Chapter 25

"Look at the sky juice man." Xavier piped up from the backseat of the Honda. "Can I have some sky juice?"

"Not now, baby. We have to get to the airport." Nikki rubbed the back of her son's neck.

Sinclair's mouth suddenly felt dry, longing for a taste of the syrupy bag juice with its crushed ice. Banana was her favorite flavor. Sinclair remembered, as a child, curling her tongue around the cool plastic straw as she sucked for as long as she could without taking a breath.

"That sure would feel good in this heat though," Sinclair murmured, meeting Xavier's eyes in the rearview mirror. The boy grinned. "The plane isn't supposed to take off for another three hours. We should have enough time."

Her father pulled the car over before the last word left her mouth. Xavier started hopping up and down in the backseat, while Nikki just looked pleased. They parked the car on the shoulder of the perfectly paved road, the sort of road that was rare up where they lived, and locked it.

"'Afternoon." Victor greeted the old man with the grayflecked beard and oversized hat sitting on top of his thick, knee-length dreadlocks.

"'Afternoon, brethren. What can I get for you today?"

"Four bags of sky juice." He looked at his family. "Pick your flavors."

Back in the car, they all sucked quietly on their straws, while Sinclair told the story of the first time she had sky juice. Her father chimed in, too, because he had been there to buy it. He bought the second one, too, after she dropped the first one on the ground and started crying as if she'd just lost her best friend. Nikki laughed until she snorted and juice sprayed out of her nose, hitting her giggling son in the face.

"It wasn't quite that funny, people," Sinclair muttered.

"Right." Victor laughed softly as he maneuvered the car toward their destination with one hand.

Still, Sinclair smiled at the memory. Her mother had been just as dismayed, especially since the bright yellow juice had hit the ground and splashed up on her new slacks. But Beverly had laughed, too, swinging the crying Sinclair up in her arms and held the new juice bag while her daughter suckled happily from the straw. Sinclair remembered the feeling of being carried by her mother, remembered the smell of jasmine and oil sheen in Beverly's hair.

"I'm going to miss you," Sinclair said.

"Does that mean you won't make it another twenty years before you come to visit us again?"

Sinclair shook her head and swallowed her mouthful of light banana syrup mixed with fresh water and grated ice. "I won't let it be that long before I taste Nikki's cooking again."

"In the meantime, you better eat something. You can't come back to this country looking like a refugee."

"Trust me, I won't let that happen again either."

At the airport, there were strained goodbyes. Xavier started to cry and a sniffling Nikki tried to comfort him with the promise of more sweets on the way home. Victor shrugged and pulled his daughter into a crushing hug. "Get there safe."

"And call us when you land," Nikki said juggling her son in her arms to hug Sinclair one last time.

Sinclair felt tears of her own well up. "I will."

A red-hatted porter trotted over to help her with her two large suitcases. "What airline, miss?" When she told him, he slung the bags on his trolley. "This way."

Sinclair turned to hug Nikki and Xavier again, then waved at them as she trailed behind the porter. A frantic half hour later she was checked in and waiting at the boarding gate with the hundreds of other passengers who would share the same plane with her. Sinclair checked her purse to make sure that all her paperwork was in order before taking out a book to read. But she couldn't focus. Her eyes ricocheted off the printed page to watch what was going on around her.

Everywhere she looked people seemed excited about getting to the city. Some faces sagged with the world weariness of the well traveled, others held the dreamy afterglow of a blissful honeymoon, while others seemed simply anxious for the plane to come and take them back home. Sinclair quietly acknowledged that she was none of these. Just as quietly, questions began to form. Why? Why was she going back to the city? Were any of the excuses she'd given herself really valid? Her oversized apartment? Her vapid job at Volk? All the friends she'd made while living in the city? Right. And what was she leaving behind?

Sinclair remembered the first time Regina touched her and the waves of sensation she felt. It was like diving underwater, those first few moments of disorientation, of wonder. She felt those things just by looking at Hunter. A couple walked into her line of vision, a slim young man and his more voluptuously built woman. He looked at her intently as she spoke. It wasn't until they passed that Sinclair noticed he held her hand in his and that his thumb moved lightly over her knuckles. The woman carried her own bag.

Sinclair watched them then felt an inexplicable sense of loss when they disappeared around the corner. He loves her, she thought. A moment later she reopened the novel her father had given her from his collection. Something British, he'd said, but she might like it anyway. The words in the first paragraph swam before her eyes. He loves her. Sinclair looked up, surprise settling on her face. She stood and grabbed her carry-on bag and her purse. Before she knew it she was dashing through the airport, her loose hair bouncing around her head. The blast of warm air when she stepped outside the airport doors made her pause. What was she doing? Sinclair saw the line of taxis waiting, and her fingers spasmed around the strap of her purse.

"Where are you heading?"

She turned automatically to answer, but her breath caught in her throat. "Um ... back."

"Can I give you a ride?" Hunter's smile was pure sin. Her unfastened hair stirred in the balmy afternoon breeze, brushing the shoulders of the man-tailored shirt she wore unbuttoned over a white tank top and black jeans. She looked freshly scrubbed, as if she was going courting.

A smile slowly shaped Sinclair's mouth. "Yes. Yes you can." She followed Hunter to the jeep and threw her bag in the back before climbing into the passenger seat. They sat staring at the line of cars ahead, feeling the soft caress of the afternoon breeze. Hunter fiddled with her keys but made no motion to start the truck.

"So," Sinclair said softly. "What are you doing here?"

Hunter looked startled, as if she'd been prepared to wait in the silence forever. "I wanted to tell you something that I forgot to the other day." She cleared her throat. "You matter to me. It's not about the sex or the other things we do together. All those things are good-shit, they're fantastic." Hunter shifted in her seat but didn't look away. "I want you to understand that I care for you. Deeply. You're the first. If you say that I have to move to your big city so that we can be together then I'd do it. For you I'd do it. No bullshit."

"I thought you weren't going to bring this up again?" Sinclair teased, allowing her smile to slowly show itself.

"I lied. Sorry. Am I being a total asshole here?" She seemed to notice Sinclair's smile for the first time. "This is good?"

Sinclair looked into the smiling face of her lover, knowing her cheeks were creased just as deeply with the signs of her happiness. "I love you," she said.

"This is good." Hunter laughed softly. "I guess we can sort out the rest of it later?" She nodded, answering her own question. She started the jeep and began to slip back into the slow moving stream of traffic. Her hand drifted to Sinclair's thigh. Their fingers linked.

Sinclair leaned back into her seat, feeling the wind's teasing fingers through her hair. On the horizon she could see light sprinkles of rain, but beyond that the sun waited. She took in a deep breath, feeling for the first time in her life, satisfied.

"This is good."