Saved and SAINTified (47 page)

“Hello,” Beset made her way
toward Pam and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Pam looked at Beset’s hand then shook it lightly, examining it as if it were covered in flesh eating parasites.
Saint cleared his throat and sat back down as Beset made her way back to the stove.

“So, Mama Pam, you’ll be with us for a week or two
, you said?”

“Yeah, I got my shit in the car. Back to you, Beset.
Xenia tol’ me she had someone helping her around, here and there, but she ain’t say nothing about you being a foreigner. I can tell by your accent, you ain’t from here. So y’all couldn’t hire an American?!” she adverted her eyes toward Saint. “All these Americans outta work, and you done went to Timbuktu and found you a walking curtain with matching valance to scoot her ass around yo’ kitchen, sweepin’ your floor with her hem.” Pam shook her head. “Like a big ass feather duster, huh?! That’s a damn shame!”

“
Saint met her in Egypt, Mama. She’s a ... friend of the family.”

“You coulda paid
me
! Hell, I’m here now.” She looked at their plates. “I know how to make eggs ’nd shit. If you want me to cover everythang but my eyes, I will do that too, if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

“Mama, stop. Come on, now.”
Xenia shook her head and took a bite of her food. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I don’t eat stranger’s cookin’.”

Xenia rolled her eyes. “Every time you go to a restaurant, Mama, you eat a stranger’s cooking.” She turned back around to her plate.

“
Saint, my bags in tha car, go get ’em for me.” Pam stood, threw her car keys on the table and marched out the back patio door toward the guest house without another word.

“See?”
Xenia smiled sweetly as she poured more syrup on her waffles.

“See what?”
Saint pushed his half empty coffee cup aside and grabbed a glass of water.

“My mother is here
; it was meant to be. That means you can go ahead and do your conference and visit your father.”

Saint
grimaced. “I like how your mother didn’t ask. She just barged right on in. Anyway, nothing has changed regarding the plans.”

It got so quiet, one could hear a pin drop
.

“Why don’t you just tell
Lawrence what’s going on? He can babysit me,” Xenia finally said.

Her sarcastic tone wasn’t missed.
Saint sucked his bottom lip. Some nights, he was so angry about the tribulations, he’d contemplated contacting Raphael and blurting out all of his woes. He hadn’t spoken to him in over a week, trying desperately to avoid the topic. He did need someone to help watch Xenia, help protect her, and Lawrence was the only person he knew that could assist ... but there was also Jagger...

Saint
mulled over his thoughts, turning them like hay with a pitchfork as he devised a plan and golden road map in his mind. He was satisfied to skip his duties in Texas and hold off on the visit to New York, but Xenia wasn’t and she was beginning to resent him for it. Every other day, dust was kicked up regarding his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it now, could he? Maybe he’d be able to relax more if he took this chance. Was there any way at all to prevent Lawrence and Jagger from being readable by Nizsm? He was so desperate that at that moment, he, too, wished he had an Oracle....

“I tell you what
. Let me think this over, baby. I’m not giving any promises. I will see what I can do but one thing is for damn sure, I’m not leaving you here alone with just Mama Pam and Beset.”

He took one more bite of his eggs, kissed her goodbye and sauntered out the door. He passed the two Rainbeau Knights’ cars parked in front of his house, g
ave a faux carefree wave, and removed the luggage from Mama Pam’s car. Then he returned to the back of the house, left out the luggage, jumped in his silver Lamborghini and headed off to the office.

***

A few days later...

Saint sat in the kitchen with a large cup of hot tea and a half eaten home-made sugar cookie. Sweat beads seeped sideways across his face from his evening workout. The house was unnaturally quiet, but he welcomed the reprieve.

I shouldn’t be eating this cookie. ... Oh, well.

He took another bite, rolling the tasty morsels around in his mouth. A shuffling noise to his left had him hop up and flick on the kitchen light, certain he’d need to lay into Hassani for sneaking down after bedtime to steal a sugary snack. Instead, his mother-in-law was the one to break from the hallway darkness into the illuminated area. He slumped back down in his seat. She rubbed the side of her face, bags under her eyes, oblivious to Saint’s annoyed presence.

“Huh? What you doin’ in here?” she asked once she caught him there.

“I
live
here.”

He shook his head, too tired to spar with her. She’d had all but caused him to check himself into a mental hospital during her brief stay. Saint, being the slight germ-o-phobe that he was, would find himself scratching at his skin while watching her muck up the guest house. He had to let the cleaning service crew inside, and was flabbergasted at what he’d discovered. What had once been a rather lavish retreat for friends and family was now decked out in faux coconut ashtrays, marijuana paraphernalia, cotton ‘big mama’ panties hanging on the tub counter to dry, and an assortment of potted meats in the kitchen, all lined up according to expiration date with reams of Saltines placed nearby. He never took himself as much of a snob, until that moment.

“Would you like a cookie?” he offered, pointing to the jar stowed away on the counter.

“Nuh uh. I fixed myself some neckbones earlier and brought
Xenia ova some. She reminded me she don’t eat ’em no more so I’m just gonna warm ’em up, put a little of this potato salad wit’ it and get me a snack to go.”

At her satisfied expression, apparently the thought of that dish warmed her heart as much as the devouring of the meal would. Her threadbare bright red robe swayed and her pink sponge curlers bounced about as she moved to the microwave to get her dinner ready. Saint took a sip of tea.

Pam slid in the chair across from him. “I was upstairs with Xenia, talkin’ with her.”

He’d figured it out, but was glad she explained her sudden appearance out of thin air.

“Yeah, I was in my office working, then I worked out in the gym. I’ll be going upstairs in a bit.” He yawned.

“She seems awfully preoccupied, like something is bothering her, but she wouldn’t say what it was. I’m her mama. I worry,” Pam probed and waited.

Even if he spilled the beans, Pam wouldn’t believe him and declare them both insane. Saint had discussed several times with Xenia about the amped security, though it was wearing on his wife’s nerves. She complained that she felt like a prisoner in her own home, but there was nothing Saint could do to make those feelings go away—they were hers to have and handle. He simply needed to do what he needed to do, and sometimes protection could be stifling.

“It’s a culmination of things but I know she’ll be okay. Nothing for you to worry about, Mama Pam,” he offered. “So, how is the roof progress coming along?”

When the hell are you getting out of my damn house? It’s the guest house, but it’s still too close because you’re always over here.

“Them fools done made more of a mess than it was before. They say it will be straightened out in a few days.”

The microwave beeped. She got up, and after a shuffle around in the silverware drawer, pulled out a fork then brought her hot plate over to the table. She took a noisy bite of potato salad.

“I like my potato salad warm. You want some?” she asked, smiling proudly at her culinary creation.

“No, thank you, Mama Pam. It looks good though,” he said sincerely. The scent of the garlic, cayenne pepper and cumin was delightfully enticing. Yet as tempting as it was, he couldn’t stomach it, not right now.

“You know what, Saint?” Pam smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I really love you. You know that? I barely get to see my own son. He still in
Afghanistan so that make me cling on to you even more. You’re a good daddy and husband, and a good son-in-law, too.” She took another bite.

Saint smiled inside and out. For in that moment, all the hassle she’d brought those past few days seemed worth it. He was a sucker for a compliment, especially if it sounded genuine.

“I love you, too, Mama Pam.”

“Good, because I need to stay here another week.” She cut the meager, tender meat away from the bone and worked it over with brute force, causing the plate to clank against the table as she manhandled the poor nub.

Saint froze. “But you just said they’d be done in a few days!” It was taking all of him to not scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, he settled for his tone of ‘alarm’, faux concern for her well-being.

“They will, but I want to spend a few more days with
Xenia while you at work. I need to make sure my baby okay.” She looked up at him with pitiful eyes and an all-knowing smile.

Saint swallowed harshly.

I’ve been had. I’ve been hustled. I’ve been bamboozled, hoodwinked and led astray. Damn you, old woman!

He knew that carelessly chosen words could be his undoing. He had a love-hate relationship with his mother-in-law, mostly love, but living with her was testing him to the limit. All the requests to be driven to the seedy swap meets—most of which were filled with stolen or illegal items—when she was completely capable of driving her own self to and fro, for instance. Instead, she wanted to be chauffeured around in his Lamborghini, Lexus or Escalade and meet up with all her friends.

“Yeah, Chile! Dis here my son-in-law, Xenia’s husband, girl!” she’d declare as soon as he opened her passenger side door. She’d step out the vehicle as if she were Miss America in her pink sequence tops with tight jeans and feet stuffed into shoes that were entirely too small. Saint would roll his eyes and give a tight smile, while burning inside with intense anger. His irritation, though, never lasted long. Pam was too likeable, much to his chagrin, although she continued to push the limits.

To make matters worse, her stay also rendered him prisoner to horror stories he’d never be able to clean away from his mind. Saint was subjected to hearing about all of her ailments from morning until night, like that one time...

“Saint, I got dis here bruise that won’t go away. Must of got it while workin’ hard in the garden, and a tooth that I think is abscessed.”

“Well then
, you need to go to the doctor and dentist,” he offered, not making eye contact—and wishing to not have any conversations with Pam that dealt with the human body in any form or capacity.

“I thought you was a doctor?!
What good is ya?”

“Mama Pam, I am a doctor but dental care is not my specialty. I deal with emotional and mental issues as in connection with sexual and intimacy difficulties—that is my field of expertise. I’m a therapist by trade. You need to go to a dentist if you are having gum pain or issues with your molars.”

“What if I lied and I really got the mouth pain from somethin’ sexual? Like a B.J.? Could ya help me then?”

And so it would go
...

And then the worst of all—bursting into their bedroom unannounced to discuss the play by play of ‘Real Housewives of Atlanta’ that she’d purchased on DVD, and the lecturing to Saint about his eating habits. Tonight was no exception. She’d cornered him and decided to reconvene the topic.

“So, have you ever had pork?” A silly grin broke across her face as she placed her fork down.

Here we go.
“Yes, when I was younger and didn’t have the knowledge I have now regarding dietary issues. I don’t tell other people what to do, Mama Pam. I just know that for me,” he folded his hands on the table. “I have no use for it. It isn’t based on religion for me; it’s based on health, but spiritually, there is a tie as well since I believe in taking care of our temples for a number of reasons—the spiritual aspect being one.”

“So that cookie you just damn near demolished, is that spiritual, too? Was it good for ya soul? You may as well be blue wit’ googly eyes livin’ on
Sesame Street, Mista Cookie Monster, with the way you tore that damn thing up. Where is the crime scene tape?”

Saint laughed lightly and leaned back. He felt himself become sleepy but didn’t want to be rude and up and leave abruptly.

“Saint, God made a pig,” she continued pleading her case. “A pig is good for ya. You got my baby turning her nose up at my cookin’ now. The damn Muslims started this shit. You don’t see folks all over the world braggin’ ’bout Muslim food, now do ya? Ain’t nobody breaking doors down talkin’ about, ‘I just gotta get me some damn Muslim food!’ or, ‘Doctuh said ‘Lay off tha Muslim food!’’ But they do about soul food! The heart of soul food is the pig.”

Saint laughed again. If this continued, it would be an even longer evening than he’d anticipated. “Mama Pam, we don’t digest red meat well. Our bodies have a hard time breaking it down. That’s my main reason. I’m not arguing against its tastiness or desirability from a pallet stand-point, but just because something tastes good doesn’t mean it is
good
for us. A perfect example is how I felt after eating it. It made me tired and I didn’t function at full capacity. I no longer have a need or desire for it. Just swear off of it for thirty days and mark my words, you will feel better, too.”