Bliss (22 page)

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?"

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.

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.

"Fine. Give me fifteen minutes."

It was half an hour before they left. Sinclair couldn't decide what to wear or how to fix her hair. In the end it was a
loose cotton dress with her one-piece bathing suit under it.
Her hair she first combed loose, then ended up tying back up
with a light blue scarf.

"You look nice."

"Thank you," she said graciously. "Nikki, we're leaving."

Faint noises of goodbye floated to them from the kitchen.

"I guess we're off, then."

The jeep was noisier than it looked even though Hunter
had put the doors back on, in deference, she said, to Sinclair's
city sensibilities. Sinclair wanted to push her out of the truck.
Though as they sped over the winding paved roads into the
hills, she was grateful for the doors. She clutched onto the
Jeep's sturdy frame, praying not to be lurched out the window during one of Hunter's quick turns.

"I don't suppose you could slow down?" Sinclair shouted
over the wind.

"Sure." Hunter shouted back. "But only under penalty of
being considered an irredeemable fraidy cat."

"Meow."

The jeep slowed down a little.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

"Sure. Why not?" Hunter looked over at her, eyes
sparkling with mischief and fun. "We're heading to the falls.
It's quiet and private. I heard you haven't been out much
since you've been here, so I'm making it my duty to make
sure that you reacquaint yourself with the real Jamaica before you go."

"Are you part of this experience?"

"Of course. Although to hear Lydia tell it, I'm not authentically Jamaican enough. Hopefully you're not that picky."

"I am very picky, thank you very much. But-" Sinclair's
gaze flickered over the other woman's body. "You'll do."

The jeep stopped under a canopy of trees. Sunlight filtered
through the wide maze of banyans, but only in jewel-like
flickers that enhanced the beauty of the trees without compromising any of their shade. Nearby a waterfall roared, full
throated and loud. "Here we are."

Hunter pulled a picnic basket and blanket from the back
of the jeep. "Come on. We're going just down here."

Sinclair followed carrying her own light bag. The place
was indeed deserted, clean with the smell of highly oxygenated water and freshly turned earth. At the falls, white
water spilled down moss-covered rocks in an explosion of
sound before diving through masses of hanging vines and
plants to plunge into the deep pool below. Lily pads floated
on the water's surface.

Sinclair looked at her guide in surprise. "Thank you. This
is ..." Her voice faded away.

"Just enjoy it. That would be thanks enough." Hunter set
up the picnic basket and blankets on one of the high, smooth
boulders that surrounded the water.

Sinclair put her bag behind her on the driest rocks and
took out her camera. Through the lens she noticed new
things, the subtle splash of color around them, shy hibiscus
that lurked behind large fronds of deep green plants, orange
and yellow lantanas with their tiny bouquets offered up as
gifts to anyone who cared to pluck them, and Hunter stripping out of her cutoffs and T-shirt. The shutter clicked.

"Are you going to come here and enjoy me, or just take
pictures all day?" Hunter was already stripped down to her
bone white bikini that showed off her muscled body and the
black diamond shade of her skin. Her loosened hair rode the
curves of her shoulders and back. Sinclair couldn't help but
notice that her breasts filled out the bathing suit rather nicely.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Sinclair put her camera
away and walked over to where the other woman had laid
out the food and wine. "This is quite a spread."