When Saint Goes Marching In (35 page)
Read When Saint Goes Marching In Online
Authors: Tiana Laveen
The CD stopped.
Xenia
trembled in the water, even though it was still warm. She buried her face in her wet hands as she sobbed. Her mother knelt down to comfort her, a second time.
“Now Xenia, don’t spend too much time in here feeling badly,” she soothed as she rubbed her back. “A lot of women would’ve felt like you. Hell, I even thought he did it but I still wanted you to stay with him and now that we know he didn’t, you gotta make this right. You have to put your family back together. Don’t let that heifa get the last laugh.” Her mother’s lips felt warm against her cheek.
“She wanted your man. Baby, it happens every damn day. Your husband is fine as hell and he is a good man. Why in the world would you think that some ex of his
wouldn’t
want him back if given the chance? Do you know how many of these fast hussies out here would kill somebody to be in yo’ place, Xenia? You my own flesh and blood and even I look at your husband wrong sometimes.” She laughed heartily. “He is nice to you, he is good to you too, and that’s all I’d want for you.” She patted her hand.
Xenia
smiled through her misery. “You’re not right, Mama.”
“No, I’m truthful. He told you the truth; you didn’t believe the man. Now get out of the tub and make this right as soon as you can.” Pam left the bathroom and Xenia to her own thoughts.
“Baby,” Xenia cried. “I’m so sorry. I will spend my whole life trying to make this up to you.”
He probably doesn’t want me back now. He probably doesn’t even want to talk to me. If I were him, I wouldn’t.
Xenia
got out of the tub and dried off, desperation clawing at her. She raced back to the bedroom and redialed her husband.
Shit! Saint, answer this phone. He must really just want to be alone right now. I can’t leave a voicemail about this, it is too serious…I’ll try again in an hour…
* * *
Saint ignored another missed call that morning from Xenia as he waited for Valerie to re-enter her dining room. He looked down at his phone and grimaced. The previous evening after he left her the voicemail regarding the weekend plans with their sons, he turned off everything while he grieved. He sat in pitch blackness in his office, reminiscing and trying to accept the unacceptable.
More shit about the divorce, or just to argue, no doubt. She would’ve left a voicemail if it was about our children.
Valerie walked back into the room with the obituary information and sat down next to him.
“So the funeral is on Wednesday at noon,” Saint repeated as he hugged Valerie and held her hand. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, Saint, thank you. The government is handling everything else. The funeral will be inundated with people, not a private ceremony as I would’ve liked but that is to be expected. It’ll be televised but I’m urging all of you, not that you wouldn’t already know, to be mindful. Don’t discuss the organization while you’re there. James wanted to keep it private, especially after he passed…for my own sake. All anyone knew was that he was heavy into civil rights and would attend special events for African-Americans, like the NAACP Awards,” Valerie explained. “The world isn’t ready yet.”
“Of course, I’d never,” Saint assured.
“You’ve been great as usual, Saint. I know James told you to hang around me and you probably would’ve done it anyway, but I need you to get back home to your family,” she smiled sadly.
Saint scowled at her last comment. He figured James didn’t fill her in. “OK well, I and the other pallbearers will be there early, of course,” he guaranteed.
Saint got up from the intricately designed light gray and silver parlor couch and walked out into the foyer of the beautiful, white mansion that Valerie and James once shared together. She looked so small inside it now. When James was there, every room seemed to be filled to the brim with his exuberance and contagious energy.
Now all that he could hear were occasional footsteps as the cleaning crew milled about, and sound of the lower level refrigerator ice maker churning out new chunks of frozen water.
Saint walked out of the colossal mahogany double front doors and past the six white ribbed pillars that fronted the mansion. He took a deep breath as he walked down the winding, freshly black-topped driveway and got into his Lamborghini. As he drove home, his cell phone rang. He saw on the caller-ID that it was Xenia. Saint sighed and picked up the phone.
“Yes,” he said blandly.
“Um, Saint?” she spoke in a weary voice.
“Who else would it be, Xenia? This is my cell phone after all. I own it exclusively. Oh, wait a minute. You probably think another ex-girlfriend has gotten a hold of it,” he said, feeling a little petty and a lot angry.
“Saint, I was just calling to say…”
“I have to prepare for a funeral, Xenia, the funeral of someone I saw as a father, my boss, one of my best friends. Remember that man James? Or is all you can do, is think about yourself lately? You probably think I’ll use this as an excuse to drag out the divorce since that’s all you seem to care about. I got all of your emails last week. Trust me, I get it. Now you want to call me, and rub it in some more. I can tell you don’t give a shit anymore.”
“Actually, Saint, I…”
“Never mind that though, I have a lot on my mind right now and I’m not in the mood to argue with you. I got the divorce papers two days ago, by the way. It’s all good.”
“Saint, I…”
“Unless this is about my seeds, I really need to go.”
“Well, no, our children are fine but…”
“Bye Xenia.” Saint disconnected from the call.
Xenia
, I need you badly but I can’t handle you right now. The pain’s too strong, too fresh…
Saint kept driving for a long time, hoping against all odds that the lull of the motorway would temper the ache in his heart.
* * *
Xenia
threw her cell phone on the bed. Xenia had tossed and turned the entire night, intermittently trying to call him to no avail. She had decided to not go over that evening, knowing that Saint was already dealing with a lot due to the passing of James and a face-to-face could cause more trouble than assistance. Now that the sun was up, she’d managed to dial those seven digits again, this time in hopes of arranging a meeting.
Saint had blown her off.
He didn’t want her anymore
.
Despair gnawed at her. She leaned back onto her headboard and bit on her bottom lip– trying to stay strong for her sons who were with her in the spare bedroom, sprawled on the floor, watching cartoons.
He is hurting so badly right now, and I can’t even be there for him.
She shut her eyes against the pain and unbearable regret.
Everything is fucked up. He wouldn’t even let me speak but I’ve got to get through to him. I will contact him again after the funeral. He’s just too upset right now, just as I suspected. Saint, please let me make this right!
She hoped sleep would come soon, and prayed that a dream from his soul to hers would tell her what she should do.
* * *
Saint got out the shower and sat down on his bed. In perfect timing, his cell phone rang. He recognized the number immediately.
“Hello, Mr. Clayman,” Saint answered, surprised by the call.
“No, Mr. Aknaten, it’s Mrs. Clayman, Iris Clayman,” she corrected.
Saint smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Clayman. How are you doing? I was just thinking about you yesterday.” Saint stretched his leg out in front of him and flexed his long toes.
“Well, I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate you coming down and speaking to me and my husband. I was also happy, though I know it’s wrong, when I found out that he…that
he
was dead,” Iris admitted.
Saint nodded. “Stanley would never change for the better. He was lost, and he’d only have kept on hurting and murdering innocent people.” Saint shivered as remnants of Stanley’s bad energy flowed through him.
“My husband and I are seeing a marriage therapist, thanks to you, and things are getting better.”
“That’s wonderful, Mrs. Clayman. I hope things continue to improve.”
“The real reason I called, Saint, is because I remembered where I’ve seen you before. I never forget a face.”
“I’m sure I would have…”
“It was in a dream I had, right after I was…attacked,” Iris interrupted. “You came into my house, and I remember thinking, ‘What an absolutely stunning man.’ You had wings, like an angel. You stood over my bed and said to me, ‘Everything is going to be OK. I promise.’” She began to cry.
“Mrs. Clayman, please…” He waited for her to calm down. Saint tensed, he lowered his head and rubbed his temple as he heard her sobbing on the phone.
“He was in that Colorado couple’s house,” she continued. “Tormented that girl and stabbed her poor husband. I saw it on the news. My husband never thought Stanley would do something like this! No one really knew him, that’s clear. You saved me, Saint. He may have even come back for me, who knows? I know you were behind this in some way and I will be eternally grateful!” Iris sobbed.
“You’re welcome, Iris, but I can’t accept credit,” he simply said.
“I know. Because you don’t want to admit anything – I know the truth though, Saint. I know it was you. God bless you.” Iris said before she hung up her phone.
Saint let out a long breath. He fell down on the pillow and looked up at the rotating ceiling fan. The cool breeze that entered the room felt good moving across his naked body. He put his hands behind his head and daydreamed.
His body relaxed, as if invisible hands were massaging him from his forehead down to his toes. His eyelids became heavier and heavier until finally, he slipped into an intoxicatingly delightful dream world.
Xenia
trembled in the water, even though it was still warm. She buried her face in her wet hands as she sobbed. Her mother knelt down to comfort her, a second time.
“Now Xenia, don’t spend too much time in here feeling badly,” she soothed as she rubbed her back. “A lot of women would’ve felt like you. Hell, I even thought he did it but I still wanted you to stay with him and now that we know he didn’t, you gotta make this right. You have to put your family back together. Don’t let that heifa get the last laugh.” Her mother’s lips felt warm against her cheek.
“She wanted your man. Baby, it happens every damn day. Your husband is fine as hell and he is a good man. Why in the world would you think that some ex of his
wouldn’t
want him back if given the chance? Do you know how many of these fast hussies out here would kill somebody to be in yo’ place, Xenia? You my own flesh and blood and even I look at your husband wrong sometimes.” She laughed heartily. “He is nice to you, he is good to you too, and that’s all I’d want for you.” She patted her hand.
Xenia
smiled through her misery. “You’re not right, Mama.”
“No, I’m truthful. He told you the truth; you didn’t believe the man. Now get out of the tub and make this right as soon as you can.” Pam left the bathroom and Xenia to her own thoughts.
“Baby,” Xenia cried. “I’m so sorry. I will spend my whole life trying to make this up to you.”
He probably doesn’t want me back now. He probably doesn’t even want to talk to me. If I were him, I wouldn’t.
Xenia
got out of the tub and dried off, desperation clawing at her. She raced back to the bedroom and redialed her husband.
Shit! Saint, answer this phone. He must really just want to be alone right now. I can’t leave a voicemail about this, it is too serious…I’ll try again in an hour…
* * *
Saint ignored another missed call that morning from Xenia as he waited for Valerie to re-enter her dining room. He looked down at his phone and grimaced. The previous evening after he left her the voicemail regarding the weekend plans with their sons, he turned off everything while he grieved. He sat in pitch blackness in his office, reminiscing and trying to accept the unacceptable.
More shit about the divorce, or just to argue, no doubt. She would’ve left a voicemail if it was about our children.
Valerie walked back into the room with the obituary information and sat down next to him.
“So the funeral is on Wednesday at noon,” Saint repeated as he hugged Valerie and held her hand. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, Saint, thank you. The government is handling everything else. The funeral will be inundated with people, not a private ceremony as I would’ve liked but that is to be expected. It’ll be televised but I’m urging all of you, not that you wouldn’t already know, to be mindful. Don’t discuss the organization while you’re there. James wanted to keep it private, especially after he passed…for my own sake. All anyone knew was that he was heavy into civil rights and would attend special events for African-Americans, like the NAACP Awards,” Valerie explained. “The world isn’t ready yet.”
“Of course, I’d never,” Saint assured.
“You’ve been great as usual, Saint. I know James told you to hang around me and you probably would’ve done it anyway, but I need you to get back home to your family,” she smiled sadly.
Saint scowled at her last comment. He figured James didn’t fill her in. “OK well, I and the other pallbearers will be there early, of course,” he guaranteed.
Saint got up from the intricately designed light gray and silver parlor couch and walked out into the foyer of the beautiful, white mansion that Valerie and James once shared together. She looked so small inside it now. When James was there, every room seemed to be filled to the brim with his exuberance and contagious energy.
Now all that he could hear were occasional footsteps as the cleaning crew milled about, and sound of the lower level refrigerator ice maker churning out new chunks of frozen water.
Saint walked out of the colossal mahogany double front doors and past the six white ribbed pillars that fronted the mansion. He took a deep breath as he walked down the winding, freshly black-topped driveway and got into his Lamborghini. As he drove home, his cell phone rang. He saw on the caller-ID that it was Xenia. Saint sighed and picked up the phone.
“Yes,” he said blandly.
“Um, Saint?” she spoke in a weary voice.
“Who else would it be, Xenia? This is my cell phone after all. I own it exclusively. Oh, wait a minute. You probably think another ex-girlfriend has gotten a hold of it,” he said, feeling a little petty and a lot angry.
“Saint, I was just calling to say…”
“I have to prepare for a funeral, Xenia, the funeral of someone I saw as a father, my boss, one of my best friends. Remember that man James? Or is all you can do, is think about yourself lately? You probably think I’ll use this as an excuse to drag out the divorce since that’s all you seem to care about. I got all of your emails last week. Trust me, I get it. Now you want to call me, and rub it in some more. I can tell you don’t give a shit anymore.”
“Actually, Saint, I…”
“Never mind that though, I have a lot on my mind right now and I’m not in the mood to argue with you. I got the divorce papers two days ago, by the way. It’s all good.”
“Saint, I…”
“Unless this is about my seeds, I really need to go.”
“Well, no, our children are fine but…”
“Bye Xenia.” Saint disconnected from the call.
Xenia
, I need you badly but I can’t handle you right now. The pain’s too strong, too fresh…
Saint kept driving for a long time, hoping against all odds that the lull of the motorway would temper the ache in his heart.
* * *
Xenia
threw her cell phone on the bed. Xenia had tossed and turned the entire night, intermittently trying to call him to no avail. She had decided to not go over that evening, knowing that Saint was already dealing with a lot due to the passing of James and a face-to-face could cause more trouble than assistance. Now that the sun was up, she’d managed to dial those seven digits again, this time in hopes of arranging a meeting.
Saint had blown her off.
He didn’t want her anymore
.
Despair gnawed at her. She leaned back onto her headboard and bit on her bottom lip– trying to stay strong for her sons who were with her in the spare bedroom, sprawled on the floor, watching cartoons.
He is hurting so badly right now, and I can’t even be there for him.
She shut her eyes against the pain and unbearable regret.
Everything is fucked up. He wouldn’t even let me speak but I’ve got to get through to him. I will contact him again after the funeral. He’s just too upset right now, just as I suspected. Saint, please let me make this right!
She hoped sleep would come soon, and prayed that a dream from his soul to hers would tell her what she should do.
* * *
Saint got out the shower and sat down on his bed. In perfect timing, his cell phone rang. He recognized the number immediately.
“Hello, Mr. Clayman,” Saint answered, surprised by the call.
“No, Mr. Aknaten, it’s Mrs. Clayman, Iris Clayman,” she corrected.
Saint smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Clayman. How are you doing? I was just thinking about you yesterday.” Saint stretched his leg out in front of him and flexed his long toes.
“Well, I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate you coming down and speaking to me and my husband. I was also happy, though I know it’s wrong, when I found out that he…that
he
was dead,” Iris admitted.
Saint nodded. “Stanley would never change for the better. He was lost, and he’d only have kept on hurting and murdering innocent people.” Saint shivered as remnants of Stanley’s bad energy flowed through him.
“My husband and I are seeing a marriage therapist, thanks to you, and things are getting better.”
“That’s wonderful, Mrs. Clayman. I hope things continue to improve.”
“The real reason I called, Saint, is because I remembered where I’ve seen you before. I never forget a face.”
“I’m sure I would have…”
“It was in a dream I had, right after I was…attacked,” Iris interrupted. “You came into my house, and I remember thinking, ‘What an absolutely stunning man.’ You had wings, like an angel. You stood over my bed and said to me, ‘Everything is going to be OK. I promise.’” She began to cry.
“Mrs. Clayman, please…” He waited for her to calm down. Saint tensed, he lowered his head and rubbed his temple as he heard her sobbing on the phone.
“He was in that Colorado couple’s house,” she continued. “Tormented that girl and stabbed her poor husband. I saw it on the news. My husband never thought Stanley would do something like this! No one really knew him, that’s clear. You saved me, Saint. He may have even come back for me, who knows? I know you were behind this in some way and I will be eternally grateful!” Iris sobbed.
“You’re welcome, Iris, but I can’t accept credit,” he simply said.
“I know. Because you don’t want to admit anything – I know the truth though, Saint. I know it was you. God bless you.” Iris said before she hung up her phone.
Saint let out a long breath. He fell down on the pillow and looked up at the rotating ceiling fan. The cool breeze that entered the room felt good moving across his naked body. He put his hands behind his head and daydreamed.
His body relaxed, as if invisible hands were massaging him from his forehead down to his toes. His eyelids became heavier and heavier until finally, he slipped into an intoxicatingly delightful dream world.
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