The Chosen One

by T. B. Markinson

  “During dinner, I’m fairly certain Maya’s mom called her Carisa.”

  “Fairly certain?” Fee squinted.

  “They were speaking Spanish.” I waved a hand. “I’m wondering whether that’s her real name.”

  “Could be a term of endearment.” Fee blinked excessively.

  “Maybe.”

  “But your gut says differently.” Fee rubbed her chin and nodded.

  “Something like that. Can you have Chuck widen the search?” I didn’t tell her to have him search Texas, but I knew Fiona would understand.

  Fiona disappeared from the room, and I took a seat, not wanting to speak.

  “Who’s Chuck?” Pat asked again with frustration in his tone.

  I shrugged. “One of Fiona’s friends. I haven’t met him.”

  “Neither have I. You don’t meet people like Chuck.” Fiona returned and slipped back into her seat. This spy stuff didn’t take too long, it seemed. “He’ll have a full report by morning.”

  A full report. It was a risk, but I needed to know, especially if Grandmother’s minions were already one step ahead of me. I needed to prepare‌—‌it was the Carmichael way.

  “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Pat was almost frothing at the mouth.

  I looked to Fiona. She knew Pat better than I did. Could he keep it quiet? She must have thought so, because she told him how little we knew about Maya.

  “She just popped up in 2003?” Pat shook his head. “Poor kid. There’s a story there, but I’m not sure it’s one meant for you to find out.” He pointed his fork at Fiona and then at me. “It ain’t right having Chuck dig around where he’s not wanted.”

  “I know.” I blew a red curl out of my eyes. “But I have to know. I really like her, Pat. Hell, I think I’m in love, and you know… with the Web, how much of our lives are actually private anymore?”

  “That’s just an excuse. It ain’t right. Not at all.” He pushed his plate away. “The poor girl has no idea what she’s up against.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Early the following morning, I left Maya in bed, telling her I was meeting Fiona for a run. She didn’t suspect I was entering full-fledged panic mode.

  “Well?” I said as soon as Fiona stepped outside in running gear.

  Fiona eyed me. “Let’s run first.” Without waiting for my response, she took off; that wasn’t good.

  I chased after her, faster than normal, but Fee’s long legs kept me out of reach. After the third mile, I found Fiona sitting on a secluded bench by the river, waiting.

  I slumped next to her and tried to gird my nerves; it wasn’t working. I feared I might vomit.

  “Agnes isn’t Maya’s mom. She’s her aunt.”

  The arm on my bullshit meter, the one I’d been ignoring for weeks, flipped all the way to the right, indicating there was more to the story. Did I want to know?

  “As you suspected, Maya’s real name is Carisa. Carisa Torres.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Fiona let out a long breath, like she was trying to cleanse her soul.

  “Maya’s mother was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” I covered my mouth.

  Fiona squeezed my leg. “Listen carefully. There were rumors that her mother was the mistress of a business tycoon in Texas.” As if sensing my question, she went on. “Maya only lived in Wyoming for a summer, when Agnes worked as a cook at a dude ranch outside of Cody, the year her mom died.”

  “Who killed her?”

  “It’s unsolved. The businessman was questioned, but…”

  “But what?”

  “He’s really powerful.”

  “Carmichael powerful?”

  “My guess, more powerful.”

  I pulled my knees onto the bench and cradled them. “Who is he?”

  “Raymond Eckley.”

  “The Texas billionaire? Married to the governor of Texas? That Raymond Eckley?” I swallowed.

  Fee nodded, and I whistled. “He has more money than Bill Gates,” I said.

  “Actually his wife has all the money, not that he publicizes that when he’s throwing his weight around. I thought there were whisperings about a prenup though. Not surprising given the amount of money involved,” Fee said.

  “Prenup?”

  “If he cheats, he’s out. Just a rumor, though.” She nibbled on a hangnail.

  “My daily briefing sheets frequently feature the Eckleys. Isn’t that a weird coincidence?”

  Fee didn’t respond, so I left the thought alone. “How old was Maya when her mom hooked up with him?”

  “Unclear, but all signs indicate Maya wasn’t yet born.” Fee avoided my eyes, now practically gnawing on her finger.

  The idea forming in my head was terrifying. “Was Eckley’s wife ever questioned?”

  “Yes.”

  “So if Maya is his, she’s proof of the affair?”

  Fiona rubbed her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

  “The prenup.” I shook my head. “How did Chuck…? Never mind.”

  Fiona nodded. There was no use asking how Chuck knew so much. People like him didn’t elaborate, and who knew how much could be discovered on the dark net.

  “Here’s the theory according to some crackpot bloggers,” Fiona said. “Maya’s mom either knew too much about the businessman, or she tried to blackmail him. Once she got popped, Maya’s aunt panicked and left the state with Maya. Somehow, after the dude ranch, she bought them new identities. It’s not a clear picture‌—‌fuzzy at best. And the sources are about as reliable as Susie Q. Another interesting tidbit, none of the bloggers have been heard from since.”

  “No wonder Maya and Agnes ran, but how? Who helped them?”

  “Good question.”

  “Fuck. So, if Chuck is right, Maya is on the run from her father, who doesn’t want his wife to find out he has a child. And Eckley’s wife is one of the most powerful politicians in America and has more money than God. This is much more than I thought.”

  “Exactly. This is the show: the establishment against us, the little guys.”

  It was the first time anyone had called the Carmichaels the little guys.

  “How old was Maya when her mom was murdered?” I asked.

  “Seven.”

  “Shit! Here I was afraid of her dealing with my powerful family, when all along I was in the Eckleys’ crosshairs.” I hid my face between my knees. “Can it get any worse?”

  Fee’s silence wasn’t comforting.

  Was he the one responsible for the quotes? I scanned the river’s surface for answers. Surely, a Texan wouldn’t know diddly about a long-dead historian. Most Texans spouted crap about the Alamo when making a point.

  “Do you think she knows? Or suspects?” I asked.

  “Hard to know. Agnes probably knows, though. Knows enough to run, at least.” Fiona turned to face me. “Eckley isn’t just big in Texas. He’s also big in DC. And he’s a Texan. You know Texas has a finger in every presidential election. This is‌—‌”

  “It’s either good or bad,” I interrupted. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “How is it good?” She craned her neck to stare into my eyes.

  “I’m still working on that. This type of scandal could be political suicide‌—‌Grandmother may not be able to rescue me.”

  Fiona gripped my shoulder. “I’m not worried about Grandmother. You don’t fuck with men like Eckley. He makes Grandmother look feeble.”

  Could Ham and his fixers handle the Eckleys? But would Ham step in considering who we were dealing with? Or would he worry about committing political suicide? Would his advice be to cut and run? Also, would alerting Ham and his crew set off alarm bells in Eckley’s camp? My stomach churned. I leaped to my feet, dashing away to finish our run. I needed to keep moving or go mad.

  Fiona didn’t object.

  My mind flittered to Maya showing me her branding. Was that her way of letting me in some or simply a moment of weakness? Would she e
ver confess all if I asked? But how could I ask without her knowing how I found out?

  Outside the apartment building, I tugged on her arm to prevent her from entering. “How much does Pat know?”

  “Nothing, except that we were looking into her past. Chuck knows, of course.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “He hasn’t let me down.” The implied yet didn’t have to be said aloud. Information gathering was a dangerous game.

  “Is his name really Chuck?”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  Pat was already dressed and on his way out when we entered. “So are we still on for this Sunday?”

  “This Sunday?” I asked.

  “Sunday dinner with Maya’s mom.” He cocked his head, baffled that I’d already forgotten.

  “Oh, right. Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Even I could tell that my voice was uncharacteristically shaky, which was not Carmichael-like. My only thought was Maya, and protecting her at all costs. But how? She’d said it herself: she’d lose her anonymity dating me. Was that what she’d been afraid of that day we’d kissed near Walden Pond? Not the bullshit that we’re from different worlds, but that Eckley would find her and finish the job? All along I thought I was being the magnanimous one, but her sacrifice to be with me made my silly presidential ambitions seem petty. Maya’s life could potentially be on the line.

  Pat’s limp smile made my stomach lurch. “I hope the news wasn’t that bad. And don’t you dare tell me what you found out. People’s secrets are just that.” He waggled a finger at us as he left.

  “It wasn’t really that bad, considering,” Fiona said, stretching out her calf on one of the kitchen chairs.

  Unable to speak, I flashed her a look that said You’ve got to be kidding.

  She didn’t even bother to glance in my direction. “She’s not the first kid to have a questionable mom. And look at how far she’s come. The media will eat that shit up.”

  “I would never splash her history about for political gain!”

  “I’m not saying you would. But how can you keep this quiet if you continue to see her? Think, Ains! Everyone in our lives gets vetted, not just by Grandmother’s goons, but also by the media. A single picture of you two together could be the game changer. Besides, it might be safer to air her dirty laundry in order to protect her. Right now, Eckley has the advantage.”

  I collapsed onto a kitchen chair.

  “Think, Ains!” she said again. “We need to figure out the endgame. The timer started the moment you two kissed. We just didn’t know it.”

  But had Maya?

  ***

  Later that night, while I waited at the restaurant for Maya to finish her shift, I pondered Fiona’s words. Did we need an endgame, or were we needlessly trying to turn my life into an episode of House of Cards?

  “You look deep in thought. Everything okay?” Maya set her bag down on the empty chair next to me.

  I squeaked, “Just jittery. Too much caffeine today.”

  She smiled. “I’m not surprised. You’ve had five cups in the past two hours. Let’s get you home.”

  It was her night to stay at my place. For weeks, we’d been switching back and forth, trying to ensure we both had access to clean clothes. Packing an overnight bag every other day wasn’t overly burdensome‌—‌not yet, at least. Her roommate, while never around, was still a threat to our domestic bliss. We feared she might fight with her boyfriend and crash into the dorm room at three in the morning, finding us in bed. Yet Maya was adamant about not moving her stuff to my place. Was that a sign she knew the dangers? Was she trying to protect me? Or was it her desire to remain an individual? The more I learned, the more Maya the Gray baffled me.

  ***

  “Earth to Ainsley. Come in, Ainsley.” Maya spoke through cupped hands.

  I was sitting in my desk chair, staring into space and probably looking like I’d just seen little green men climbing out of the closet, shouting, “Nanu! Nanu!”

  She moved to stand in front of me, and I rested my head against her stomach. “I’m sorry, Maya. I don’t feel well.”

  Squatting down, she placed a tender hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. “Tell me what you need. Aspirin? Sprite? Hot shower?”

  “Lie down with me and hold me.”

  She carefully tucked a strand of hair off my forehead and behind one ear. “I can do that. Not a problem, beautiful.” Her smile brimmed with love and trust.

  I bolted off the chair, barely making it to the toilet before spewing the contents of my stomach. Maya rushed in, pulling my hair back just in time for the second wave.

  “Shhh…” She pulled me into her arms as I started to sob, rocking me slightly. “Do I need to call Dr. Pat?”

  At that moment, I wanted to shout that I loved her, because she understood. She knew I wouldn’t go to the ER or the health center. She knew I would go to Pat. But instead of declaring my love, I shook my head and snuggled closer to her chest. “Just hold me, Maya. Hold me and never let me go.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following Sunday, Maya insisted we bring Grover to Agnes’s place for dinner, which thrilled Pat, of course. He had been picking Grover up at Fee’s mom’s and sneaking the terrier into Fiona’s apartment a couple of nights a week, and the two of them were perfectly suited for each other‌—‌both crazy but loveable.

  Fiona thought Grover would provide a wonderful distraction, for me and from me. Half the time, I was on the verge of puking my guts out; the other half, I spent racking my brain trying to figure a way out of the Eckley dilemma.

  I had wanted to nix the dinner, but Fee was worried that would trip a distress signal, and who knew who was watching? Her plan, so far, was to stay the course.

  She also quickly dismissed my fear that having dinner with Agnes would lead Grandmother’s goons to Maya’s front door.

  “Think, Ains. She already knows about Maya anyway. Chuck is good, but the witch’s goons can no doubt run circles around little Chuckie with their hands tied behind their backs. It’s not the time to act fearful. Be bold. Think JFK during the Cuban Missile Crisis.”

  Grover barked, pulling my thoughts back to the present.

  “My apologies, Grover.” Agnes leaned over and patted his head. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

  Agnes took to Grover right away, even making him a plate of hamburger while the rest of us binged on homemade chili. For a moment, I thought she was going to wrap a bib around the dog and sit him at the table with us. Pat was only one step away from that at Fiona’s, too, and Grover seemed utterly convinced he was human. The terrier even slept under the covers with his head on a pillow. Who couldn’t love him?

  While Agnes gave Maya her weekly update about the goings-on in the neighborhood, Pat and Fiona listened half-heartedly, too busy scarfing their meals.

  I kept listening for Eckley buzzwords or code words, but there were none. What did I expect? For Agnes to say, Do you remember Raymond? He e-mailed the other day to say he’s watching.

  After the report of who was pregnant, in prison, or going to college, Agnes turned to Fiona and asked, “What are you studying?”

  Fiona covered her mouth and mumbled, “History,” to the best of her ability.

  “Ah, these two lovebirds”‌—‌Agnes pointed with a spoon to Maya and then to me‌—‌“met in a history class. Are you in it as well?” She scooped up a spoonful of chili.

  “No. I go to Harvard.”

  “She’s wicked smart,” Pat said, through his own mouthful of food.

  “Fiona wants to be like Doris Kearns Goodwin,” Maya added.

  Agnes nodded appreciatively. “I loved her book Team of Rivals. Now I’m reading Bully Pulpit. There’s so much I never knew about William Howard Taft. And Teddy has always been one of my faves.”

  “Me too.” Fiona held a palm to her chest, and it was hard to miss the excitement coursing through her veins. Not only did Agnes know Fee’s favorite historian, she had also re
ad some of her books.

  Maya’s triumphant grin let me in on her secret that she’d planned the comment, knowing Agnes and Fiona would easily slip into conversation. Maya would make an excellent fixer someday. She was highly intelligent, but even more than that she was cunning. I was learning firsthand that Maya could figure people out with just one look. Like Grandmother, she knew whom to trust, how to work them, and how to control them. In the beginning, I’d wondered how Maya had learned those skills; the Eckley bombshell, though, made me realize she’d had to learn how to survive. I laid a hand on her thigh, and she rested hers on top. Again, I made a silent vow to protect her at all costs, and Agnes. I had to help them both.

  “I love to read but could never stomach romance novels or thrillers.” Agnes pointed to a small shelf that contained a handful of library books. “For some reason, I can never get enough of American history. I didn’t have a chance to go to college like Maya, but I try to keep up.”

  “Keep up? I can never keep up with you.” Maya turned to me. “I swear my mother knows more than Dr. Gingas, and all because of a library card. Ben Franklin would be so proud.”

  Agnes flushed. Fiona patted her hand and launched into her favorite topic: Teddy Roosevelt.

  Pat scraped the bottom of his bowl with some bread, not wanting to miss a drop.

  “There’s more on the stove.” Agnes tilted her head, giving him permission to help himself.

  Pat pushed his empty plate back, rose, and retrieved a pan off the stove, serving generous second helpings of chili for all. Agnes, embroiled in scintillating political conversation with Fiona, nodded a thank-you.

  I wondered how it was that both Fiona and Pat looked like they belonged here. Agnes seemed thrilled to host us in her home, and Maya glowed with happiness. I finally felt like I belonged to a loving family. I gave Maya’s leg a squeeze. Her dazzling smile, though, couldn’t erase the fear roiling inside me.

  Please, God, don’t let Maya’s father swoop in and take this away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My prayers went unanswered.