Chapter 96: Mama G vs. The Southern Spitfire

Sam woke to sunlight streaming through the window. She smiled and stretched, then remembered Jon had gone. And left Hath’s mom here. She lay there for a few minutes trying to get completely awake, without the benefit of coffee. Not that she wasn't sure that Pauline would be happy to bring her some. She just wasn't ready to deal with the woman yet this morning. God, how she wanted a cigarette, but she'd quit smoking, cold turkey, when she'd found out she was pregnant. Although, the coma had helped with the cold turkey part. Justin began singing from her bedside table. Jon still had the Sexy Back ringtone, but now it was a combination of two different parts of the song.

"I'm bringing sexy back (yeah), them other f*ckers don't know how to act (yeah), see these shackles baby, I'm your slave."

Sam smiled. "G'morning baby," she answered.

Jon loved the sound of her voice first thing in the morning, still husky from sleep. "Back at ya, babe. How's Pauline this morning?"

"I didn't kill her and hide her body if that's what you're asking," she answered. Although the thought did cross my mind, she added silently to herself.

"Good," he said, smiling, "I was afraid you woulda smothered her with her pillow while she slept or something." He was only half-joking. You never could tell with Sam's temper.

"But, to answer your question, I haven't seen Hitler yet this morning. I just woke up."

Jon glanced at his watch. It was almost 10:00 at home; Sam never slept this late. Maybe Pauline was doing all the right things already, if she'd gotten Sam to sleep late. "Hitler? C'mon Sam, she can't be that bad."

"Jon, that dayum woman tried to tell me just how long I could be on the computer last night! After I was defenseless and all alone with her, she told me I could only be on the computer for 20 more minutes, but then I needed to get some rest. That, I could 'play with my friends tomorrow'. Do you believe that shit?"

Actually he did believe it, but he wasn't going to tell his temperamental wife that shit. He was having a hard time imagining Sam 'defenseless' too. "Defenseless and alone? Come on, baby. You're never defenseless, not as long as you still have that razor-edged knife you call a tongue. Don't try to make me feel sorry for you and send Pauline home. We have a deal."

"I haven't forgotten we have a deal, Jon," she responded, imperiously. "I'm not reneging. But, I don't have to like it. She brought me hot tea, for fuck's sake."

Jon knew how Sam felt about hot tea. She'd more than made her feelings on the subject crystal clear. "Not with lemon?" he asked, barely controlling his laughter. She had told him that her mother always said that 'no self-respecting Southerner drinks their tea with lemon in it.'

"Fuck you, Jon."

"I wish you could, baby. Really," he said with feeling.

"God, baby, I miss you so much already," Sam told him. "So does Lyndsay," she added when she felt her daughter kick her.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked her.

"Of course. Hitler wouldn't have it any other way. But, Jon, I'm telling you right now, I'm not gonna take this shit lying down. She's not gonna run over me like a damn bulldozer. I'm gonna do whatever the hell I want to do, when I want to do it...at least, what I can do from the so-called comfort of this dayum bed. And, I'm promising you something else. We may have to get rid of this bed when this is all over, because I'm not sure I ever wanna see a dayum bed again after this."

"Whatever you want, baby. As long as you get the rest the doctor ordered. Stay off your feet," he ordered.

"Yes, Daddy," she answered sullenly.

"That's right," he told her huskily, tossing in an imitation groan, "call me 'Daddy'."

"You're impossible. Call me later. Love you," she told him.

Jon laughed. "I love you too, Sam."

She hung up the phone, and sighing dramatically, she padded to the bathroom and took care of business. She showered and dressed, and checked her blood pressure. Still elevated. She returned to her room to find Hath’s mom had made up the bed and cleared away the glasses from last night. And taken the laptop.

Fuming, she stalked to the door. “PAULINE!” she yelled.

The woman in question poked her head out of her door. “Oh, good morning, Sam. Did you sleep well?”

Either this woman was clueless or she was choosing to ignore Sam’s temper. Either way, it was pissing her off more. “Where’s my dayum laptop?”

Hath’s mom tilted her head, and mimicked Sam’s voice. “Well, Pauline, it was hard to sleep without my husband, but I managed,” she said, then switched to her normal voice. “And your damned laptop is downstairs in the sunroom. I thought you might like a change of scenery. I imagine Jon had you cooped up in this room most of the weekend.”

“Uh, yeah, he did,” Sam said.

“Not that it isn’t decorated beautifully, but I think you need some sun. Let’s get you settled downstairs then, and I’ll make you breakfast,” Pauline said, and led the way downstairs.

“I’m not hungry,” Sam said churlishly, and I don’t need any sun, she added mentally. She stalked ahead of Pauline. It was her damned house, after all. At least the older woman wasn’t trying to carry her. They went into the sunroom, and Sam saw that Pauline had set up a small table and chair near the patio doors so she could see outside. The laptop was on another table, and a light blanket was on the couch waiting for her. An assortment of books, magazines and movies were in a basket by the couch, and the radio was playing softly.

Sam sat by the window and looked outside to see Diva out doing her business, and take a drink out of the pond. Hath’s mom waited until Sam had settled into the chair, then handed her the walkie-talkie.

“Okay,” Pauline answered. “Let me know when Lyndsay would like something for breakfast,” she said, then left the room.

Sam started feeling guilty that she wasn’t feeding her baby. Realizing that a guilt trip was exactly what the older woman had been going for, Sam slapped her hand down against the table. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath, and grabbed the phone to call Hath’s cell.

“This is Hath,” she answered.

“Hath, it’s Sam.”

“Oh, how’s Mom doing? Annoying the shit out of you yet?” Hath was laughing.

“How’d you guess?”

“I have met the woman,” Hath said dryly. “What’d she do?”

Sam sighed. “She told me how long I could be on the computer last night, and this morning, moved me down to the sunroom. She’s got me ensconced in a chair by the window, and is trying to guilt me into eating breakfast. And, she brought me hot tea for Christ’s sake.”

“That bitch,” Hath said without rancor. “Look, she’s just trying to be helpful. She’s gonna do what she thinks is right until you tell her otherwise. She’s a Mom; that doesn’t change when her own chicks grow up and move away. That’s what she knows how to do. Once my brother and I came along, that was her full-time job.” Hath was thoughtful for a minute. “She thinks of you like a sister to me, which means she’s gonna mother you unless you tell her you don’t particularly want that.” She was trying to be gentle; remembering about Sam’s own mother. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to make Sam miss her own more than she already does. “And for heaven’s sake, TELL the woman you don’t like hot tea.”

“It’s not just that,” Sam said. “I don’t know how to explain it to you without getting you all pissed off at me.”

“Let me try. She came in, a virtual stranger to you, and has jumped right in mothering you without asking if you wanted or needed a mother. She’s bugging you all the time to make sure you’re comfortable, or asking if you need anything. She’s trying to anticipate what you want, and is doing things without asking. In short, she’s taking over your life, and it’s making you mad.”

Sam laughed. “Been through this before, I see?”

“Oh, she’s just getting warmed up. Just wait for the subtle guilt and unsolicited advice. You won’t even realize she’s done it for a day or two, then when it hits you – WHAM! – it’ll get you riled up again.” Hath laughed, then turned serious. “But when you’re sad or scared or just feeling like shit, she’ll be there with a quiet hug and gentle hands, and she’ll hold you until you’re all cried out.” Hath cleared her throat. “Look, if it’s not working out, and she’s pissing you off too much, I’ll bring her back here with me, and we can look for a housekeeping service or private nurse. I can guarantee, though, they won’t care about you, they’ll just care about getting a paycheck.”

Sam thought on that for a minute. “I guess I can live with the mothering, but not the bossing around.”

“Good luck with getting her to separate the two,” Hath chuckled. “Do you want me to talk to her?”

“No, I think I can handle it,” Sam said sarcastically. “I do argue my point for a living, you know.”

Hath laughed. “Okay then. Talk to you later?”

“You bet. Bye.”

“Bye, Sam.”

Sam sighed and picked up the walkie-talkie. She felt ridiculous, but pressed the call button. “Pauline, I’d love some breakfast, if it’s not too much trouble,” she said.

“Hot or cold, dear,” Pauline asked.

“Hot,” Sam answered.

“Coming right up!”

Sam spent a few minutes watching Marchie’s men arrive to work on the landscaping. They were doing a good job, and she could see it would be beautiful when it was done. Pauline was trying to wrestle Diva back into the house and Sam laughed. This ought to be good. After a few minutes, she heard the exasperated woman shout, “Diva! Bring your ass!” and the dog heeled, and was reluctantly led into the house. Sam sat there with her chin on the floor. Diva never came to anyone when she didn't want to, not even with that command. Except for her, and more recently Jon. Maybe, getting rid of this woman wasn't going to be as easy as Sam had first thought.

Sam heard Diva’s nails on the floor and called out, “In here, baby!” and Diva came trotting in, chuffed indignantly, and flopped down on the floor at Sam’s feet. The dog’s nose was pressed up against the glass, and she was watching the activity intently. When she caught sight of Marcelli, she let out a low growl.

“Easy, Deeve,” Sam said softly, and the dog quieted.

“She is very well trained,” Pauline said from the doorway. She had a tray with what looked like it should hold breakfast, but Sam couldn’t tell what was on it. It sure didn’t smell like breakfast. Pauline brought the tray over to the table and set it down gently.

“What the hell is that?”

Pauline was unflappable. “Breakfast, dear. I thought gruel and mush would be appropriate for the prisoner.” There was a twinkle in her eye, as she pointed at the oatmeal and yogurt she had brought. There was also dry toast, fruit, and tea. Hot tea.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I would have preferred eggs and bacon,” Sam said.

“I’m sure you would, but this is healthier. No salt, low cholesterol,” Pauline said. “I couldn’t find any decaf coffee, so I brought you more tea.”

Sam sighed, and looked up to the ceiling. “Sorry, I don’t like hot tea,” she said, then decided she was sounding snippy. “Can you make sweet tea?” she asked.

“I’m sure I can if you tell me how,” Pauline answered. Sam explained the process, and Pauline nodded, then took the hot tea away. “Anything else?”

“No, not right now,” Sam answered. When Pauline left the room, she grudgingly had a bite of the oatmeal, and was surprised to find it was sweet and delicious. Suddenly ravenous, she ate the whole bowl, not leaving anything for Diva to lick at. She ate most of the yogurt and fruit too, then set the yogurt cup in the floor for Diva to finish off. Her dog loved yogurt, and it was really quite entertaining to watch the huge dog try to lick the stuff out of the bottom of the container. Her tongue alone was bigger than the whole cup. She was nibbling at the toast and watching Diva chase the little cup around the room as she determinedly tried to get the last little drop of yogurt out of it, when Pauline came back in with a glass of sweet tea.

“How was breakfast,” Pauline asked.

“Surprisingly good,” Sam admitted. “How’d you get the oatmeal so sweet?”

“Maple syrup, sugar, and cinnamon.” She winked at Sam. “Can’t eat it otherwise, it tastes like shit.”

Sam laughed, and took the tea from Pauline. She sipped at it, and made a face. It wasn’t quite right. “Thanks for the tea,” Sam said.

“What’s wrong with it?” Pauline asked.

“Oh, it’s just not sweet enough,” Sam answered. “That’s alright, I can drink water.”

Pauline went back to the kitchen muttering, “The hell you will,” and came back several minutes later pushing a cart with the coffee maker on it, a jug that had contained milk, but now held water, teabags, sugar, and Sam's tea jug that she'd brought with her from Arkansas. “Show me how to do it the right way,” Pauline said.

Sam was touched, and showed her how to do it properly. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, she thought. Sam firmly believed that all of the world's problems could be solved over a nice glass of iced tea, or at the very least discussed in a civilized manner. Who couldn't speak with a little touch of Southern hospitality and civility when sipping sweet tea? If only Grant and Lee had realized that most of the North and South's problems could've been solved with just a little lesson on how to make Southern sweet tea properly.