Saved and SAINTified (46 page)

“Well, let’s just say I have some surprise
s up my sleeve, and I’ll be ready.” Saint walked back over to his computer and turned the music back on, but kept it at a low volume.

“Okay, I’m sure you do. If you want to discuss it or run
anything past me, please do. Anyway, I won’t hold you, just looking out for you, Saint. I looked into the man’s eyes. He is pure evil. And besides, I feel ... I feel like we are really close now, you and I, and I’d hate for something to happen to you or Xenia.” Saint could hear the deep trepidation in Lawrence’s voice.

“And I appreciate that,
Lawrence, I really do. I also will take you up on your offer if need be and I promise to be careful. Get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“I will. T
alk to ya soon.”

Saint
ended the call and tossed his phone onto the couch. He paced, running his hands up and down his face. So many things ran through his mind, worries that he tried to push aside. He’d been having bad dreams again, and he knew they were nothing to ignore.

Time to get everyone in gear
. Only a few months to go before Isis is born.

He cracked his knuckles. After a few moments, he headed to his wet bar and poured himself a drink
, filling the glass with Crown Royal to the rim.

“No more spirited water from Beset
. She’s all out. This will have to do!” He placed the glass to his lips. “Cheers! It’s about to go
down
...”

****

Three weeks later...

“Please, you must not do anything out of the ordinary.” Beset poured the cup of coffee, holding the
black and silver carafe steady.

“But I can’t leave her here, Beset.”
Saint cleared his throat as he adjusted in his seat at the breakfast bar in his kitchen. He looked around, trying to keep his voice down.

“Yes, you must. This conference you speak of was planned in advance, yes?”

“Yeah, but...”

“Then it’s settled. I will watch over her and the children. Besides, it is not for a
while, but I know you plan these things well in advance. Even your wife demanded you go, Saint.”

“Of course she’d say that, Beset.
Xenia acts like Mrs. Fearless sometimes but I’m not buying it. I know her heart. She is scared out of her mind sometimes. I just don’t feel comfortable with you being the only person here. No offense.” He took the mug from her hands and sipped it. “Thank you. I don’t like coffee though.”

The old lady grinned
. “I know, but you need it this morning. You have two radio interviews ... and the final finishing touches to make for your conference.”

“No conference
... no, no!” He shook his finger and took another sip, grimacing as it went down his throat.

“You are going
, too.” Xenia came up behind him and kissed his ear as she slid into a seat next to him. “Good morning, Beset.” She rubbed her belly, crossed her legs and scratched her scarf covered head as a yawn escaped her mouth.

“Good morning, Mrs. Aknaten. How
did you rest? Better, yes?”

“I did. Thank you so much for that tea. It’s hard getting comfortable now in the bed. I’m a belly sleeper and now that’s impossible. I shouldn’t be doing it anyway, but old habits die hard.”

“You’re supposed to be on your side,” Saint chimed in as he masked a smirk on his face.

Xenia
rolled her eyes. “Always bossing me around.” She accepted the mug of coffee from Beset and took a sip. “Mmmm, this is good, Beset. Thank you.”

“
Yes. I will make you both breakfast, and the children.” She turned and walked toward the stove.

Xenia
abruptly turned toward Saint and yanked the sleeve of his shirt, almost causing him to spill his drink.

“What’d you do that for?”
His eyebrows bunched in annoyance as he placed it down on the counter.

“
Saint, now look—it is really important that you do what we agreed to. We said at the beginning of this, we’d behave as normal but you have not been doing that, not by a long shot.”

“
Xenia, my first priority is your and our family’s well-being. I can’t stick to a plan if I don’t think it is in your best interest.”

“
Saint, that’s just the thing, it
is
in my best interest. Look, my mom can come by every now and again and she can...”

“
Xenia, what the hell is Mama Pam going to do if Nizsm comes here?! Curse him out to death?! Death by ‘motherfucker’?  Like a million ‘fuck-yous’ will remedy the problem, huh? Blow cigarette smoke on him so much that he keels over from instant lung cancer. Come on now!” Saint turned away from her, staring at his coffee mug.

“
Saint, you have two Rainbeau Knights escorting me to work now. They are obviously oblivious as to why and then at night, you have Lawrence doing a couple drive-bys every damn evening.”

Saint
looked at her, feigning surprise.

“Don’t give me that look
. That’s right! I know all about it.” She pointed her finger in his face. “I’ve seen his car circling our house for a while now. This is just getting ridiculous! You told me that I needed to stay happy and peaceful, but I am anything
but
! When is this going to end, huh?”

“After he’s dead
.”

He stared at his wife, his face serious and his body relaxed. He took another sip of his coffee. The words themselves were a reprieve. Just to say
them, gave him a small moment of peace. It unnerved him that he was delighting in this, the thought of gutting the man from head to toe like a fish, and he played it out quite happily in his mind. He’d never wanted to kill anyone so badly in all his life. Even Stanley didn’t scratch the surface of this new found hatred he was gorging on for breakfast, lunch and dinner, on a daily basis. Yet, he was never full. He needed the real thing—so that the people he loved could be at peace.

Xenia
turned away, grimacing. He picked up a small brown book off the counter that had caught his interest at the airport bookstore in Egypt while he waited for the plane. He was shocked that it lined up with what Beset later told him about regarding the angel, Gabriel. He flipped through it casually. His hands landed on a page that depicted seven Archangels: Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Selaphiel, Jegudiel, and Barachiel. He became transfixed on the illustrations—the clouds, the larger than life wings and the intensity of their faces.

Beset was right. The archangels are identified in Islam.

He had no idea why such a thing would be in an Egyptian airport bookstore that was chock full of overpriced touristy merchandise. It was strange the way it had just lain there ... yet this book
was
there, the only one of its kind sitting on the shelf all by its lonesome. Three of the angels drew him in, their faces full of angst. He was surprised at how angry they looked, holding weapons, not harps. They were fighting. Their legs were muscular. They looked like grown men who lived in ancient gyms—with their curly locks, beards, Gladiator sandals and a ‘fuck with me if you dare’ aura. Saint saw a bit of himself in the depictions of the old oil paintings. They seemed alive, however. He imagined his mind was playing tricks on him as he believed he saw their eyes staring at him, as much as he was staring down at
them
. Just then, Xenia’s voice cut through his fixated thoughts.

“You told me you need to see your father
, run back to New York for a few things, but you’re afraid to leave me. You told me we need to go the firing range; you want to teach me how to shoot a gun! Saint, Lord Jesus.” She shook her head and turned away from him. “I already know how to shoot a gun,” she whispered before taking another sip of her coffee.

“Yeah, but you’re rusty and you never had any defense training. It’s overdue
... and watch your coffee intake. That’s not decaf.”

Xenia
let out a long-suffering sigh while Beset piled yellow, fluffy scrambled eggs onto four plates, along with crispy hash browns and home-made waffles topped with fresh, thinly sliced strawberries with powdered sugar.

“Beset, this is really nice, but you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“No no, I want you to have all the comforts of home without you having to do all of the work. I’ve been using your cookbook.” She pointed to the red and white Betty Crocker staple conveniently placed in the corner next to the stove. “Little Isis is growing and also Hassani and Dakarai. You all need the food, Mrs. Aknaten.”

Xenia
slumped in her seat as she took one of the plates from the old woman’s hand. “Beset, please call me Xenia. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t, but I want you to feel comfortable ...
all the time
. And besides, I don’t like an elder calling me that—it seems disrespectful. You insisted I call you by your first name when you first got here, and I insist the same.” She smiled pleasantly at the old woman.

“I understand.” She handed
Saint his plate and turned back toward the stove.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

Saint’s eyebrow shot up. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“You need to calm down
,” Xenia chided. “We have people drop by all the time.”

“I’m not answering it
,” he grumbled before taking a forkful of eggs, quickly shoving them into his mouth. “Mmmm,” he moaned in delight.

“Why don’t you respond to
my
eggs like that?”

“I do
... I just prefer to impregnate yours!” He laughed raucously. The doorbell rang again. Xenia punched him playfully on the shoulder as she slid out of her chair.

“I’ll get the door.”

“No, I’ll get it!” Saint slammed his fork down and gently pushed her back. “See?” He shook his finger at her. “That is exactly what I’m talking about.” He made his way out of the kitchen through the family room and grand entrance way. He looked out the peephole, took a deep breath and after bracing himself, opened the door wide open.

“Hi Mama Pam,” he grinned, certain that his stressful morning would hit the skids. He looked her up and down, his eyes searching to find something humorous about her get-up
to grant him a temporary escape from his woes, and there it was—an orange bouncy feather on each of her green shoes ... just sitting there atop them as if it had been super-glued. And it probably had. He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey,
Saint.” She brushed him aside and entered the house, adjusting her white bra strap and removing her large red Coach bag from around her shoulder.

“Now look
.” She squinted her eyes and pointed at him. “Those roofers have tore my damn house up! I can’t stay in there with half the roof gone. It looks like I’m outside campin’! I can look up and see the damn stars ’nd shit. I ain’t no damn girlscout ... ain’t no marshmallow on a stick and I don’t have any damn cookies! You’d think I was a damn astrologer ... moons and Venus ’nd shit. Scorpio with Virgo risin’!”

Saint
shook his head and grinned. It took all of him to keep from laughing. He knew better; she was serious, evident from the scowl on her face.

“Porshe and my grandbaby is stayin’ with a friend that lives close to her job, but I need to stay here for a week or two. That’s how long they said it would take.
Xenia! Xeeeenia!” She called through the house, her bright green sling back kitten heels clacked against the marble floor, the feather waving around frantically with each hard step toward the kitchen.

Saint
closed his eyes, and took another deep breath.

What did I do to deserve this, God?

He closed the front door and locked it, joining his mother-in-law and wife back in the kitchen.

“And who the hell is this?” Pam slammed her purse on the
corner kitchen table and removed a pack of cigarettes.

“Uh,
Mama, you can’t smoke in the kitchen, remember?” Xenia whispered to her.

“Oh hell! That’s right
, you don’t want me smokin’ ’round the kids and you being pregnant ’nd all. I need to stay in the guest house then. I can’t live this way.” She plopped down into a chair and stared holes into Beset. “Y’all gotta a new cook or somethin’? Hey, can she cook pork chops and greens? I need someone to cook for me sometimes, too.”

“Mama, this is Beset. Remember I told you we had some help here now? She is
... our nanny, just for a short while until I give birth.”

“Nanny? Beset, huh? Beset, are you some kin to
Saint, here? I see you dressed like a big ass doily. You a Muslim too, huh?”

“Mama,
Saint isn’t Muslim, you know that.” Xenia grimaced.

“His damn daddy is. That’s good enough for me. She got on that stuff the Muslim women wear, all you can
usually see are their eyes. I see she showin’ her full face. Usually I bet she wrapped tight like a mummy, like she a damn newborn bein’ swaddled for the winter ... baby Jesus in a manger.”