The Maya 1.41

Previously On The Maya...

George Kirkegaard and Paloma enjoy a meal of fresh lobster and shrimp that Paloma made from scratch. They talk about many things, but eventually the conversation turns to the night they last saw each other. Kirkegaard wants to know why she didn't return his phone calls. She says it was because it seemed so final and she wasn't ready to say goodbye. They both quote the famous saying, "If you love someone, set them free. If they love you, they will return." Paloma begins to cry.

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The Maya—a living legend covert operative-for-hire that no one she encounters can remember.

George Kirkegaard—a former newspaper owner forced out of business by state government.

Eugenio Stavros—a shipping magnate on a trip to the mysterious Isle of Use to renegotiate a steel contract.

Amara Barclay—a savvy, independent multi-millionaire entrepreneur and socialite with unparalleled beauty.

Mr. Tic and Mr. Snake—two U.S. government officials running off-the-books dark ops involving The Maya.

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And now...the next installment of The Maya.

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Kirkegaard left his chair, fell to his knees at her side. He put his arms under Paloma's and drew her to him. Paloma fell into him, her arms wrapping his neck, her head wresting on one of them. He heard her sigh.

In that instant, Kirkegaard remembered something else: how he had longed for a moment like this. Just like the rest of the feelings, he'd pushed it away from him as far as he could. Now, it was happening, and all he could think of was, just like all moments, it would have to end.

Live it, he told himself, Enjoy it while it lasts.

"I need to tell you something," Paloma said, after several moments passed.

"You don't have to say anything," Kirkegaard countered. With her close, her body pressed against his, the smell of her perfume, light lilac and lavender, silence was golden.

"But I do," she said, insisting gently. She pulled away. Reluctantly, Kirkegaard did the same. The moment was already over.

"I'm listening."

She reached up and cupped his face. She tried to smile, but was overtaken by emotion. She was sputtering, a mixture of laughing and crying.

Kirkegaard retrieved a couple of napkins from the table, gave her one to wipe her nose with as he dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. Concern came to his face. "What is it?"

"I knew I would see you again," she said, the words nearly inaudible, but holding certainty, conviction.

"You did?" There was surprise in his question, as he had lost hope in ever seeing her again, then locked it all away in order to bear life without her.

"In a dream." Her eyes again searched his.

Kirkegaard stared back. He felt his jaw drop slowly, his eyes widen. He got up from his knees because they were beginning to hurt, but he grabbed the back of his chair and brought it so he could sit down directly in front of her.

"Tell me."

"It was this morning, before I woke up," Paloma said, haltingly. "It was so strange. I was walking the beach, in this dress."

She paused momentarily to look down at it. "I was all alone for some time, but then, up ahead, very near, I saw three people, next to a palm tree."

Kirkegaard felt the blood drain from his face. His dream! She'd seen it to! Or, rather, her own version of it, from her own perspective. He had to resist putting his hand over her mouth, to prevent her from speaking it. Curiosity won out. He had to know what she saw.

"I wondered how I had missed them. I'd been watching the waves, watching where I was going, lost in thought. Maybe that was the reason." Paloma paused again. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It was a dream."

"It's okay," Kirkegaard said. He dabbed at her eyes again. "Say what you need to say."

"It was you." There was a mixture of awe and certainty in her voice and in her eyes when Paloma said it. "The other two were women, people I'd never seen before in my life. Not here, not anywhere." She was trembling again. Kirkegaard could see she was having a hard time getting through it. He couldn't blame her. He knew exactly how she felt, because he was experiencing it, too. A fusion of relief and dread.

"One of them was dressed in black lingerie with an apron." Paloma flinched, her nose wrinkling, and she giggled nervously. "It was strange. And she had a breakfast tray, and she was feeding you sausage links and bacon."

"That is strange," Kirkegaard said. He matched her with his own embarrassed laughter.

"The other woman knelt on the other side of you and she was..." Paloma's voice caught, and she swallowed.

"It's okay," Kirkegaard said. He squeezed her arm.

Determination flashed in Paloma's eyes. "I need to do this." She took a deep breath, seeking to gain her composure. "I need to tell you all of it." He nodded and she inhaled deeply again. "She was kissing you. She was wet, like she'd just gone for a swim, wearing a very revealing zebra print bikini. She was tousling your hair, biting your ear, and you..." She faltered again, but quickly wiped her nose with the napkin, shuddered, and pressed on. "You were enjoying it."

Kirkegaard slumped. It was true. He had. But it was a dream. His dream. He couldn't control them, could he? And how in the world had she seen it, too?

"I wasn't going to stop," she continued. "I was going to keep walking, but I couldn't. I had to be certain it was you."

"It was me," Kirkegaard said. It was time to admit that, he decided. He looked down at the concrete.

"Yes." Paloma sat back. She spoke with a mixture of incredulity and finality when she said, "You know, don't you?"

"I thought it was my dream," he said.

"The woman, feeding you..."

"Marie Layton," Kirkegaard said. "You met her this evening for the first time."

Paloma nodded. "And the woman in the bikini..."

"I met her on the plane ride here. The same woman who had lunch with me today."

"Yes," Paloma whispered.

Kirkegaard closed his eyes. "Her name is Amara Barclay."

Paloma exhaled. "I almost didn't go pick you up tonight," she said, "Earlier, at lunch, I was so happy to see you. I couldn't believe it. You were here, as impossible as it was. You were here. I dismissed the rest of the dream. I didn't understand it, so I didn't try, other than it was telling me you would be here. Then, I came back with your change, and there she was. I thought it was over, before it could begin. It was so cruel, to see you, but not be able to tell you, to..."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know you're attracted to her."

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'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

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_{Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.}