The Chosen One (6 page)

“Wow. I thought I was an early riser.” I tapped a finger on her list. “I’ll pick these up. You look like you need some rest.”

“Not in the near future. Not yet, at least.” She motioned to her book bag.

“Oh, okay. I won’t keep you from studying. See ya on Friday,” I said, sensing I should run before I got to know more about her. Having a crush on someone was one thing; developing feelings was simply out of the question. “We can discuss what time to meet on Saturday. Thanks for the crepe.”

She cocked her head and leveled her eyes on mine as if she knew the effect they had. “Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.” Again enthusiasm tinged her voice, but besides those marvelous eyes, the rest of her face was devoid of emotion. How did she do that? Was she always this controlled? This guarded? She was like my soul mate‌—‌a non-relationship-seeking soul mate.

Chapter Five

Fiona would be nearby, wanting to hear the scuttlebutt. Not that I had any. Nor would I share‌—‌not the real scuttlebutt‌—‌not even to Fiona, the person I trusted the most.

Fiona responded to my text, informing me she was in the bookstore a couple of blocks away. I raced over to buy some Concord travel guides,
Little Women
, and the biographies on the list before the store closed. I planned to skim the travel guides before the weekend. It’d been years since I’d visited Concord, and that had been for a school field trip.

Fiona found me in the travel section. “What are you doing? They’re closing.” She tugged my arms, which were laden with Alcott books and guides.

“I need travel guides for Concord.”

“Concord! You know that’s here in Mass. You don’t really need a guide. Just get in your car and go. Live on the edge. Besides, you can find most things on the Internet these days.” She tsked at my bookish ways.

I grabbed two more guides and rushed to the register.

“Wait, you forgot one,” Fiona shouted. She placed the
Literary Trail of Greater Boston
on top of the stack.

“Oh, Fee, I could kiss you right now.”

“Would that make us kissing cousins?” She studied the low-hanging ceiling, lost in thought. Someone had switched off the lights in the back of the store to let customers know it was time to scram.

The clerk reddened, rushing through the transaction, much to my amusement. Fiona never tried to shock people, but her frankness had that effect. I hefted the shopping bag over my shoulder. “Let’s go to your apartment and start sifting through these babies.”

Fiona hooked her arm through mine. “Do you plan on telling me what’s going on? Why the mad dash?”

It started to rain, but the drops were more of a nuisance than anything. Besides, her apartment was only a couple of blocks from Harvard Square. We walked down a side street on a bricked sidewalk encased on one side by an ivy-covered brick wall leading south toward the Charles River. A lone cab passed us on the narrow street.

“Maya wants to go to Concord with me this Saturday for our research project.”

“Research?” She tugged on my arm, teasing.

“Yes, for our history project.” I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see.

“I see. And you want to impress the hell out of the coffee-goddess.” The steady trickle of rain transformed into water daggers stabbing our skin, and she clutched my arm. “Come on!”

We dashed across Mt. Auburn Street and broke into a full sprint, laughing all the way to her building.

Moments later, Fiona was dressed in a robe with a towel wrapped around her head. She put a teakettle on as I sat at the table in her spacious kitchen, towel-drying my curls, which
boinged
more than usual. I wore a pair of Fee’s crimson sweats and a gray Harvard T-shirt.

She cracked the window by the table, leaving the curtains drawn. A breeze made them billow, letting in sprinkles of rain. Fee lit a cigarette with her Zippo, which displayed an image of Ulysses S. Grant in his Civil War uniform. I pulled a face at the cigarette, not Grant, even though his presidency was riddled with scandals.

She ignored me and flipped through one of the books. “Hey, listen to this. Henry James referred to Concord as ‘the biggest little place in America.’” Blowing the smoke over her shoulder, she said, “I didn’t know that, or I forgot. Throw a pebble in this state and you’re bound to hit at least one historical marker.” She stared at the red tip of the cigarette between her fingers.

I pulled a small leather notebook out and jotted down the quote.

“Emerson, Hawthorne, Alcott, Thoreau… all these minds in one tiny place. This is jolly good stuff. How did I forget all this?”

“Too busy studying presidents.” I shrugged.

The teakettle whistled. With the cigarette dangling from her bottom lip, Fiona poured two cups of tea, all while still reading one of the guides. She only stopped to grab an Irish whiskey bottle from the cabinet above, proof that her on-again, off-again boyfriend was back in the picture.

“No thanks,” I mumbled, engrossed in reading about Concord on my tablet. “Hey, did you know Doris Kearns Goodwin lives there?”

Fiona ripped the iPad out of my hand and greedily read the words. The towel around her head loosened, and she set it aside. Wet, strawberry blonde locks dangled around her face as she said, “I seem to remember a professor saying something about her living there.” She gave the tablet back and blew into her tea. “Maybe I’ll tag along with you two in the hope we can bump into her.”

“You will not!”

“I can act as your personal historian.” She lifted the cup to her lips. “Now that would impress the coffee-goddess.”

“No presidents are from there. That’s your specialty.”

Fiona smacked her lips and flipped the pages of another travel guide. “I can cram it all in. I don’t have any classes tomorrow.”

I briefly considered the proposition. “No. But can you help me cram it into my head?”

Feigning hurt, Fiona said, “Of course, darling. Wouldn’t it be grand if you popped your cherry at Walden Pond? What would Thoreau’s ghost say about that?”

“Such a one-track mind.” I groaned. “I can’t risk an affair. Remember the failed presidential runs of Gary Hart and John Edwards?”

“News flash! You have to be in a relationship in order to have an affair. And you’re a college freshman. No one expects you not to date. Why don’t you just admit the truth?” She crossed her arms, grinning.

Oh God, did she know I was falling for Maya?

“Which is?”

“You’re girl-shy after Cassidy.”

I plugged both ears with my fingers. “Don’t mention that name. She’s dead to me.”

Fee yanked my hands away from my head. “You can’t live in a protective, presidential bubble all your life. That’s not living, dear cousin. Stop being afraid.”

Chapter Six

Maya was standing outside when I pulled up. Her long-sleeved, pale purple-gray shirt and loose fit boyfriend-cut jeans surprised me. I’d only seen her in a crisp black T-shirt and dark jeans, but I started to wonder whether she only wore that on the days she worked, which was every day I’d seen her. When did she find time to study? I liked seeing the laidback Maya.

“I picked up some bagels.” She hoisted a brown lunch sack and gently wiggled it. “And I made coffee.” Maya whipped out a steel thermos that looked older than both of us put together. “Enough to get us through the entire day.”

She must have noticed me eye it, because she added, “Used to belong to my granddad. Is it okay if I pour you a cup in here?” She motioned to my car, which was spotless and still had a new-car smell. “I promise not to spill.”

“Sure. I’m dying for your special brew.” I watched her meticulously pour the drink into a travel cup, not wasting a drop. Nearly finished, she licked her lips, and I had to fight the impulse to kiss her.

I needed to nip my sexual urges in the bud. I was the sexless Ice Princess, after all.
Remember John Edwards, and the trouble he got into.

Maya handed me the mug.

“Thanks.” I took a sip. “Oh my God! You have to share your trick.”

She sank into the eco-friendly cloth seat, gripping her coffee with both hands, her eyes on the road ahead. “What do you mean?”

“You make the best coffee. Even Fiona thinks so, and she’s the biggest coffee snob you’ll ever meet.”

A satisfied nod conveyed my compliment pleased her.

“Sorry, can’t tell ya. Industry secret.” Her voice was softer today, more relaxed. “Is Fiona a snob about everything?”

Technically, the answer was yes, but Fiona didn’t realize she was, and she didn’t do it to act superior. She was a perfectionist who demanded everyone and everything else should be perfect as well.

“A snob? No, I wouldn’t say that. I would say she wants things her way, and she’s not afraid to voice her opinion when disappointed. But I wouldn’t classify her as a snob. She’s just Fiona.” I tapped the steering wheel, cursing myself for rambling.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What? Am I a snob?” I peeked at her, and she nodded. “No!” I slapped her leg playfully, surprised I had dared to touch her and equally shocked she hadn’t attempted to jump out of the car. Her protective shield was still up, but not as strong. White-knuckling the leather-wrapped gearshift in order to control my desire to stroke her leg, I slipped the car into third and eased into the left lane. Traffic was light. Maya had insisted we get an early start. I hadn’t slept much the night before, thanks to preparing for today, and then good old-fashioned nerves had kicked in as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The GPS voice instructed me to take a slight right onto US-3. I did. Maya remained quiet, shifting in her seat.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just looking.” She said it so innocently that it dawned on me she might not leave the city much.

The GPS voice chimed, “At the next roundabout, take the first exit onto MA-2 west.”

“Did you leave your car back home? Parking in the city can be a bitch.”

She shook her head. “Never had a car.”

What was that like? I was on my second new car after receiving a Ford Focus Electric for my high school graduation. “Do you have a driver’s license?”

“Yep.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Wyoming.”

“Oh. I’ve never been. Is it nice there?”

“It’s brown.” She motioned to the scenery. “It still shocks me how green it gets here.”

It was mid-September, and the leaves hadn’t yet started to turn. We had until the first week of December to finish our project.

“Did you move for school?” I hoped I wasn’t coming across like I was fishing.

“Nah. My mom and I moved here when I was in the third grade.”

She wasn’t overly specific, but I didn’t want to pry. I hated people prying into my life.

“I’ve always lived in Boston. My mother is‌—‌”

“A senator.” She threw it out there as if it was an everyday thing. Too many people sucked up to me in the hope of gaining access to Mother. Besides the Cassidy incident, it was another reason I had never dated in high school‌—‌the posers who wanted to use me. Some wanted internships or recommendations. One girl even asked whether my mother could get rid of her cousin’s parking violations. “Hey, babe, want to catch a movie? And can your mom fix Vinny’s parking tickets?”

Fiona experienced the same, which was one of the reasons we stuck together. But Maya didn’t come across as a manipulator.

“Is your father still in Wyoming?”

She hitched up a shoulder in the universal “don’t know” gesture.

Without thinking, I’d crashed into a sensitive subject and I needed to do damage control. “Are you close with your mom?”

Maya nodded. “Thick as thieves.” She faced the front. “We were always more like sisters, really. What about you? Are you close with your mom?”

“Um, sure. It’s hard sometimes with her job. She’s always traveling.” I stared at the road, unsure whether to continue. “My dad died before I was born.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft and full of understanding.

I hardly ever mentioned my dad to people outside of the family, and on the rare occasions I did, it was usually a conversation killer.

She tapped a finger on the lid of her travel mug. “Do you think it’ll rain?”

I sensed Maya understood my pain of not having a father figure. “Probably.” I ducked my head to get a better view of the clouds that hugged the horizon. “Hopefully just sprinkles, though.” Afraid we would drift into silence, I blurted, “Do you have any siblings?”

“Nope. You?”

“A brother and a sister.” I didn’t bring up my dead brother, Craig. There was enough sadness hanging over our heads. And no one ever brought up Uncle Liam, who’d been missing since 2002.

“Has your family always lived in Boston?” she asked.

“Yep. We go way back. Have you ever heard of the Battle of Dunbar?” I glanced at her.

“Can’t say I have? Was it during the Revolutionary War?” She looked at me, interested.

“Nah. It was in Scotland, way back in the 1600s. One of my ancestors was captured by the English and got sent to the colonies as an indentured servant.”

Maya turned her upper body to face me, clearly interested. “Really? So you come from slaves?”

“Kinda.” I almost asked her whether she did as well, but stopped myself.

“My mom’s Puerto Rican. For a school project, I researched our family tree and found out that ancestors on her father’s side were African slaves. We think so, anyway. Records are hard to track down, obviously.” She added the last bit as if she’d sensed my train of thought.

I racked my brain for facts on Puerto Rico, not coming up with much. “English and Spanish are the official languages, right?”

She nodded.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“
Si
. I’m not fluent, though. Mom is fluent. When she’s mad, Spanish flies out of her mouth like projectile vomit.”

I laughed. “Can you teach me some key words? I know a bit of French after living there one summer a couple of years ago.”

“I wondered about that. You said the crepe was as good as the ones in Paris.” She refreshed my cup of coffee. “Spanish should come easily for you. I’d be more than happy to be your personal Spanish tutor.” She grinned and patted my thigh, implying “and then some.”