Hypnotizing Maria - Page 10

Eight-thirty in the morning, the airport café was crowded. He found a place for himself, opened a menu.

“Mind if I share your table?”

Jamie Forbes looked up at her, one of those folks you like the minute you meet. “Share away,” he said.

She set a backpack alongside. “Is this where I learn how to fly?”

“Nope,” he said, pointed out the window at the sky. “You learn to fly up there.”

She looked, and nodded. “Always said some day I'd get to it. Learn to fly. I promised myself; didn't quite make it come true.”

“It's never too late,” he said.

“Oh . . .” she said, a wistful smile. “I think it is for me.” She extended her hand. “Dee Hallock.”

“Jamie Forbes.”

They looked at the menu. Something light, just a bit, he thought. Orange juice and toast would be healthy.

“You're traveling,” he said.

“Yes. Hitchhiking.” She put the menu down, and when the waitress arrived, she said, “Tea and toast, please. Mint and wheat.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said the waitress, memorizing an easy one, and turned to him.

“Hot chocolate and rye toast, if I could.” Hitchhiking?

“You're flying today,” said the waitress. “All these light orders, this morning.”

“Light is good,” he said. She smiled and left to another table, their orders in her mind.

“Are you hitchhiking cars,” he asked, “or airplanes?”

“I hadn't thought of airplanes,” said Dee. “Can one do that?”

“Never hurts to ask. You want to be careful, though.”

“Oh?”

“This is high country. Some airplanes don't fly as well as others, up high, with passengers.” Early forties, he thought. Businesswoman. What's she doing hitchhiking?

“To answer your question,” she said, “I'm testing an hypothesis.” Dark brown hair, brown eyes, that magnetic beauty that curiosity and intelligence bring to a woman's face.

“My question?”

“‘How come she's hitchhiking?’”

He blinked. “You're right. I was thinking something like that. What's your hypothesis?”

“There's no coincidence.”

Interesting, he thought. “What kind of coincidence, there isn't?”

“I'm an equal-opportunity explorer,” she said. “What kind doesn't matter. You and I, for instance; I wouldn't be surprised if both of us knew some important mutual friend. Wouldn't be surprised there's a reason we're meeting. Not at all.” She looked at him as though she knew there was.

“Of course there's no way to tell,” he said.

She smiled. “Except by coincidence.”

Tags: Richard Bach Fiction
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