Bliss

by Fiona Zedde

  "I don't eat sushi."

  Nikki laughed. "The television was wrong about that, too. I thought every modern American woman loves sushi."

  "Some do, but not this one. I prefer my fish well cooked." Sinclair grinned. "But I do like sake though."

  "What's that?"

  As Sinclair explained the pleasures of Japanese rice wine to her stepmother, Victor, Xavier, and Lydia finished cooking their dinner and took it off the fire.

  "Food's ready!"

  The family sat under the large lean-to sharing the fragrant meal of roasted corn, fish, and ripe breadfruit, their fingers scooping up the hot, roasted food to appreciative mouths. The sun's glow slowly disappeared, allowing a blanket of stars to spread out above them. Lydia, Nikki, and Sinclair sat together, eating and talking about American men and what they found acceptable in their women. Victor sat with Xavier on his knee and watched the women, his eyes straying occasionally to the stars.

  "Where's Hunter tonight, Lydia?"

  Sinclair glanced quickly at their father, wondering what he knew about Hunter and Lydia's current situation.

  "Probably at home. I thought this was a family thing so I didn't invite her."

  Even Xavier could tell that she was lying. "She been to other things before," he said.

  Lydia shot him a look of annoyance, but said nothing.

  "Is everything all right with her?" Nikki asked with concern.

  "Everything is fine. Really. She just has a lot of work to do and I needed some time with my family."

  Victor and Nikki exchanged a look. Sinclair bit into her corn and focused her attentions on her sand-flecked toe. Lydia's pain was so raw and obvious that she couldn't bring herself to look at it.

  Chapter 13

  inclair stood on Hunter's steps with an umbrella protecting her hair from the rain. The wind whipped fiercely around her, tugging at her clothes and flinging raindrops all over her. After the cookout on the beach she'd found herself thinking of Hunter more and more, wondering if she and Lydia were still together, and if not then.... Sinclair had managed to wait as long as Wednesday, three days after the cookout, to go find Hunter. Her belly trembled with nervousness as she knocked on the door.

  "I came by to see how the painting was going," she said when Hunter answered her knock.

  She smiled tiredly. "It's almost done, but you can't see it. I'm working on other not-so-fun stuff right now."

  "Spoilsport." Sinclair made a face. "Can I at least come in?"

  "Absolutely." The other woman's eyes slid over her. "You're always welcome here." She leaned against the doorjamb and her smile widened. The exhaustion slowly bled from her face. "It really is good to see you."

  "Really? Then why won't you let me in?"

  Hunter laughed. "Because I like to see you getting wet?"

  "Very funny." Sinclair tucked her umbrella into a corner of the verandah, then sidled closer to the doorway. Hunter didn't move. If possible, the rain started coming down harder. Lightning split the darkened sky and a roar of thunder quickly followed. Hunter stepped out of the doorway toward Sinclair. "Come on. Let's try something."

  "What?" Sinclair looked at her with suspicion and took a step back. "Are you talking about getting me killed?"

  "Come, fraidy cat." She tugged at her fingers. Like a fool, Sinclair went with her.

  Without her umbrella the rain was cold and wet, sliding into her hair and under her shirt with chilled fingers. "Oh! This is not fun."

  "Yes, it is." Hunter grabbed her hand and pulled her to the backyard. The stone bench looked like a fountain with sheets of water pouring from it, flooding the grass and covering Sinclair's toes. She kicked off her waterlogged sandals.

  Hunter released her hand. "Isn't this nice?" She twirled in the downpour, flinging her arms wide and laughing. Her hair flared out around her and rain fell into her open mouth and down her neck. A reluctant smile touched Sinclair's mouth. The other woman's excitement was contagious, bubbling up a fever of appreciation inside of her. The rain no longer felt cold, it was clean, with the heaviness of a friendly touch or a lover's worshipful kiss. The leaves whispered under the rain's caresses, talking to each other, celebrating. She felt a pull at her shirt and refocused on the other woman.

  "Let's get naked in it," Hunter said. She might as well have been naked already in the white T-shirt and pale blue pajama bottoms that clung to her wet skin.

  "What?!"

  "It'll be great. One with nature and all that."

  "It's storming, you crazy woman!"

  "I know! So let's get naked." Her fingers pulled at Sinclair's shirt again, loosening a button.

  "No." She backed away a step, then another as the other woman came after her.

  "Don't run," Hunter growled.

  Of course Sinclair ran. She ran screaming around the yard, dodging the stone bench to run deeper into the wooded area, jumping over high, twisting roots and tall shrubbery. The rain stung her eyes, but still she ran. Hunter was a blur of white and dark behind her, then right at her heel. She squeaked, an embarrassingly girlish sound, when the other woman's hand latched onto hers, and brought her up short. Still she tried to pull away, darting around a tree and using the wide trunk to force Hunter into releasing her. The rough bark abraded Hunter's arm and she let go with a loud curse. Sinclair ran back to the grassy area of the yard, past the bench, her toes squishing in the wet grass, when Hunter grabbed her. They both heard the shirt rip. Sinclair swung around. Damn! The back door had been so close....

  Hunter's face became hard under the rain, focused. Sinclair looked down at herself, then blushed. She gathered the torn ends of her shirt together and backed away.

  "Shit. I'm sorry." Hunter shook the hair out of her face. "I tend to get a little carried away."

  "It's-" Sinclair cleared her froggy throat. "It's fine." The rain and wind continued to howl around them as they stared at each other.

  Hunter arched her head back, apparently still feeling the wildness of the storm rush through her.

  "Go ahead," Sinclair said. "I'll be in the house." She slid into the back door, then dashed to the bathroom, trailing wetness behind her. Her nipples were hard, shamelessly begging through the wet material to be touched. And Hunter had seen. Sinclair toweled herself dry after dropping the shirt and jeans in the tub. Her hair she squeezed dry and quickly combed into two short French braids. A knock came at the door.

  "I brought you some dry clothes." Hunter's hand appeared through a crack in the door. As soon as Sinclair took the oversized shirt and cutoff shorts, the hand disappeared.

  Only after she was dressed and composed, did Sinclair leave the bathroom. Hunter must have thought she fell in or some thing. But the other woman was patiently waiting in the sitting room, dry in a sky blue head wrap that completely covered her hair and yet another pair of cutoff jeans and a T-shirt. She had tea waiting, two cups of hot peppermint along with biscuits on a shared plate.

  "Sorry again about your shirt. I didn't mean to get quite so out of hand." Her speech hardened into precise British syllables.

  "There's no need to apologize. I got taken in by the storm, too." The drum of rain on the roof and the shudder of the trees just outside reminded them that the storm was still there. "You'll just have to buy me a new shirt and we'll call it even."

  Hunter smiled, then opened her mouth. She closed it again.

  "What?" Sinclair asked.

  "Nothing. I was about to speak out of turn then I caught myself. Don't worry about it." She waved a dismissive hand.

  Sinclair wanted to know. Somehow she felt that it was important. "What were you going to say?" she asked softly.

  "That you look good in my clothes." Hunter sprawled back in the chair. That wasn't all she had to say. "And I'd like to have been the direct cause of you getting wet, the reason for you to take off your underwear."

  Sinclair felt herself swell against the seam of Hunter's shorts.

  "Are you wearing panties now?"

  "You're r
ight." Sinclair took a deep breath. "You were about to speak out of turn."

  Hunter laughed. "Chicken."

  "No, just cautious. You are my sister's girlfriend, after all." Sinclair took a sip of her tea.

  "I was." Hunter dipped a digestive biscuit into the cup of steaming brew. "Now I'm just me."

  Sinclair almost choked on her tea. Abruptly, her world shifted and resettled itself into a different arrangement. Hunter was available. Sinclair no longer had an excuse not to pursue her. Sinclair swallowed twice then carefully put the cup down. "I see."

  "Do you?"

  The china made a soft noise as cup met saucer. Hunter pursed her lips and watched Sinclair. Her eyes were warm with humor and something else.

  Sinclair held out her hands like she was warding the other woman off. "I'm not up to playing with the big girls."

  Hunter continued to watch her. "Is this cautious attitude because of the girl who fucked you in the big city? The one you're running away from?"

  "Fucked me, huh?" Sinclair's mouth curved into an unexpected smile. "You have no idea." Then she sobered again as Hunter's look became predatory, sharpening and focusing intently on her.

  "Does that mean she was good in bed?"

  "Very. She introduced me to multiple orgasms."

  Hunter's legs widened in the chair. She leaned forward and braced her elbows on her thighs. "Big shoes to fill, indeed."

  Sinclair laughed out loud. "You are so full of yourself."

  "No. I just want you."

  And there it was. Out in the open at last. A trembling breath left Sinclair's mouth.

  "When you and this girl first got together, did you make the first move or did she?" Hunter asked.

  Sinclair wondered where Hunter was going with this. "She did."

  "Is that typical of you, or-" she smiled, "if you want something badly enough do you just take it?"

  Against her will, Sinclair glanced down at the wide V of Hunter's thighs and imagined the scent and taste that lay there.

  "So, do you?" Hunter's eyes dared her.

  But, like Hunter said, Sinclair was a fraidy cat. She looked away to the rain-swept verandah and the plants that whipped like dervishes in the mad wind.

  "I guess not." Hunter stood. "Do you want some more tea?"

  "Uh, sure," Sinclair stammered and watched confused as the other woman disappeared into the kitchen, then came back with a porcelain kettle. She poured herself another cup and topped off Sinclair's before sitting once again in her chair.

  "Listen." But Sinclair stopped, sighed, and could not go on.

  "I am listening."

  Sinclair sighed again. "Regina really hurt me. I'm not up to playing any more games."

  "Games are for children. I'd like to think that we've both passed that stage. You have a few weeks left here." Hunter's voice deepened. "I know that you're attracted to me and I certainly, absolutely, am attracted to you. I also know that my previous involvement with Lydia makes things ... problematic." She chuckled ruefully. "But let's not dwell on the past, instead we should spend some time together. I could be your perfect vacation fuck."

  A blush warmed Sinclair's face. But that was nothing compared to the heat that flared between her thighs at Hunter's words. "Let me think about it," she said.

  "Fair enough." The seducer abruptly retreated as Hunter stood up. "Would you like a formal tour of the house?"

  Chapter 14

  could sleeping with Hunter really be that bad? Sinclair walked down the road from the Breckenridges' house, plucking at the wild reeds growing from the roadside as she went. Her footsteps took her on the path to Hunter's house. Whether her mind was ready, her body was fully prepared to answer the question she'd just asked herself.

  "Hey, there."

  Sinclair jumped at the unexpected voice, then turned to see Della walking toward her. The woman looked fit in loose capri jeans and a salmon colored T-shirt tucked into its belted waistband. She carried a bunch of wildflowers in her hand. "Where are you heading?"

  "Nowhere. I'm just killing time while Nikki is at work."

  "Good. Then you can come with me."

  "Where?"

  "To see your mother." Della held up the flowers. "I'm going to take her some garden-grown sunshine." The older woman took Sinclair's hand. "Come on."

  A controlled wilderness reigned in the cemetery. Beyond the tall, iron gates of Hilltop View Rest Home, vines tumbled from thick overhanging trees to trail the ground like green lace. Each tombstone lay distinct and well tended in the marble and granite jungle, protected by the trees except for where sunlight slid between the gaps in the natural canopy to light the names on the tombstones. Samuels. Belvedere. Chin. Sinclair.

  The ground was soft near Beverly Sinclair, the grass, green and prickly against Sinclair's palms as she sat down next to Della. The older woman tucked her flowers into a vase built into the base of the headstone and arranged them neatly against the gray marble.

  "The people here take real good care of the grounds. When they first put her here I was worried. But I'm glad all that was for nothing."

  The grave was a narrow marble bed raised a half a foot off the ground, dark gray and new looking. Patches of tiny, crimson tea roses grew around her grave, as if someone had taken the trouble to plant them just so, then tend them year after year. Their bright heads lay in beautiful disarray against the marble.

  "Hey, Bev. I brought your baby to see you." Della touched the grave as if it could feel. She turned to look at Sinclair. "I know that she's not really here, but I like having someplace where I can come and feel her presence."

  Sinclair nodded. The lines marking her mother's name on the marble slab were still deep. Her fingers traced them. BEVERLY SINCLAIR. BELOVED. 1948-1985.

  "Why did you bring me here?"

  "Because, if memory serves, they never allowed you to go to her funeral. You've never been up here."

  No, Sinclair had never been to see her mother's grave. Too many of her nights had been spent wondering why she hadn't been with Beverly Sinclair that afternoon twenty years ago when she'd gone out to buy groceries on the town bus and ended up at the bottom of the gorge under two tons of twisted metal and steel. Her thirteen-year-old mind had been unable to grasp her mother's death for what it was. Sinclair remembered being told of her mother's absence, then asking who would iron her clothes for school the next morning. When her grandmother came to take her back to America less than a month later, she was still wondering where her mama was.

  In the twenty years of living in America she'd healed from the violence of her mother's death, taken Beverly Sinclair's last name as her own-with her grandmother's blessingand even fit reasonably well into society. The memories of her mother, of her comforting Soft Sheen and baby powder scent, the warmth of her hand in Sinclair's, even the remembered taste of the hot chocolate she made in the mornings, were all Sinclair had needed. And now here was Della and the whispered hints of what Beverly Sinclair had really been like. She traced her mother's name again then silently turned away from the headstone. After all these years, did any of it really matter? Sinclair got up and walked a few feet away to lay in the grass, watching the powdery clouds shift above her. Nearby, Della whispered something to her dead lover, leaning closer to the deaf tombstone as the first trickles of raindrops began to fall.

  Chapter 15

  inclair heard Hunter's voice in her father's house. It wasn't )whispering the usual litany of sweet nothings, so she figured it must not be a dream. With her robe belted tightly around her waist, she walked into the living room.

  "Hey," Hunter greeted her with a cheeky grin. "Just woke up?"

  "Something like that." She wasn't about to confess that she'd spent a restless night thinking about her and all that she'd offered a few days ago.

  "Either you were asleep or you weren't, so which was it?" She tugged on Sinclair's robe. "Oops." The bit of espresso brown silk had never revealed that much before.

  "I guess you sleep naked, huh
?"

  Sinclair smacked the other woman's hand and stepped away. "Stop behaving like a twelve-year-old boy."

  "I can't help it. You bring out the hormones in me." Her crooked grin made Sinclair laugh.

  "Fine." She sat on the far end of the sofa away from Hunter. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

  "Just dropping some pottery off from Della." She pointed to a pile of brown wrapping and Styrofoam. For the first time, Sinclair heard the noises in the back room. Evidence of Nikki being up and already catering to Hunter's needs.

  "She couldn't come herself?"

  "She could, but I offered." Her white teeth flashed. "So what are your plans for the day?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Why don't you want to answer?"

  "You're incorrigible."

  "So I've been told. What are your plans?"

  Sinclair shook her head and gave in. "Nothing much. It's Nikki's day off so I was just going to hang out with her for the day and then walk with her to pick up Xavier from school."

  "Sounds fun."

  Nikki walked into the room. She looked much more presentable than Sinclair did in her oversized shorts and T-shirt.

  "Can I steal Sinclair for a bit, Nikki? Her day with you sounds deadly dull and you know how city girls like to have nonstop fun on their vacations." Hunter winked at the young woman.

  Nikki giggled. "Take her. She's been in the house too much as it is." She stooped to pick up the discarded paper and Styrofoam.

  "What if I don't want to go?" Sinclair looked from one to the other with disbelief.

  "Sure you do." Hunter leaned back in the couch and propped her foot up on one knee. "Go ahead and shower if you want to. I'll wait."

  Nikki left with an armload of packing material, still giggling.

  "You'll be waiting a hell of a long time. I told you that I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "Come on. It'll be fun. You can even bring your camera. And your bathing suit."

  A bathing suit? The thought of spending time with Hunter dressed in only her bikini sent shivers of apprehension through her body. Still, her body wanted to shiver for Hunter, wanted to shudder and call her name and twine its legs around the dark woman.