Previously On The Maya...
George Kirkegaard and Amara Barclay continue their conversation over lunch. He feels self-conscious being with the vivacious Amara while hoping to speak with Paloma again. Amara notices the attraction but doesn't seem bothered by it. Instead, she seems amused. When they've finished what they can eat, Amara asks if he has any plans for the rest of the afternoon. Kirkegaard admits indirectly that he has nothing for a couple of hours, to which Amara invites him to walk with her. Kirkegaard agrees, but first says goodbye to Paloma and arranges for a time for the two of them to meet later. Without knowing where to go, Amara suggests they just go walking and see where they end up.
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.
And now...the next installment of The Maya.
Where Kirkegaard and Amara ended up was on a park bench, overlooking a large lake, situated in the middle of downtown. They happened upon it after walking three blocks north, where they found the river, and then followed it four blocks west. The river flowed into the lake from the east, and then traveled west to the ocean. Homes lined some of the lake, and their were a couple marinas, one private, one public taking up available space. Several boats, from canoes to motorized, wound their way across the water. Swimmers, mostly kids, splashed on the near shore, under the watchful eye of their mothers.
The conversation ranged from work—Amara told him about her custom jewelry business, while he told her what kind of work he was looking for, something to do with business consulting, preferably—to whether or not they intended to have a family. Amara told him some day, but it wasn't going to be any time soon, while Kirkegaard admitted he'd been trying, it just hadn't worked out yet. If it were solely up to him, he'd be married with children by now.
Amara regarded that revelation with the same bemusement she'd worn when he'd gone to speak with Paloma. It was like she was saying, "How quaint." Kirkegaard knew he was old fashioned in some ways. He didn't need to be told. He had half a mind to tell her that from what he could tell, he was in the majority here. She was the one who stuck out. Ultimately, he refrained, because he was enjoying her company too much. Amara, for many reasons, was a one-of-a-kind, and he knew the time they were spending couldn't last. The sooner he resigned himself to that fact, the better.
What he wasn't able to reason out was why she wanted to pass the time with him. Sure, she didn't know anyone else, other than Stavros, but Kirkegaard was way out of her league, even if he wasn't down on his luck. He decided not to ask, but enjoy as much of the moment as possible.
Amara was just finishing up talking about her adoptive parents, who she expressed genuine appreciation and affection for, even if she didn't agree with what they would have her do or be, when it occurred to Kirkegaard, Amara still had information about the Isle of Use or Tuscon Sutton II to share.
Amara laughed when he asked her about it. "Really? You want to know the rest?"
"It's fascinating," Kirkegaard said. "Don't you think? Like Amelia Earhart, only happier."
"How do you know she didn't crash land here, too?"
Kirkegaard studied Amara's face. She seemed serious, but there was just enough hint of mischief in her voice that he decided to call her bluff.
"I suppose Sasquatch and the Easter Bunny live here, too."
"And Santa Claus," Amara smiled. "He has a vacation home on the beach."
"Seriously. What else do you know?"
Amara probed his eyes for a while, then she looked down at her knee. A small bug of some kind had hopped onto it and she gently brushed it off. She was already next to him, leaning against his arm and shoulder. Now, she folded her legs up onto the bench and took a deep breath.
"How old do you think Tucson Sutton is?"
Kirkegaard had already worked that out in his head from the first part of the story. "Well, supposing he got married at say, twenty-one, and he and his wife started having children right away, he'd have to be at least forty in 1929, to have ten children. Unless they were about a year apart, which would be pushing it."
"Not to mention cruel and unusual punishment for his wife," Amara said. The thought actually made her wince.
"Am I close?"
"Sort of. Your logic is sound. He was in his early twenties when Lilith and he got married, and they did have their first child ten months later. However, the youngest was twenty-one at the time of her death."
"Twenty-one?" Kirkegaard gave a low whistle. His eyes widened as he did the calculations. "That would mean the oldest would be..."
"More or less what you said Sutton was. He was forty. Sutton and Lilith had their children two years a part, mostly."
"So, Sutton was over sixty at the time of his trial?"
Amara nodded.
"That means he's atleast..."
"A hundred and twenty," Amara finished for him.
"Do you know if he's even still alive?" Kirkegaard shook his head. "What about his wife?"
"She's only two years younger, so she's about that age, too. And yes. As of last year, at least. Apparently, there's some kind of annual dinner he hosts. Maybe we should be asking around, see when the last time someone actually saw him."
"How many children does he have now?"
"Ten," Amara said. "Same as before. Seven boys, all born first, then three daughters."
"He must have quite a posterity. After sixty or so years, he could have great grandchildren by now."
Amara nodded.
"That's amazing."
"You like that word."
"It seems to fit here. A lot."
"It does."
"What else?"
"About Sutton? Not much more. Only he's supposed to live up in the mountains, on a lake several times larger than this one. It actually snows up there."
Kirkegaard turned into her to look to the east. Even though the mountains must be a couple hundred miles away, they dominated the skyline.
"We're not sitting on an active volcano, are we?"
"No," Amara said. Then she couldn't help but laugh. "Just the overflow. The volcano's back there."
"And Sutton's living on it."
"Remember when I told you he and Lilith were sighted in Tijuana a few months after he flew off to certain death?"
"Yes. He came back for her."
"According to the accounts, there was no hint of his disease. In fact, he looked years younger, like a man in his late twenties, early thirties. Lilith looked like his grandmother."
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.