”
“She’s too thin,” I agreed.
“Stress. Things are changing in politics. Having money and family connections aren’t always assets anymore. The political landscape is shifting so fast. I have a feeling Mom and Owen won’t be in office much longer.”
I whipped my head around, sure I cracked a vertebra.
Ham paid no heed. “People are sick of the old political dynasties,” he continued. “They want outsiders who promise the world, even if the promises are false. They want politicians who’ll do their best to turn back the clock to the good ol’ days when a gas station attendant could support a family of four. Sadly, those days are long gone. And Grandmother…” Ham shrugged, not completing the thought.
I remembered the quote the homeless woman shoved into my hand and recited it. “‘The winds and waves are always on the side—’”
Ham finished the quote, “‘of the ablest navigators.’” He paused. “How do you know that quote?”
“Oh, some crazy lady in Harvard Square was handing out leaflets with the quote. Not sure how I remembered it.” I avoided his eyes.
“It’s from an eighteenth century historian. I keep receiving weird emails with quotes by the same historian, such as ‘History is little more—’”
I cut him off. “How weird. I’ve been getting texts from an unknown number. One had that quote. Another was about revenge. I figured Susie was behind it.”
“But not now?”
I remembered Fee’s insistence that the quotes seemed too intellectual. Susie could quote her hero, Ann Coulter, off the cuff, but a historian who’d been dead for centuries? It was highly unlikely. Even Fiona, a student of history, hadn’t recognized the words.
I answered Ham’s question with one of my own. “Why would she email you?”
“I know. She’s never targeted me, and it seems out of her league. So why are we both receiving them?” He scanned the horizon, shielding his brow with a hand. “This coincidence makes me uneasy.” He stood abruptly. “I need to make a call.”
“Okay.”
Ham stood off to the side and barked, “Tess, I’m going to forward some emails to you. I need you to look into them.” He tottered farther into the brush, ruining my chance to eavesdrop on the rest of his commands.
Moments later, he sat down next to me, smiling. It didn’t put me at ease.
“Who’s Tess?”
Ham cocked his head, studying my face as if he was determining whether he could trust me. “Tess and her partner, Rita, are the types you don’t want to meet. Not in person. When you do, it means the shit has seriously hit the fan.”
“Partners?”
“Business.”
“What business?” My voice cracked, showing my frustration. To my knowledge, only Grandmother had fixers on the payroll, but I was fairly certain Tess and Rita didn’t work for her, considering I’d never heard so much as a whisper of their names.
“Trust me, please. I’m not sure the quotes mean anything, but I’m on it just in case. It’s probably some crackpot trying to ruffle our feathers. I’ll keep you in the loop if you need to be. I promise. And if you receive any more, let me know right away.”
“And you’ll let me know if you get more?”
His nod lacked any trace of assurance.
Before I had a chance to push, Grover waddled over and collapsed in front of us, panting. His tongue lolled to one side as he rolled around on his back to cool off. Fiona and Pat joined us, breathing just as heavily.
Ham raised a palm, indicating the end of the conversation for now, and I bit my lower lip.
Pat pulled a flask out of his lilac plaid Vineyard Vines shorts, which he’d paired with a mint-green gingham button-up. One of his sleeves was rolled up; the other must have tumbled down with the exertion of keeping up with Fiona’s dancing. His outfit would have looked ridiculous on most men, but it suited happy-go-lucky Pat. He took a sip from the flask and handed it to Fiona, who took a lustful slug before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“There you are,” Mei said. She sat in front of Ham and leaned back into his waiting arms. When the flask reached her, Mei took a generous swig. Grover made his way over and exposed his belly to her, and Mei enthusiastically rubbed his freckled stomach, all the while calling him handsome.
“Look at that. He doesn’t even trust me like that.” Fiona’s smile confirmed she had accepted Mei into the family fold. If Grover trusted her, Fiona would too.
Mei looked up at Fiona, her black eyes sparkling, and said, “How’d you come up with the name?”
Everyone let out a bark of laughter. Indignant, Fiona tugged the hem of her linen shirt. “He’s named after Grover Cleveland, of course.”
“Ah, the twenty-second and twenty-fourth president.” Mei continued showering Grover with love.
Fiona didn’t say anything, but I now imagined she’d walk through fire for Mei. Not many people could spout off the numbers of presidents, let alone knew Cleveland was the only one to serve two non-consecutive terms.
“How’d you two meet?” Pat asked, taking another sip from the flask.
“Work,” Ham responded. “Mei’s a lobbyist.”
Everything clicked in my head. Mei had political clout in DC. Grandmother would allow any one of us to marry a serial killer as long as that person could promise votes. Whenever she met someone, her first thought was, “How is this person helpful?”
“Corporate lobbyist or hired gun?” Fiona asked.
“Corporate. Online privacy for social media’s Goliath.”
“Can you take down Susie Q for me?” I asked.
“Me, no. But I may know someone who knows someone.” She winked.
I snapped my fingers at Pat. “Give this woman more whiskey.”
Fiona quizzed Mei about her job, but the last thing I wanted to discuss was politics. I was still reeling over discovering Ham had his own political fixers who could swoop in and save people’s asses when they got caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. My brother’s determination to treat me like a child grated more than I cared to admit. I looked away, watching the gentle waves roll over the sand. The watery fingers chased a few Carmichael youngsters, who were thrilled to be awake well past their be
dtime. They squealed, running after the retreating water, doing their best to not get wet feet. Their parents stood to the side, chatting in small groups.
Rory stood alone, gazing at the moon. I wondered what thoughts roared through his mind.
On the veranda of the big house, I spied Grandmother leaning on her cane with both hands. She quietly observed the Carmichael generations. Even from this distance, though, I could sense her plotting the next move.
Chapter Eleven
The bugle blared right on the dot on Monday morning.
Twenty minutes later, I stood out on the drive, waiting for Pat and Fee and scanning my daily briefing email from the goons.
Pat’s eyes were blurry. “Bloody bugle. What family wakes up this way?”
“The Carmichaels,” Fiona and I said in unison.
“Come on. We’re burning daylight.” I unlocked the car doors. Pat’s feet seemed glued. “Chop, chop, Irish!”
Fee gave him a shove. He growled.
“I don’t know why you’re so grumpy,” I said. “I, for one, can’t wait to get out of here. If I have to spend another day with the Carmichael clan, I’ll start pulling my hair out.”
“And Ainsley loves her red Carmichael curls,” Fiona said.
It was true. I adored them, especially the way a few curls wouldn’t fit in a ponytail and bounced around my face when I walked. Sometimes I adjusted my step to optimize the effect. I’d mastered how to cock my head so one lone curl demurely covered one eye. It wasn’t solely for sex appeal. It covered a scar near my right eye, from when I’d rammed through a screen door when I was five. Unlike Ham, I’d avoided permanent damage, aside from a small fleck of a scar that most never detected, even those who knew where to look.
The scar was the only imperfection on my face, according to many. For me, it added character. Grandmother once told me we were all made up of scars, visible and invisible. How we dealt with them determined how we performed in life. Embrace and learn from all the cuts, bumps, and bruises along the way, and nothing could stop you.
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