Bliss by Fiona Zedde

swept the spray of
water along the length of a tall banana tree. "You lonely already?"
    "Not while I have you here to keep me company."
    "She's a sweet talker, just like her mother," he said to the
air above his head, laughing.
    Sinclair grinned and thought for the second time in as
many days that this man was nothing like she'd expected.
Her childhood memories of him were few, limited only to the
ones that had resurfaced earlier that day and mental snapshots of him smiling down at her from a great height, his
voice telling her not to forget him as she waited for a plane to
take her off to America with her grandmother.
    After her mother died, it was hard to see him and not
think of her, and of her absence that was a constant flinching
pain. Sinclair cried when Gram took her away. She didn't remember if it was with relief or sadness. The distance between
her and her father made things better, so did Gram's unwavering love. Before she knew it, a year went by in America, then
two, then twenty. When the reason for not seeing him faded
it just seemed natural to stay away.
    "Give me a hand tying back this sorrel tree," her father
said, "then we can go on the verandah for a beer."
    "All right."
    The backyard was easily as large as the house, lined with
thick green grass, banana trees loaded down with fruit, gungu pea trees with their delicate branches and leaves dotted by
small purple flowers, plus at least a half a dozen other types
of trees that Sinclair knew nothing about. The sorrel tree was
short, the tallest branch barely reached her father's six-foot
height, but its branches spread wide, spilling over and beyond the waist-high fence that separated the jungle of fruit
and bean trees from the rest of the grassy backyard. Heartshaped burgundy fruit dusted with fuzz hung from its drooping branches.

    "What do I do?"
    "It's easy. Just hold the branches back while I tie them up
with string."
    Easy. Right. Forty-five minutes later Sinclair was covered
in the tiny white bugs that she didn't realize lived in the sorrel tree and her skirt was dirty from where she had crouched
on its hem in the mud. Her bare arms itched.
    "You're a cruel man," she said to her father as she disappeared into the house to take another shower.
    "Do you still want that beer?" he asked.
    "You better still be offering it."
    She closed the door on his laughter.

Chapter 7
    victor walked out to the verandah with two beers in his
hand. He closed the door behind him and approached
Sinclair.
    "Is Guinness all right?"
    "Yes, thank you."
    He offered his daughter a sweating bottle of the dark beer
and sat down in the rocker next to hers. With a low sigh of
contentment he arranged his long legs in front of him,
cradling the beer in his cupped hands.
    "Do you have a good life in America?" he asked, staring
out into the sun-baked front yard,
    "It's all right. Things have been a little hard since Gram
died five years ago." She took a long sip of her beer, wincing
at its bitterness. This was the first time she'd admitted to anyone that she'd been more than a little affected by her grandmother's death. "How about you? How is married life
treating you the second time around?"
    "Things are good. Nikki is a good woman. I feel like I'm
finally doing things right this time."
    Sinclair looked at him with a question in her eyes. As she
opened her mouth to ask it, a pale blue jeep Wrangler pulled
up to the gate. Its doors and roof had been taken off, leaving
the driver and passenger unprotected from the midmorning sun.

    "Hey, Mr. Daniels!" the woman behind the wheel called
out. Her hair was in long, loose dreadlocks that tumbled
around her face and shoulders like black lace. Another
woman, older with her hair plaited around her head and
strung with cowry shells, hefted two well-wrapped packages
from the back of the jeep and walked toward the house.
When the driver noticed Sinclair sitting on the other side of
her father, she waved.
    "Why