Bliss (20 page)

"I'm going to talk to her. I'll be right back." Lydia slipped
easily through the crowd of women. From halfway across the
room, Hunter noticed her. The laughter faded from the dark
woman's eyes and the woman who had been entertaining
her-a slim little thing with wavy hair cut close to her headtouched Hunter's hand briefly before turning away to talk
with someone else. When Lydia reached Hunter's side, the taller woman stood up and led her out of the room. Della
waved Sinclair over.

"Hello again," Sinclair greeted.

"Hey, Ms. America. Where did those two go?"

"Off somewhere talking, I suppose."

"Trouble in paradise?" Della chuckled.

"Who knows? They could be getting married for all I
know." She didn't feel right talking to Della about her sister's
business.

"Really? That would be different." She turned to her
friends. "I'm being rude. Sinclair, this is everyone. Everyone,
this is Lydia's sister, Sinclair." No one looked impressed.
"She's Beverly's daughter."

The women looked at her with sudden interest, peering
closely at the features Sinclair shared with the Beverly Sinclair they had known.

"The cheekbones are the same," the woman standing next
to Della said.

"And her mouth too," another chimed.

"How would you remember what her mouth looked like?"

"Believe me," the woman laughed. "I would know."

They all cackled like witches around a particularly steamy
cauldron, leaving Sinclair just a little disconcerted. She hadn't
thought about her looks one way or another. In pictures that
her grandmother left behind in the apartment, three facesGram's, Mama's, and hers-beamed from behind an oldfashioned glass frame. They were each versions of the other,
matron, mother, and baby. That had given her some measure
of comfort. Her mother had been beautiful, so was she. Her
grandmother was graceful in her winter years, still lovely with
her thick white hair and most of her own teeth. And later on, so
would Sinclair. Now here were these women suggesting that
she had more in common with her mother than just looks.

"Stop it," Della softly chided her friends. "Come on, Sinclair.
Let's go find you something to drink around here."

Della showed her where they kept the rum punch. This
time Sinclair was determined to have no more than one glass.
She wanted to be able to walk out of this house under her
own power.

"It looks like you're adjusting just fine to island life,"
Della said with a smile. "It's not too boring for you, I hope."

"Far from it, actually. Between my family and Hunter and
the gorgeous landscape I'm plenty entertained."

"So you've discovered Hunter's charm too."

"It's hard not to. She's a very nice woman."

"That's all she is, huh?"

"You should know better than I would."

"Touche." Della raised her glass of rum to Sinclair.

Sinclair realized then that the older woman still loved
Hunter. Or at least still wanted her as more than a friend.

"I hope those two aren't going to be gone long. I don't
want to spend all night here."

"There would be worse places to spend the night, I'll tell
you that much." Della swept her gaze around the house, at
the pleasantly inebriated women and the abundance of liquor
and music.

"I agree. Still, I'd like to sleep in my family's house tonight."
Sinclair sipped her punch and looked over the crowd of women
for the sight of either Hunter or her sister.

"While they're talking, let's go dance," Della said. "Come
on."

Sinclair finished the rest of her rum punch before putting
her glass down and following Della out the door. They spent
a good portion of the night on the dance floor, finally emerging sweaty and laughing close to four thirty in the morning.
They collapsed on an oversized scented sofa in the midst of
three other equally sweaty women.

"Although I usually don't dance, that was great," Sinclair
said breathlessly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Anytime I could do something for
Beverly's little girl, it would be my pleasure."

Sinclair fanned herself with a bundle of napkins. "Why?"

"Why would it be a pleasure?" The sweat of the dance
seemed to have relaxed Della's inhibitions, made her tongue
and body loose. "Because she was a good woman. I respected
her. She was my friend."

"Someone said that you might have been lovers."

"We were."

Sinclair stared at her.

"Why are you surprised? You were confident enough to
ask me." Della leaned back into the sofa, watching Sinclair
with her dark eyes.

"I-I guess I just never thought that my mother-"

"They say that this sort of thing is in the blood. At least
my son is in England where he can be himself." At the look
on Sinclair's face she laughed. "Of course I have a son. Just
like your mother had a daughter."

"But you're nothing like my mother."

"You never knew your mother, little girl. I knew her inside
and out." Della's mouth twitched. "Better than anyone she'd
been with before or after me."

OK, that was a little too much information. Still, Sinclair
wanted more.

"When were you two together?" she asked.

"The right question is when were we not together." Della
leaned back in the sofa. "She was my next door neighbor growing up. I was her first lover and her last. Despite the others,
she always came back to me. And I to her." Her eyes fell closed
as she sighed then became still.

Della didn't speak again. She dropped into a light dose, despite the shifting women on the sofa and the hurricane of
conversation coming from every corner of the room. Sinclair
watched her, at once frustrated and sympathetic. Did Della hate
Victor for being the last person Beverly shared her life with?
Sinclair knew that if she had been in Della's place she would
have hated both Victor and Beverly for denying her the comfort
and happiness of setting up house with the woman she loved.

"There you are." Sinclair turned to see Lydia walking toward her. "I've been looking all over the place for you." Her
sister glanced down at the snoozing Della then suddenly
seemed wounded, as if she'd gone into battle and lost. "Are
you ready?"

"Sure," Sinclair said. "Whenever you are."

Sinclair leaned close to Della and whispered a quick goodbye, then she and Lydia left the party without another word
to anyone, cutting through the throng of dancing and meandering women as if they had somewhere to go, urgently.
Sinclair didn't bother to ask her sister about Hunter.

l ake up, sleepy," Nikki's voice trilled from just beyond the bedroom door. Sinclair rolled over and
opened her eyes very slowly. Though she hadn't had nearly as
much rum punch as she'd wanted to, the little she'd had
made her sluggish. And her body ached. The muscles of her
belly, thighs, and legs hurt. Even the bottoms of her feet were
sore.

"I'm up," she croaked.

"We're all heading to the beach today. Come in for breakfast, then get ready to go."

"Now?"

"In a couple of hours."

"Umm ... I'll skip breakfast. Just wake me right before it's
time to go."

"All right." Nikki's laughing voice drifted away from the
door.

No more rum punch, Sinclair vowed as she burrowed back
into the sheets and promptly fell back asleep.

High noon found Sinclair still half-conscious but spread
out on a beach towel next to her father's coconut-branch
lean-to. After a soak in the warm seawater and a surprisingly
skillful massage from Nikki, her body wasn't nearly as sore
as it had been in the morning. From under her beach um brella, she watched Xavier and Nikki running and playing on
the long stretch of sand. Her stepmother looked barely older
than a child herself in the cutoff overalls and baggy T-shirt
that hid the curves of her body. Nikki's hair, pulled up into
two Afro puffs above her ears, fluttered in the breeze as she
ran after her son.

"Hey, everybody!" Sinclair looked up to see her sister
walking toward the lean-to where Victor sat.

"We were worried that you wouldn't come," their father
said. "After I saw the condition that you left Sinclair in last
night we were sure that you looked just as bad."

"What are you talking about?" She dropped to her knees
in the sand and kissed Victor on the cheek. "Sinclair looks
great and I feel even better."

Lydia was lying about how she felt. Did that mean Sinclair
looked liked hell, too? "Don't do me any favors, Lydia,"
Sinclair muttered from her blanket.

"Hey, Xavie and Nik." Lydia waved at the two shapes
dashing over the sand like seagulls, flapping their arms and
carrying on like theirs was the only family on the beach.
Others were far enough away that, hopefully, they could only
hear faint echoes of the two's birdlike shrieks.

Lydia kicked off her shoes and spread out her own blanket
near Victor's. With a quick, graceful movement, she slid off
her white shorts, leaving her dark amber body covered in a
tiny bikini. Lydia stuck her tongue out at Sinclair then lay
back on the blanket.

"Are you doing all right over there?" Sinclair asked.

"I'm OK. When I got home last night I fell straight to sleep.
I barely had time to take my clothes off and brush my teeth."

"Lucky you."

Sinclair wished that she'd had that easy a time of it. After
getting back home a little after five, she'd been too keyed up
to rest. Between her aching body and her hyperactive brain,
she hadn't been able to fall asleep until the sun was full in the
sky, and that was barely an hour before Nikki knocked at the door telling her it was time to get up. After packing up her
beach gear, struggling to the bright yellow Honda that her
father had once again borrowed for their outing, then struggling back out of the car to set up the lean-to and supplies
once they got to the beach, Sinclair was exhausted.

"Do you need any help, Papa?" Lydia asked.

"No, not yet. If you want, you can help Nikki and Xavier
get the wood for the fire." He looked down the beach. It was
obvious his wife and son were doing more playing than gathering, but he settled back in his chair with a laugh. "By dinnertime we should have a fire going." His eyes settled on Sinclair
for a moment, on her bleary eyes and sluggish movements.

"What can I do to help?" she asked, hoping he'd say
"nothing."

"Can you gut and clean fish?"

Later on Sinclair found out that her father was joking, but
she did have to wrap several cold, fishy bodies in foil to get
them ready for the fire. Xavier laughed at her as he carried
his unwrapped fish, held close to his chest like a baby, toward
the large blaze that their father had started.

"Don't do that, Xavier," Nikki cautioned. "You're getting
your fish dirty." He pouted but brought the fish back so that
his mother could season it with lime juice, salt, butter, and
pepper, then wrap it in foil. She put it on the fire for him.

Sinclair stood up. As she walked to the water's edge to
wash the stink of raw fish from her hands, the sound of her
family's conversation and laughter faded into the background. Her eyes narrowed on the horizon to see the sun
falling slowly behind a sprinkling of clouds. Brilliant shades
of burnt orange, red, and gold colored the beach and the
water tumbling up to the sand in a joyous symphony of gurgles and whispers. She crouched and washed her hands in the
playful waves.

"Wipe your hands with this." Nikki came up from behind
to offer her a towel, damp with lime juice and water.

"Thanks." Sinclair wiped her hands then gave the folded
towel back to her. They walked back to join the rest of the
family.

"How are things going with the picture Hunter is doing of
you?" Nikki asked.

"It's going well. At least, I think so." They shared the oversized blanket near the lean-to, sinking into the soft cotton
with twin sighs. Nearby Victor hovered closer to the fire,
checking on the food and talking with Lydia. Xavier stood
beside them, poking the flames with a long stick. "I haven't
seen it yet, but she says that she'll have it done long before I
leave."

"That's good because I want to see it." Nikki stretched out
on the blanket, pillowing her head on folded arms. "Nobody
ever did a picture of me."

"If you want her to paint you I'm sure she wouldn't have a
problem. Just ask."

"You didn't have to ask."

Sinclair smiled thinking of the day Hunter had asked to
paint her. "True."

"She must like you a lot."

Does she? "Sometimes I wonder if it's just for my resemblance to Lydia that makes her interested in me." Sinclair's
mouth twisted at the thought.

"No, no." Nikki rolled over and touched her arm. "I'm
sure that's not it."

"It's OK if that's the reason. After all, she and I are just
friends. We get along fine and she's a nice woman. I traded
some good wine for her painting my boring picture."