The Chosen One (8 page)

I burst into laughter and covered my mouth. “Really?”

“I think she was seeing ants, but I didn’t say anything. It’s sad really.” She smiled, letting me off the hook for laughing.

“The saddest calls were with the elderly. One woman who’d just lost her husband of fifty-three years would keep me on the phone just to chat. The first time we spoke, I accidentally entered the wrong data into the system. On my next shift, I had to call back to clarify. After that, I made a habit of messing up her calls. My supervisor caught on, and I actually got fired.” She grinned. “But I still call Florence occasionally, just to check in.”

“Is she in Boston?”

“Yes.” The look she gave me suggested she was questioning my motive.

“I volunteer at the community center. It has a program for seniors who want to make friends. They go on bi-monthly outings, and we’re starting a computer class so they can connect online with friends and family members who are out of state.”

“Really? Flo would love the outings. Not sure she has a computer, though.” Maya scratched the side of her forehead.

“No worries. I’ll get her one.” I clamped down on my bottom lip.

“You’d do that?” Maya’s eyes narrowed.

“Not me. It’s part of the program, but I’ll help her fill out all the forms and speak with the director of the group. It’s a new program, and we want it to succeed.”

“So not everyone in the program gets a computer?” The twinkle in her eyes dimmed.

“Unfortunately, the budget is too small.” I made the universal
what can you do?
gesture, palms in the air. “But we’re hoping to grow it. We need enthusiastic seniors like Flo to help us spread the word.”

Maya leaned back. “Oh, she’s enthusiastic, all right. I’ll give her a ring. Do you volunteer a lot?”

“Yep, since middle school. That’s my favorite part‌—‌” I cut myself off, before I could say it was my favorite part of the Carmichael presidential quest. That tidbit was never mentioned outside of Carmichael circles.

“About being rich,” she ribbed me. To soften the blow, she placed a hand on my thigh and gave it a squeeze.

“No! It’s my favorite part of planning my career in politics.”

“You want to be a senator, like your mom?” There wasn’t a trace of condescension on her face.

“Not sure about senator. I like helping people. I want to help as many people as possible.” I didn’t add
by being President of the United States.

“That’s my dream‌—‌to be a community organizer. I know what it’s like to feel all alone in this big, bad, scary world.” Her grin didn’t reach her eyes.

“Me too.” I stirred my soup with a spoon.

I expected Maya to jeer, but her soft intake of breath conveyed how well she understood. “It’s strange. There are millions of people on this planet, but most of us feel like no one understands or cares. It doesn’t take much to change that. Imagine if everyone you saw simply said hello. You might feel less like an outsider.”

Outsider.

With one word, she’d described my life to a T. If I succeeded and became president, would I be even lonelier than I was now? Would I ever be able to meet another Maya?

“Of course, now people only write
hello
‌—‌they don’t say it.” Maya stopped and studied my face to see if I understood.

I planted a smile. “You mean they hashtag hello.”

***

A mist enveloped the grounds of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery moments after we arrived, as if the ghosts of Emerson, Hawthorne, Thoreau, and Alcott were making their presence known. We’d spent the past forty-five minutes stumbling along muddy paths, locating the graves of the most famous residents. Their final resting place was park-like with slight hills and trees. The effect was beautiful and peaceful: no doubt the designer’s intent.

We left Louisa May Alcott’s grave for last. Rain flecked our faces, prompting me to pop open an umbrella to protect us. Maya hadn’t noticed. Her eyes were glued to Alcott’s grave, and her body was motionless. Was she in a trance or tapping into some unknown reservoir of knowledge? It was a privilege to witness the connection. A frisson of attraction between us had been building all day. During lunch, Maya had rested a hand on my thigh and left it there for three and a half minutes, according to the clock on the wall behind the bar. It was the best 210 seconds of my life‌—‌so far.

The pitter-patter of raindrops increased, pulling Maya out of her daze. She peered into my eyes and smiled, like she was letting me in on a secret. My lips puckered and the umbrella slipped in my hand, exposing us to the elements. A huge drop of rain splashed on my nose, startling me. Her grin widened as she brushed off the droplet, and then she rested her hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes, nuzzling into her touch.

That was when it happened. Her lips were soft, like cashmere, and I instinctively opened my mouth to prompt her tongue to enter. The umbrella tumbled completely from my hand as I wrapped one arm around her waist and cupped the back of Maya’s head with the other, pulling her closer, my desire to become one intensifying. I fisted her hair, and she responded by deepening the kiss.

I don’t think I’d understood the power of locking mouths until that moment. The sensuality. The longing. What had I been missing?

Maya’s hand slipped under my shirt, and its iciness against my bare skin made me shiver. She pulled her hand and lips away. “I’m sorry. You’re freezing.” Resting her forehead against mine, she gazed intently into my eyes.

“I don’t care,” I whispered.

She smiled, and our lips joined again.

We continued kissing for what seemed like forever, blowing the 210-second record out of the water. Her hand slipped back under my cream Ralph Lauren tunic top, her fingertips trailing up and down my back.

When her hand cupped my bra, my eyes snapped open.

Was I going to pop my cherry in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery? I couldn’t decide whether it was creepy or cool, given the setting.

As if in tune with my thought, she put the brakes on.

But she still gazed at me with a terrifying intensity as she trailed a finger down the side of my face. “Ainsley, I’m sorry.” Her voice brimmed with uncharacteristic emotion. “This… this isn’t a good idea.”

“What isn’t? This?” I motioned to the grounds and almost offered to check us into a hotel.

She clasped her rain-soaked hands around mine. “I want to be with you. I really do, but…” She stared up at the sky, at a loss for words. “You don’t know me, really.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “But I want to. I want to know everything about you, Maya Chandler.”

“About Maya Chandler, right? That’s impossible for you, of all people.”

“Why?”

“Ains, we come from two different worlds.”

That was the point where she decided to give me a nickname, just as she was pulling the rug out from underneath me.

“But we don’t have to live by two different rules.”
Does that sound as lame to her as it does to me?

She sighed, dropped my hands, and turned her back on me, with an air of finality.

“I’m not good at letting people in, giving them a chance,” she said over her shoulder. For a brief moment, she paused, and I thought she might turn around and rush back toward me. She didn’t.

I wanted to scream at her to come back. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I stood unprotected in the rain, miserable, alone.

Seconds that seemed like a lifetime passed before I came to my senses. I plucked the umbrella off the muddy path, shook loose the leaves and dirt, and followed Maya’s tracks to my car. I unlocked the doors and we both slid inside, not speaking. Her teeth chattered, and I kicked up the heat to dry us off.

Maya sat motionless in her seat. I didn’t put the car into gear. Instead, I waited for her to elaborate, to say anything.

Only silence filled the car. The most unbearable silence pervaded my ears.

Chapter Seven

My fist pounded on Fiona’s door.

“Hold your horses, will ya?” Fee shouted.

When she opened the door, I fell into her arms, sobbing, “We kissed.”

Fiona’s arms encircled me. “What’d you do? Bite her tongue off or something?”

“No,” I wailed. “But I might as well have. She ran away.”

“Right,” was all Fiona said as she shoved me inside. “Sit. I’m going to get you a change of clothes and make some tea. Did you walk all the way back in the rain?”

After I’d dropped Maya off, I’d parked my car near my dorm and walked the two miles to Fiona’s apartment across the Charles. I had hoped the rain would wash away the pain and bring clarity. Neither had happened.

***

“Tell me again. Her words exactly,” Fiona said.

“She said she wanted to be with me, but it wasn’t a good idea,” I responded, holding back a sob. Our first kiss had been better than perfect, but the feeling didn’t last. “And when I said I wanted to get to know her, she said that wasn’t possible for me.”

I sank into Fiona’s plush couch cushions, feeling no comfort. Fee’s Boston terrier, Grover, was spending the day with her, instead of at Fiona’s mom’s. Grover sat on my lap, resting his head on his front paws and staring up at me with mournful eyes. I scratched his ear.

“For you specifically?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t think to clarify.”

Fiona tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, deep in thought.

“And she didn’t say another word in the car?” she asked.

“She thanked me for driving when I pulled up in front of her building.” I sat up on the couch. Grover snorted his disgust at being jostled. “Sorry, Grover.” I stroked his head. “There was a moment when I thought she was going to say more, but she clammed up and said she’d see me Monday.”

“Monday?” Fiona’s eyes widened with hope.

I squashed it. “We have class together.”

Grover sighed. I sank into the couch, and he settled on my lap again.

“Right.” Fiona leaned back against the sofa, taking a long, dramatic drag on her cigarette.

I pulled the hood of the sweatshirt over my head and tightened the strings. “Do you think it happened again?”

“I don’t see Maya doing something like that. She’s not Cassidy, and she’s nothing like Bottlenose.”

Just to be sure, Fiona checked out Susie’s blog. No updates since last night. If she had footage of me crashing and burning, it would be up already.

“But who is she?”

“Good question. Who is Maya the Gray? Have you googled her?”

I shook my head. “I hate when people google me.”

Fiona nodded. “I know, but…”

“But we want to know. I want to know.” I yanked off the hood.

Grover barked his approval.

Fee laughed at her dog. “Well, that settles it. We have to find out who she is. I didn’t peg her as the theatrical type, but…”

“That’s just it. She isn’t your typical teenage drama queen. Hell, she’s not even a teenager anymore. And I don’t think she’s playing hard to get. It’s bigger than you and I can imagine, I suspect.”

Fiona flipped her laptop open. “What’s her last name?”

“Chandler.”

“Maya Chandler,” Fiona parroted as she typed the name into the search bar. “There aren’t too many on Facebook, actually.” She scrolled down. None of the pictures matched. “Does she have a middle name? Maybe she goes by Maya Ann or something.”

“I don’t know. But earlier today she mentioned people’s private lives should remain private.”

“Okay, so not the social media type. Do you have a photo? Maybe we’ll find something she doesn’t even know is out there. The Web is worse than Big Brother.”

I had snapped a photo earlier in the day when Maya wasn’t looking. I e-mailed it to Fiona.

Annoyed by the commotion, Grover jumped off the couch and settled on his bed with a bone big enough for a Doberman.

“This is how they do it on
Catfish
.” She opened a Google browser page, clicked on “images” and then on the camera icon in the search bar and uploaded Maya’s photo. No exact matches. None of the suggested possibilities bore any resemblance.

“Phone number?” Fiona’s attempt not to sound desperate was admirable. How many people our age, besides us, didn’t have any social media accounts?

I shook my head. “Only her school e-mail.”

We stared at the MacBook, crestfallen.

“That’s it!” Fiona slapped her thigh. “Chuck.”

“Chuck?”

“My buddy, Chuck. He’s like the computer whiz Garcia on
Criminal Minds
. If there’s information out there, he’ll find it.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Fee. She was adamant this morning that private lives are off-limits. I just don’t know.” I palmed the top of my head with both hands, smoothing my curly locks.

Fee gripped her cell phone. “It’s not you digging. It’s me.”

“But…”

“Another Cassidy is not going to happen on my watch.” Before I could stop her, Fiona was e-mailing Chuck, giving him all the details, which didn’t include much. Her name, Puerto Rican heritage, Wyoming, the class we had together, and the street I picked her up on. It didn’t strike me as odd until Fiona asked me her address. Maya had never provided a physical address. Instead, she’d said she’d meet me on the corner of Commonwealth and Massachusetts Avenue. When she’d suggested the location, it made perfect sense. Parking in the city was like finding a polar bear in the Arctic: not impossible, but difficult, frustrating, and a time suck.

While we waited, Fee popped off the couch. “Going to put a load of laundry in. Want me to toss in your wet clothes?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She hummed the
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
song “Whistle While You Work.” Halfway through the song she stopped. “Ainsley,” she called out from the laundry room behind the kitchen.

“What?” I shouted from the couch.

Fiona entered the room. “Did you fall down on your date?” She held up my jeans with dirt smears on the knees. “Maybe this is the reason.”

“What are you saying? She doesn’t like me because I’m accident-prone?”

Fee laughed.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t pile on more fears, please.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She about-faced and returned to the laundry room.

The chime on my phone alerted me I had a text. Hopeful it was from Maya, I pounced, but as my eyes scanned the text, all my optimism was squashed.