Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (50 page)

Henry sighed and glanced out the windo
w. Xenia followed his eyes. The dark blue ocean waves moved like a Hawaiian woman doing a hula dance, mesmerizing and enchanting, swaying back and forth toward the shore, inviting love, and then taking it away.

“Xenia, it isn’t your fault, so don’t think I’m blaming you but
—you were just so angry with me. Every time when I’d try to speak to you…” He faced her, his expression grave. “…Xenia, it was evident you had not forgiven me. I couldn’t blame you, and I should’ve tried harder. I should have gotten on my knees if I had to. Instead, I clung to the one child that was talking to me, your sister. I figured one outta three ain’t bad.”

“But now?”
She rolled her napkin around her index finger, her eyes growing tired, and her faith in his words tested.

“Now, I know what’s important in life
, and I’m willing to act on it. You
can
teach an old dog new tricks. I had an awakening, so to speak. I didn’t want this anymore, Xenia. I missed you!”

She stared at him, wishing, hoping, but keeping her expression solemn.

“This alienation, life without my family, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had grandchildren I’d never laid eyes on. A son-in-law I’d never laid eyes on ’cept for the magazines Porsche showed me of him. I ain’t getting any younger. I had to make this right and whether you accept me or not back into your life, Xenia, I at least know I tried with all my heart this time. I did it right. No one can stop me anymore from being the father you need, except for you.”

The heavy words marinated in Xenia’s mind, simmering like a pot of chili on low.
While she mulled them over, she felt her father’s hand on hers. She looked down at their hands on the table and clutched that napkin a bit tighter under his grip. He reacted by holding her hand a bit snugger. Fighting the urge to pull away, she stayed in the moment, feeling the connection, the chance for a new beginning. She couldn’t forgive him right then and there, but she had to start somewhere.

“Xenia, please give me a chance. I love you so much, and I miss you.” She could see her reflection in his eyes, and it reminded her
of when he used to tell her and her sister that they were the apple of his eye.

“Okay, Daddy. I can’t promise anything, but I will try. I really will.”
With a smile, she let the napkin go, turned her palm into his and linked her fingers with his. Her father’s face softened, renewed hope in his eyes.

Inside, Xenia danced.

Hassani, Dakarai and Isis will finally be a part of his life. They won’t miss out on this experience…

I could receive the love from him that I always wanted, if he is really sincere like he claims to be
. I love my father, and hell, we can’t redo the past. We can only move forward…

Xenia could fi
nally hear those words her heart had longed for, for so many years…

“Daddy’s home
, baby girl…”

~***~

Saint inhaled the scent of the citrusy fruit, ran his thumb across the pocked skin and tossed two more navel oranges in the plastic bag as the elevator music continued to play in the grocery store. It was almost ten at night, and Xenia and the children were fast asleep back home. He had a lot on his mind. Peculiar dreams were keeping him up at night and he found himself working out excessively in the home gym as he battled yet another round of insomnia. All that extra movement required more fuel. He figured it may have had something to do with the healing from Krishna. Lawrence did warn that may be one of the side effects for a while. Saint moseyed down the bread aisle, trying to find his favorite whole-wheat brand, the one with the tiny sesame and poppy seeds in the translucent orange wrapping paper. He stopped and stretched his arms; a stiff yawn followed.

I need more stuff for my breakfast in the mornings…

He located his favorite bread and tossed it in the cart
.
In the mornings, he stocked up on items for his green smoothies, and lunch would consist of ample fresh fruit, whole grains and vegetables with plenty of protein. He found himself famished and didn’t want to be a victim of those damn work vending machines that only offered high-caloric foods with no nutritional value. In midnight oil sessions and acts of desperation, he’d bought too many candy bars, causing a crash and burn. And he knew better than to eat too much of that shit. His body was a machine, and it needed the best fuel that organic produce had to offer. As he perused the almost vacant grocery isles, his thoughts drifted back to those fragmented, odd dreamscapes. In them, he’d heard muffled screaming and yelling, seen hoards of men racing toward him with balled up pieces of paper and a woman crying in a corner. It all unfolded in a flash, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but it kept reoccurring, night after night. He remembered feeling panicked, cornered and angry as hell, as if something near and dear to him were hemorrhaging.

I don’t know what the hell this is all about. There’s been a lot going on, though. I may need to ask Xenia for one of her sleeping pills tonight.
I hate that it has come to this, but I’ve got to get some sleep! Three evenings straight, and up all night like a damn owl… Hootie Hoooo! I need some nocturnal relaxation, mothafucka! Who am I cussing out? No one is here, and I’m talking to myself, inside of my head… See, this is what happens when I’m sleep deprived…in this damn store losing my damned mind!

“Oh damn, I forgot the
coconut milk,” Saint whispered aloud, then double backed to the dairy section and placed two cardboard containers of the milk in the cart for his smoothies. He stifled another yawn and walked to the front of the grocery store. He hoped his lethargy was not in vain, that good tidings would soon follow.

“Oh, don’t use any plastic. I brought my wife’s grocery bags.” He smiled at the cashier, a skinny African
youngster with ‘Abdul’ on his nametag. The teen looked at him and smiled, nodding in understanding as he placed the bags back down. “She usually does the grocery shopping, but I needed some things and didn’t want her out tonight.” Saint felt like a bit of a chatterbox, and hoped the teenager would say something engaging.

“That was very nice of you
,” the boy offered, his English perfect, the words tinted with a slight accent that sounded possibly as if he were from Senegal. Saint tried to not stare at his skin, but found it virtually impossible. Silky smooth, and dark and rich, like fresh coffee grinds. The shade reminded him of someone and it irked him that he would think of her ever again…

Payton…

Saint waited for his groceries to be bagged as he drifted into deep thoughts…

Her skin
was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. He’d asked her permission to trace her cheek on their first date, just so he could feel that silky gorgeousness. Her entire body was covered in the black magic and he never got enough of looking at their contrasting bodies during their heated—at times violent—lovemaking sessions. He’d lock his arms and legs around her, pinning her down as if he were a crab and she some sort of prey on a beach, and just stare at their intertwined bodies, almost climaxing from the image alone. He hated that she hated her skin…it made him feel prickly that Payton had problems being dark complexioned. She was beautiful, and she knew it, but she felt she’d be
more
beautiful if she were a little bit lighter. These horrible feelings were fed to her from her verbally and emotionally abusive father. Payton’s complexion seemed to come out of ‘nowhere’. Her father was very light, damn near white in appearance, a tad lighter than Mama Pam, and her mother was a medium brown, yet here was this child, the color of the sky on a clear night, teeth so white against it, they didn’t look real. She was now in Saint’s mind, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes upon. Regardless of being hideous on the inside, she still radiated a special glow. He felt sorry for the woman for he’d known; he was part of her problem, though she tried to make him part of the solution. She’d wreaked havoc on his marriage, almost pulling the plug on the whole shindig—and if it weren’t for his mentor, James, Saint was convinced he’d be sharing joint custody with his Queen for Hassani and Dakarai right that very moment and subsequently, Isis would have never been conceived. He hadn’t thought about that female fiend in eons, and it perplexed him why she’d enter his thoughts at this point in time. Sure, the cashier had a similar complexion, but it was more than that. The sexual violation haunted Saint and at times, he could still hear her removing his shoes in the back of that car.
Thud. One shoe falling on the floor, then the other.

Countless times, he
relived the scene: her undoing his belt, him frozen in time as she slid the black leather through the loops of his dress slacks, the metal buckle clinking. He’d wake up in a cold sweat at the point of the nightmare when the woman jerked his pants and underwear down, and the cool night air hit his bare thighs. He remembered the tears that welled up in his eyes as he helplessly watched her wrap her mouth around his penis. The entire time, he was praying to God for a miracle, praying his dear Goddess wouldn’t see what was happening and misunderstand. Sometimes, the whole damn thing would play out as if he were being desecrated all over again, and he’d jump out of the bed, sure he was going to vomit. He could smell her perfume still, after all of these years. The way it filled the car as she bobbed up and down on him, riding him hard and rough, trying to make him ejaculate inside of her. He’d felt nothing. Numb. He was thankful for that. Thankful that the drugs caused him to have very little sensation, but unfortunately still enough to get a damn boner from her oral prowess. After that, he knew firsthand how his female rape victims felt. The violation. The helplessness. The disgust. The self-blame. Then, the fear…

Did I have any precum? If I did,
I still could have gotten her pregnant…

Does she have
herpes, chlamydia, HIV, or worse yet, full blown AIDS? If so, Xenia will never stay married to me if Payton gave me that shit…

My marriage is over anyway…my woman thinks I willingly fucked another woman…

And so it continued…

Saint left the appalling deliberations behind
for the moment, clearing his throat as he became lucid.

“Well, she is a better shopper than me. I usually forget stuff, but as you can see, I needed some more healthy alternatives.” Saint reached into his po
cket, pulled out his wallet and peered at the amount on the screen. He slid out his debit card and handed it back to the young man. Just that quickly, warning signs dragged him back down the rabbit hole.

Payton…why am I thinking abou
t you? I’m not too fond of you and besides the occasional nightmares you cause me because of your disgusting, vile act upon my body, you are a non-mothafuckin’ factor in my life. I really hope you aren’t up to anything because I meant what the fuck I said to you. Don’t make me do it.

He gritted his teeth as he drifted in thought.

“Sir.” The cashier called out, interrupting Saint’s thoughts. “Here is your receipt.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Saint laughed lightly
, took the receipt and picked up the cloth bags.

“No problem. Thank you for shopping at Trader Joe’s.”

Saint nodded at the boy. “Thank you for bagging my groceries. You have a good evening.” Saint sighed as he exited the automatic doors, three bags in each hand. It was now almost eleven o’clock and he felt relieved that his eyes were a bit heavy. He headed toward his silver Lamborghini, and as he approached, he spotted two men, dressed in black, a short distance away. Saint slowed his gait and observed them. The two men glared at him as they stood by a blue Toyota Camry. Only a few cars dotted the parking lot, and the store was set to close soon.

What the fuck are these mothafuckas up to? Are they planning to rob poor Abdul? That boy is in there alone at the register.

Saint swallowed, becoming more defensive. He unlocked his door, keeping his eyes glued to the two men who continued to stand like statues. He didn’t dare pop his trunk. That would obscure his view. He took notice of their body language…hands clenching and relaxing, ready to get into some shit.

Yeah, these bastards are up to something. Fuck! I can’t go
now; I need to find out what’s going on. He slid the bags quickly over to the passenger seat.

Crime is rampant now! Nowh
ere is safe…

Before Saint could form another thought, the two men
charged at him like frenzied bats in the night.

“What the fuck?!” Saint screamed out as a fist landed across his jaw, making him dizzy. His car alarm blared as his body barreled into the side of the vehicle, a loud crash from the impact. “This is pay back, mothafucka!
” one of the men said. “You ain’t the king of L.A. Go back to where you came from!”

Saint grunted
when a fist pounded into his stomach. As he cradled himself, he felt the heat in his eyes and his body convulse. The change was starting. Slowly, he straightened himself and looked at the men as they attempted to jump him once again. One had a sparkling silver rod showing from the inside of his jacket—a hammer.

Jesus Christ…

Before they could follow through with their plan, Saint grabbed them both by the neck.