Bliss (18 page)

"If you don't mind me asking," Sinclair murmured over
the sound of the brush moving across the canvas. "How do
you know that your body wasn't compatible with Lydia's?"

"I don't mind you asking, as long as you don't mind me
not telling you."

"Fair enough."

Sinclair closed her eyes again and Hunter's brush continued to stroke the canvas.

"I tried to touch her and she wouldn't let me." Hunter's
voice woke her from a light doze. Sinclair opened her eyes
but didn't turn. "Whenever that happens with someone you've
been dating for almost six months, that's usually a bad sign."

Sinclair blinked through the fog of sleep and adjusted her
breathing; made a small noise to let Hunter know that she
was listening.

"I've never had a woman back away from me before and
mean it. For the past few weeks I've been thinking about
that." Sinclair heard her swallow more wine. "Do you think
that means anything?"

It was simple curiosity that Sinclair heard in the other
woman's voice. No pain, just a desire to know. "I don't have
that much experience with women to give you any insight,"
Sinclair said. "I'm not the best one to ask relationship-related
questions."

"You're wrong about that. I think you're the perfect one
to ask. If someone reached out to touch you with the intention of making love with you and you backed away from her,
what possible emotions or motives could be moving you
those few feet backward away from that potential lover?"

Sinclair thought of Yuen and all those times he'd wanted
to have sex and she'd found something else to do, something
else to occupy his mind. She'd never felt repulsed by the thought of Regina's lovemaking. Even now her skin tingled
at the memory of it. There had never been a time when she
had shied away from the woman's touch. Well, except for
that night at the Burning Rose when Regina was being an
asshole.

"Repulsion, right?" Hunter answered her own question.
"But why?"

Sinclair breathed softly into the fabric of the couch. "I
can't say because I don't know how the two of you fit together. "

"We don't seem to." The brush continued to move across
the canvas in smooth, languid strokes. "And that's the problem. "

They finished the sitting by late evening. Hunter took
Sinclair back to her father's house, dropping her off at the
gate with a mocking salute. "Thanks for the therapy session,
Ms. Sinclair. I hope it was as good for you as it was for me."
Then she drove back up to her mountain.

Sinclair watched the jeep until it disappeared completely
out of sight, leaving only a trail of dust and unasked questions. During the sitting with Hunter, her curiosity had been
piqued along with her libido. What in all the seven hells
could drive Lydia out of that woman's arms? If Hunter had
been her girlfriend ... she cut that thought off before it could
go any further. Thoughts like that would just lead to another
masturbation coma and Sinclair didn't think her fingers were
up to the challenge tonight. She sat on a rocking chair on the
verandah and dropped her bag tiredly at her feet.

"Rough day?"

She slowly turned her head to watch her father close the
front door behind him and claim the other chair. "No. Not
really. It was actually pretty good. I went back up with Nikki
to the Breckenridges', then I spent most of the day with
Hunter Willoughby. She's painting me."

He looked sharply at her. "Be careful."

"Of what?"

"That woman. She's not someone you want to hang
around with."

"What does that mean?" Sinclair looked at her father in
surprise. "Why don't you like her?"

"It's not that I don't like her. I just don't like her with
Lydia or with you. She's a bad influence."

"What do you mean?" Sinclair hoped he didn't say what
she thought he was going to say.

"Well, look at her." He made an abrupt gesture into the
evening as if Hunter were somewhere out there. "She looks
like a half-man, trying to corrupt Lydia. It's not right. She's
not right."

Sinclair sat up in the rocker and looked sharply at her
father. "What if she's not trying to corrupt Lydia?"

"I just don't like her hanging around my daughters. She
went off abroad and turned into a dyke. Now she wants to
spread that disease to Lydia, maybe even to you, too. I don't
want that. The Bible says that's not right and I believe it."

"Are you joking?" Sinclair's sandaled feet slapped against
the tiled floor as she abruptly stopped the rocker's motion.
"Since when do you believe in anybody's bible? You committed adultery. How come you pick and choose what you believe out of this book? Since when is it OK to hate someone
because of what she and another consenting adult do in the
privacy of her own home?"

Her father looked at her with dawning suspicion. "Are
you one of those ... lesbians too?"

"What if I said yes, would you kick me out and tell me
never to call or write you again?"

He stared at her. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Before what? Before you started making ignorant comments about people you don't even know? Before you started
talking crazy that Lydia was being corrupted by Hunter
when my sister has probably had more pussy than Magic
Johnson?" That was when she knew she'd crossed the line. Sinclair took a deep breath and slowly released it. Apologize,
dammit! she chided herself, but the words wouldn't leave her
mouth.

"What did you say to me?" Her father stood up. "Don't
you even come in here with your American ways trying to tell
me about my Jamaican-born and -bred daughter. Don't mess
with her good name. I don't appreciate it and I'm damn sure
that she doesn't either." He didn't raise his voice once. With a
look of sharp disappointment, he turned and walked back
into the house.

"Fuck."

Sinclair sank back into the chair. She was suddenly very
aware of the darkening sky and the empty noise of crickets
just beginning to chirp their evening song. Her grandmother
used to caution her all the time about trying to change somebody's mind when it came to such touchy issues as religion,
sexuality, politics, or food. Be prepared for a fight, Gram
said, and be prepared for failing in the attempt to convert
someone to your way of thinking. But she hadn't been trying
to convert anyone. There was just no way that she was going
to sit there and let him call her diseased or let him talk with
impunity about sin when he had fucked around on his first
wife. The hypocrite.

But with deepening night came a new attitude. Sinclair left
the comfort of her rocking chair to look for her father. She
found him in the living room, watching television and drinking carrot juice.

"Hey." She sat beside him on the sofa. He looked at her
once then turned back to the television to watch an old
MacGyver rerun. Sinclair sighed and bit her lip.

"I was out of line earlier. Lydia's business is her own, I had
no right to speculate about what or who she does in her spare
time. "

"You're right about that."

She rolled her eyes. On the screen MacGyver was building yet another explosive device with chewing gum and duct
tape. Her finger itched to turn the damn TV off.

"Papa, look at me."

He turned off the television. After a moment of tense silence
he faced her, turning his whole body to give her all his attention. "What?"

This wasn't going well at all. "I'm not going to stay here if
you feel that you can't be in the same house with a lesbian.
That would only hurt us both and that's the last thing that I
want." He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her
hand. "Nikki doesn't have to know why I left. I won't tell
her. I can fly back to the city and we don't ever have to speak
again."

He made a low noise of dismissal. "None of that is going
to happen." With a sigh, he leaned back into the arm of the
sofa and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know about Lydia.
I have since she was in basic school, but it doesn't mean that
I like it. Having that girl Hunter here just puts it in my face
all the time. It puts it in the neighborhood's face. I'm just
afraid that people are going to talk and worse, that they're
going to hurt her." He paused and took a breath. "Before I
knew about Lydia I used to think that ... homosexuals were
masochists. I mean, why choose a life of hardship and pain?
Isn't it enough that black people are treated like slaves still,
that this island is poor and in need and is like a sinking ship
where the rats are scrambling over each other trying to escape? But I know her and she would never choose something
like this. Sometimes I look in her face and I see how unhappy
she is. I just want to do whatever I can to make things easier
for her."

"Can't you see that hating Hunter and acting like she's the
cause of all Lydia's problems is not going to do that?"

"I didn't say the way that I was dealing with this made any
sense." He rubbed his nose again. "You want some carrot
juice?"

"Uh ... sure."

When he got up and went to the kitchen Sinclair collapsed
against the sofa with a barely audible sigh. The last thing she
wanted to do was leave, but if he had insisted, she would
have. He came back with a tall glass clinking with ice cubes
and juice.

"I made it this afternoon. It's nice and sweet."

"Thank you."

The juice had a crispness that was reminiscent of the outdoors, with its combined flavors of fresh carrots, vanilla, nutmeg, and a creamy sweetness that Sinclair could not name.

"I could teach you to make that if you want."

Sinclair wrinkled her nose and laughed. "You could try,
but we'll see if I learn anything."

He turned the television back on and they watched the rest
of the show in companionable silence.

.t was late. Even Sinclair's body knew that. She'd been able
to get more and more sleep since coming to the island, but
that still only meant five hours of sleep each night if she was
lucky. Four when she wasn't. Tonight the silence of the room
wasn't nearly as comforting as it had been on other nights.
Her earlier conversation with Victor still weighed on her
mind. Disturbing thoughts of Lydia, Hunter, and of herself
plagued her, precluding any possibility of rest. Finally she just
couldn't lay in bed anymore. She crept through the house,
picked a book from the shelf, and made it to the verandah
without waking anybody up. It was nearly three o'clock in
the morning.

Sinclair was just getting into the first chapter when she
heard the distinctive rumble of Lydia's Cadillac pulling up to
the gate. The half moon lit Lydia's way up the gravel path to
the textured gray tile of the small square verandah with its
ring of lush, flowering plants. Lydia sat in the chair beside
Sinclair and took something out of the paper bag she carried.
It was grapenut ice cream. With two plastic spoons.

"I knew you'd be awake. Hunter told me you have trouble
sleeping at night."

Did she? Sinclair wondered what else she had told Lydia
about her.

"It's not really trouble," Sinclair said. "My body doesn't need that much sleep so I end up staying awake most of the
night." She took the spoon that her sister offered and waited
while Lydia peeled the protective plastic from the top of the
pint of ice cream. "So why are you up so late? Or so early?"

Lydia put the plastic wrap on the ground near the container's cover. "Well, I haven't been to bed yet. I spent the last
few hours at Hunter's but didn't feel like going home to
sleep."

Sinclair couldn't imagine spending an evening with Hunter
and having the strength to do anything but sleep afterward.

"We just talked. She and I talk a lot." She dug her spoon
into the ice cream, sounding disappointed. "I think that this
relationship is going to drive me crazy."

Sinclair nodded although most of her attentions were focused on the dessert melting slowly in her mouth. The ice cream
was sinful; a creamy French vanilla with grains of softened
grapenuts spread throughout. Sinclair swirled the soft granules over her tongue and thought, reluctantly, of Lydia and
Hunter together. She asked the question that Lydia seemed to
be waiting for.

"Why?

"We're just not compatible." Her mouth smiled around
the ice cream. "Although I usually like older women, from
the beginning there was something about Hunter that really
revved my engine." She licked her spoon clean and sat back
with a tiny grin. "Her eyes are gorgeous. Have you ever really
looked into them? God! There's a whole universe in there."
Lydia shook her head. "But we're just not going to work out
as a couple."

"Why?" Sinclair asked again, not really caring. She breathed
out into the night air again pushing aside her irritation at having lost her night's peace to Lydia's romantic troubles. Then
again, she said to herself, the woman did bring ice cream.

"Because she slept with Della. They used to be girlfriends."