doesn't that girl come into the yard instead of
shouting out my name to the whole neighborhood?" Victor
asked no one in particular.
The woman with the packages shrugged. "Young people."
Her smile teased Sinclair's father but he wasn't biting.
"Nikki's not home. She's on Market Street." He took the
heavier package from the older woman, then gave her an envelope. "But she told me to give you this with her thanks."
"Tell her I'll stop by on the weekend to see her and the
baby."
Sinclair watched their byplay with curiosity. This woman
was beautiful, with short but well-shaped legs and a tight
backside covered in mid-length khaki shorts. Sinclair looked
away wincing with sudden guilt. This woman was the same
age her mother would have been.
"That baby is four years old now, Della," Victor said.
"So what? He's her only one. Until you give her another
one, Xavier will stay the baby."
Victor opened the front door for Della and waved her
ahead of him. They disappeared into the house. In the meantime, the woman in the jeep made herself comfortable behind
the wheel. She dangled one bare foot outside the vehicle's
door as she lay back in the seat that was reclined as far back
as it could go. Sunlight poured over the subtle hills and valleys of her body like honey. The slim-fitting white tank top
and cutoff shorts gave Sinclair an excellent view of all that
beautiful dark skin. She gawked shamelessly, even tilted her
head to get a better view.
If she'd been someone else, maybe like Regina, she would
have walked up to the stranger in the jeep and struck up a
conversation, found out if she was into women. Her sleek,
athletic look screamed "dyke" but Sinclair wasn't one to risk
embarrassment on an assumption. Sinclair looked away from
the woman as her father came back out of the house.
"Della, this is my daughter, Sinclair. She's visiting me from
America for a few weeks."
"Hello," Sinclair said.
"Mercy! I thought that was Lydia sitting right there." So
she was rude enough to never speak to Lydia? Whoever that
was.
"Good to meet you, child." She looked at Sinclair again as
she shook her hand. "Sinclair? Does that mean you're Bev
Sinclair's daughter?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't ma'am me, young lady." She squeezed Sinclair's
fingers gently. "Well, I'll be .... I knew your mother a long
time ago. Used to even babysit for her. I can see that the resemblance to Lydia is only superficial. You have your mother's
mouth and eyes." She made as if to touch Sinclair's hair but
the younger woman moved back.
"Sorry."
Sinclair's smile put even more distance between them.
"That's OK."
Della dropped her hand. "Well, I'll just head out. Hunter
and I have a few more things to do before it gets dark. Good
to see you again, Victor. Take care, Sinclair."
Sinclair nodded in response and watched the older woman
walk away and climb back into the jeep. The woman behind
the wheel waved at Sinclair again before driving off.
She turned to her father. "Who was that?"
"One of your mother's old friends." He made an impatient
gesture. "A potmaker."
Sinclair smiled. "A potmaker?"
"That's what she does. Make pots. And other things, too.
Nikki spends at least half her paychecks on her clay." He
waved at the neat arrangement of potted plants ringing the
verandah then to the yard where all manner of sculpture sat
among the shrubbery and flowers. Nikki certainly had an eye
for arranging.
"Nikki must like her work, or her, a lot."
"They get along." Her father made a noise that could have
been anything. But Sinclair could see the emotion for what it
was. Jealousy. He was jealous of his wife's friendship with
Della. She looked at her father in surprise but didn't press the
issue.
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, discussing the
books they'd both read and other things they had in common
despite the twenty years they'd spent apart. When Nikki and
Xavier came back the discussion continued over homemade
shouting out my name to the whole neighborhood?" Victor
asked no one in particular.
The woman with the packages shrugged. "Young people."
Her smile teased Sinclair's father but he wasn't biting.
"Nikki's not home. She's on Market Street." He took the
heavier package from the older woman, then gave her an envelope. "But she told me to give you this with her thanks."
"Tell her I'll stop by on the weekend to see her and the
baby."
Sinclair watched their byplay with curiosity. This woman
was beautiful, with short but well-shaped legs and a tight
backside covered in mid-length khaki shorts. Sinclair looked
away wincing with sudden guilt. This woman was the same
age her mother would have been.
"That baby is four years old now, Della," Victor said.
"So what? He's her only one. Until you give her another
one, Xavier will stay the baby."
Victor opened the front door for Della and waved her
ahead of him. They disappeared into the house. In the meantime, the woman in the jeep made herself comfortable behind
the wheel. She dangled one bare foot outside the vehicle's
door as she lay back in the seat that was reclined as far back
as it could go. Sunlight poured over the subtle hills and valleys of her body like honey. The slim-fitting white tank top
and cutoff shorts gave Sinclair an excellent view of all that
beautiful dark skin. She gawked shamelessly, even tilted her
head to get a better view.
If she'd been someone else, maybe like Regina, she would
have walked up to the stranger in the jeep and struck up a
conversation, found out if she was into women. Her sleek,
athletic look screamed "dyke" but Sinclair wasn't one to risk
embarrassment on an assumption. Sinclair looked away from
the woman as her father came back out of the house.
"Della, this is my daughter, Sinclair. She's visiting me from
America for a few weeks."
"Hello," Sinclair said.
"Mercy! I thought that was Lydia sitting right there." So
she was rude enough to never speak to Lydia? Whoever that
was.
"Good to meet you, child." She looked at Sinclair again as
she shook her hand. "Sinclair? Does that mean you're Bev
Sinclair's daughter?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't ma'am me, young lady." She squeezed Sinclair's
fingers gently. "Well, I'll be .... I knew your mother a long
time ago. Used to even babysit for her. I can see that the resemblance to Lydia is only superficial. You have your mother's
mouth and eyes." She made as if to touch Sinclair's hair but
the younger woman moved back.
"Sorry."
Sinclair's smile put even more distance between them.
"That's OK."
Della dropped her hand. "Well, I'll just head out. Hunter
and I have a few more things to do before it gets dark. Good
to see you again, Victor. Take care, Sinclair."
Sinclair nodded in response and watched the older woman
walk away and climb back into the jeep. The woman behind
the wheel waved at Sinclair again before driving off.
She turned to her father. "Who was that?"
"One of your mother's old friends." He made an impatient
gesture. "A potmaker."
Sinclair smiled. "A potmaker?"
"That's what she does. Make pots. And other things, too.
Nikki spends at least half her paychecks on her clay." He
waved at the neat arrangement of potted plants ringing the
verandah then to the yard where all manner of sculpture sat
among the shrubbery and flowers. Nikki certainly had an eye
for arranging.
"Nikki must like her work, or her, a lot."
"They get along." Her father made a noise that could have
been anything. But Sinclair could see the emotion for what it
was. Jealousy. He was jealous of his wife's friendship with
Della. She looked at her father in surprise but didn't press the
issue.
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking, discussing the
books they'd both read and other things they had in common
despite the twenty years they'd spent apart. When Nikki and
Xavier came back the discussion continued over homemade
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