by Fiona Zedde
"We were good together." Images of her and Regina entwined bombarded her brain. "But in the end it wasn't enough."
"Did you want more than that?"
"I don't know. I think I just expected more. Before her I was with a boy, and he and I met, we went out for drinks, then dinner, then we slept together. After that we just kept seeing each other, building toward something for the future. I suppose that I expected the same thing to happen with her."
"Not every love affair ends up like that, you know."
"Obviously. Some people just want to fuck and dump you." She looked across at Hunter. "Sorry."
"It's all right. If you can't say these things to a stranger, then who else can you tell them to?"
Sinclair laughed wryly. "Thanks for listening to me go on about this. I know it's boring."
Hunter chuckled. "It's life. It's not always squeals and giggles."
"That's an interesting way of putting it." Sinclair reached for her cup then, remembering too late that it was empty, drained it dry of its last few drops of punch anyway. "What about you? Is there something troubling your soul that you need to vent about?"
"No, not really. I tend to meditate for that sort of release."
"What about your other kind of release." Shit! Sinclair almost bit her tongue off. "I didn't mean to ask you that, sorry."
Hunter laughed softly in the dark. "It's OK. I didn't take offense. You'll find out soon enough that it takes a lot to offend me." She moved in the hammock, popping the vertebrae in her back before settling once again into the cushions. "These days it's me and my own right hand. Lydia and I aren't quite there yet. It takes a lot for her to become intimate with somebody."
Really? Sinclair would have thought the opposite. She eyed the other woman again. "Your patience is admirable."
"Hey, you asked."
"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Sinclair murmured, amused.
"I'll be sure to hold back next time."
"Don't be too hasty now." They both laughed.
The night fell in gracious silence around them, bathing their stillness with meaning and possibility. She's your sister's woman, be careful.
Sinclair shook her head. Hunter was like a cliche. Dark, stormy, and wicked. She'd be the one in those old black-and white movies to twirl her mustache and smile viciously. Sinclair took strange comfort in that. She wasn't the type to fall for a cliche. She needed depth in a woman. Something that would make her interest last beyond the frantic fuckfest of the first few weeks. Her eyes slid to where she imagined Hunter's mouth to be. Hmm, but what a fuck fest that would be....
"So what do you do in the big city?" Hunter asked.
Sinclair swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. "Accounting."
She laughed. "Seriously?"
"Why is that so funny?"
"Maybe I watch too much American TV like a lot of my neighbors." She laughed again. "I thought model or actress or escort would be the default job for people who looked like ff you.
"Are you saying I look like a whore? I'm insulted." But she couldn't get the energy to appear truly so. The best she could do was a narrowed gaze, which Hunter couldn't see anyway.
"You'll be fine," Hunter said, chuckling.
Sinclair closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "I should go back in," she said, not moving a muscle. The rum punch spun her head faster than any number of gin and tonics she'd ever had. Sitting at this table seemed the best cure for her spinning head and lack of judgment.
Fabric rustled as Hunter turned to her. "I thought you were leaving?" Laughter rubbed against her voice like a mischievous cat.
"I was, but my legs weren't ready to go yet."
"I've been there a time or two myself. Let me guess, rum punch?"
"Yep. Right on the money."
In the darkness, Hunter laughed again. The sound dragged like silk over Sinclair's sensitized pleasure centers. "What is it with you Americans and money metaphors and cliches?"
"You Americans," Sinclair mocked. "Don't try that conde scending tripe with me. Like you are above needing or wanting money."
"I didn't say that, but I don't incorporate it into my everyday speech."
"A girl makes one comment and she's indicted along with the rest of a capitalist society for being too fiscally focused." She rolled her eyes. "You're no fun. This time I am going inside." She stood. "Goodbye."
But it was deadly boring inside. People were talking, though not about anything interesting. The truth was that Hunter's company was far too interesting. Even if she was drunk and had a dirty mouth. Instead of going back out to the back verandah, she crawled into the queen sized bed with Nikki and Xavier, hoping that neither of them snored.
"Wake up, sleepyheads."
Sinclair rolled over when she heard Lydia's voice but didn't immediately get up. She opened an eye. "What time is it?"
"Not that early. Come on, we made breakfast."
Hunter poked her head through the open door. "Actually, I made breakfast. She just made the tea."
Sinclair blinked at the unexpected treat of seeing her first thing in the morning. Of course, she looked divine. Their eyes met briefly and Hunter winked. Did she spend the night on the couch or in Lydia's bed? Had last night been the night to wear down her girlfriend's chastity?
"Come into the dining room, ladies. Breakfast has been served." Hunter's head disappeared from the doorway.
Lydia poked Nikki's shoulder. Sinclair's stepmother had slept like the dead. Even after she'd joined her in the bed last night, she hadn't moved from her position in the center of the bed. By morning they had ended up in the spoon position with Sinclair, being the taller one, behind her. Nikki groaned and slowly woke under Lydia's unkind ministrations.
"Hey," she said, blinking up at Sinclair. "Where is Xavier?"
"At the breakfast table with the rest of the family like you should be."
"I guess that's a strong hint then, huh?" Sinclair slid off the bed. "Do you have a spare toothbrush or something that I could use on this breath?"
"Everything you need is in the bathroom cabinet." She motioned toward a door to the right of the bed. "Use whatever you want."
"Thanks."
By the time she made it out to the dining room with clean teeth and face, everyone was sitting at the table eating, including Nikki who looked much more alert than she had earlier.
"There's water for tea on the stove," Lydia said as she reached for the platter of scrambled eggs. "Coffee is in the machine on the counter, you can get cold water from the dispenser on the fridge. Everything else is on the table."
"Thanks."
Sinclair sat beside Nikki with her glass of water. "Pass me a plate, please. Thanks."
"Did you have a good time last night, Sinclair?"
"It was great. I haven't had a birthday party in years."
"Good. It was Papa's idea." Lydia smiled over at their father.
"Thank you for having it at your house. I know how hard it must be cleaning up after a party."
"Well, that's what family and friends are for." She looked pointedly around the table. "Hint, hint."
"We can definitely stay to help you," Nikki said.
"So can I."
Sinclair didn't miss the look that her father threw Hunter as the woman volunteered her time.
"You don't have to stay, Hunter," he said. "We can manage. "
"I'll take all the help I can get, Papa," Lydia said. "The sooner we finish then the sooner we can enjoy the rest of this gorgeous day. Maybe we can have a cookout on the beach or something."
Hunter and Victor exchanged a glance of cool understanding. Sinclair watched the two of them, wondering what that was all about.
Chapter 8
inclair dreamed about her sister's girlfriend. She woke up (swimming in rapidly disintegrating visions of Hunter smiling and stretched out on a forest floor on a bed of thick green leaves, her dark skin glistening with moisture from Sinclair's tongue.
"I think she's dreami
ng."
A weight pressed down on the bed beside her. From the light scent of honeysuckle, she could tell that it wasn't her father or Nikki. Sinclair opened her eyes.
"Papa told me to take you out for the day." Lydia watched her with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She looked like she'd been up for hours in her white cotton dress that showcased her gorgeous cleavage and narrow waist.
"'Morning," Sinclair croaked from beneath the parting layers of sleep.
"'Morning." Hunter's voice greeted her from the doorway. Even in a white A-shirt tucked into belted slim-fitting jeans she managed to look like a dyke's wet dream.
Sinclair resisted the urge to grab the sheets up to her chest like a shy virgin, and instead sat up, baring her oversized Sesame Street T-shirt. She just knew that her braids were flat against her head. Not sexy. "Hey. I get the pleasure of both your company today, huh?"
"Two for one," Lydia chimed in. "Today only."
"Unless you'd rather have Lydia to yourself. I can disappear if you want."
"No, it's fine. You can even come sit on the bed if you want," Sinclair, even with her bad breath, dared to tease.
The woman called her bluff and came in to sit down on the other side of her.
Sinclair's body temperature started to rise. "I don't suppose either of you made breakfast?"
"Not yet. But Hunter could."
Hunter cleared her throat to get their attention. "Actually Hunter had just planned on buying you ladies something to eat after we leave here. So the sooner you," she looked at Sinclair, "shower and dress, the sooner you can eat."
Sinclair turned to her sister. "She's harsh, huh?"
"Yes, usually."
Sinclair left the women in her room and went to shower and dress. Twenty minutes later, with her camera bag and purse slung over her shoulder, she was ready. "Where are we going?"
"To find food."
They climbed in Lydia's car, an old Cadillac convertible with a blood-red paint job and black-and-white leather seats that looked like they'd just been peeled off a cow.
"Nice car," Sinclair murmured appreciatively, sinking into the spacious backseat. Lydia pressed a button and the roof slid back. The cool morning air snuggled into the car with them. This was the indefinable quality to mornings that Sinclair had always loved-the brightening light, the slowmoving shadows that spoke of the beginning of things, and especially the crispness that lay in the air before the filth of the day could get a chance to set in. Sinclair inhaled a deep lungful of that air and sank deeper into the suede seats. She could have fit at least two other people back there with her. "Very nice."
"Don't get any ideas about my backseat, young woman."
"Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing that you haven't thought of or done before." Sinclair met Lydia's smiling gaze in the rearview mirror.
After a sinfully good breakfast at one of Hunter's favorite restaurants, they drove through town, pointing out sights of interest, and keeping up a running commentary meant to amuse Sinclair. At times the two women were like a married couple, bickering back and forth with a spontaneous ribaldry that made Sinclair laugh, despite her minor crush on Hunter. After almost two hours driving around the island, Hunter got bored.
She turned to Lydia. "Let's go find someplace for a snack, then head over to the market in Winslow."
"You hungry already?" Sinclair turned to her in surprise.
"I'm a growing girl. This body needs its vitamins and protein."
Even though she knew better, Sinclair took a close look at the body Hunter indicated. It was perfect. Just like the last time she checked.
They stopped for food at a patty stand near the beach then leaned against the hood of the Cadillac to drink their sodas and eat the thick pastries filled with spiced ground beef. The sea lapped up on the sand a dozen feet or so away from where they stood. Only a hillock of pearl gray sand, bits of dried seaweed, and a few coconut trees separated them from the water.
"So how long do you plan on being here?" Lydia asked.
"Just four weeks, although I wish I could stay longer." Her family's warm acceptance and the resurfacing of childhood memories were making this trip even more fun than she thought it would be.
"Anybody special waiting for you back in your big city?"
"No, not really." The memory of Regina burned briefly. "I'm footloose and fancy free, as they say."
Hunter swallowed a bite of her pastry. "Who's `they' and what the devil does `footloose' really mean?"
"Ignore her, she's being difficult today," Lydia said to Sinclair.
"I am not being difficult." Hunter took a sip of her ginger beer. "This is just me all the time."
"Does it ever get tiring?" Sinclair asked, all innocence. "Being you, that is."
"Funny." Hunter stuck her tongue out at her.
Caught off guard, Sinclair giggled.
Lydia ignored their byplay. "So back to my question, why don't you have someone waiting for you over there?"
"Would it stop you if I said that I didn't want to talk about it?"
"Of course."
"Right." Hunter made a noise of disbelief. "And you have two brass ones hanging underneath that dress." She moved as if to lift Lydia's dress, then stopped herself. "Wait, that might actually be true."
"Very funny." Lydia slapped at Hunter's straying hand.
"I'm hanging out with a bunch of comedians today," Sinclair muttered.
"That's one thing that I've never been called before." Hunter said as she backed away from Lydia, laughing.
"If not comedy, then what do you do to make your living?"
"Scientist. I'm one of the computer nerds at the University of the West Indies."
"Sounds interesting."
"It is and it isn't." She flashed Sinclair a smile. "I'm glad for days like this when I can be out doing what I like. But some days it gets frustrating because of the university's substandard equipment." She shook her head. "But enough of that. The last thing I want to do is bring my work into any conversation that I have on my day off."
"Everyday can be a day off if Hunter wanted," Lydia said. "She practically works as a freelance scientist with freelance hours."
"That doesn't translate into me not working at all, Ms. Nine to Five."
Sinclair knew that Lydia was the manager of a hotel on the beach, one of the Sandals hotels, and that she sometimes worked an ungodly amount of hours during the week. This she'd gotten from low-voiced conversations with Nikki on the verandah while Xavier slept on her lap.
"I don't work nine to five any more than you do, Willoughby."
"Ohh, she called me by my last name. That means she's really upset with me." Hunter turned to Sinclair. "Have you ever seen another person who's as touchy about her job?" She laughed, then jumped away from Lydia's pinching fingers. "Neuroses aplenty, this one."
"Let's lock the car up and go down to the water," Lydia said suddenly.
Still chuckling, Hunter finished off her soda and dropped the empty bottle in a nearby trash can. "Sure. Why not?"
They went to the beach together with Lydia walking between Sinclair and Hunter. The afternoon was a pleasant amalgamation of sounds, of squalling birds, schoolgirls in their dark blue uniforms running on the sand, laughing and splashing seawater at each other. On the boardwalk beyond the sandbank, the sky juice man hawked his wares, advertising his flavors in a deep singsong voice. On the wind, Sinclair could detect a teasing hint of sage, a scent she realized that Hunter wore.
The women eventually left the beach for the market. They parked the car and headed for the tall, colorful booths that sold incense, oils, crocheted hats, and anything else a local bohemian would want to buy.
"This is nice. We have a few places like this back in America, but I never bothered to visit them for one reason or another."
"Are you a snob?" Hunter peeked around Lydia to look at Sinclair.
"Not that I know of."
"She's a snob," Lydia confirmed.
; "Hey! It's not `pick on Sinclair' hour, OK? Leave me out of your little bitefests."
Hunter laughed. "Take it easy. I was only joking."
"No, you weren't, Brit."
"Oooh, she called you a name." Lydia skipped ahead of them to look at some handmade sandals.
"I hope you don't think I was being offensive."
"Not yet, but you're close." Sinclair glanced at her sister's woman. "Do you really think I'm a snob?"
"I don't know." She touched Sinclair's nose. "That turnedup nose of yours gives me the idea that you might be."
She batted the finger away. "I'll remember you said that."
"Hey, what do you think of these?" Lydia called their attention to the brown sandal on her foot. A little on the plain side, it looked odd next to her own strappy, high-heeled shoe.
Hunter appeared to consider the matter. "I think it looks better here," she knelt at Lydia's feet, took off the shoe, and put it next to its mate in the booth's display.
Sinclair nodded. "I agree."
"What do you two know about fashion anyway?"
"Did she just insult us?" Hunter looked at Sinclair.
"I think she did. I don't know why. You look pretty fashionable to me."
"So do you." Hunter's voice took on a high, singing quality. "I think what you're wearing is the absolute pinnacle of rugged expatriate fashion." Her eyes swept over Sinclair's pale slacks and tube-top blouse. "Stunning."
"Why, thank you, Robin Leach. I don't even think this fashion has even reached the colonies yet, my mode is just that far ahead of the current one."
"You two are not funny."
Hunter snickered. "We think so."
Sinclair's lips twitched with amusement as she glanced at her partner in crime.
"Come on, don't be mad at us." They rushed up to Lydia from behind, fawning over her in an excess of passion, kissing her cheeks and the backs of her hands.
"A lesbian them, man." Sinclair flinched at the harsh voice. "'Specially the one in the pants."
The women kept on walking, but Hunter had stiffened next to Sinclair.
"You a lesbian?"
The other people walking near them looked around, looked at the boy who had spoken, then at the women. They did nothing.
