Under the Cypress Moon (19 page)

"Baby," Mark clamored from behind Shylah's back.  "It was just a joke.  I swear."

Turning back around, a huge smile enwrapping her entire face, Shylah cried out, "I know, Silly.  You think I was serious.  I can joke, too.  Don't forget that.  You mess with me, I mess with you."

"How is Cindy, by the way," Mark asked, now smiling just as big.

"Oh, she's fine," Shylah bellowed back.  "I heard she's been askin' about ya.  Maybe you should call her."

"Well, not right now, but maybe later."

"Damnit, Mark, I really am gonna hurt you!"

"You love it, and you know it."  Mark placed both hands on Shylah's arms and pulled her closer, kissing her passionately, not caring that his father was seeing all of it.

"Ok.  I guess I can give you a pass on this one.  Let me know how your date with Cindy goes," Shylah musingly demanded.

Still holding Shylah's arms, his lips only inches from Shylah's, Mark reassured her of everything, "Ok.  Will do.  I should probably get goin' then so I can great ready for it."

"You do, and you're a dead man.  You better realize what you got right here in front of you.  What was with all those words downstairs?  You better be plannin' on havin' me and nobody else for a very long time, Mark Crady!"

"You mean I can't have Cindy, too," Mark asked, to the near annoyance of Shylah.

"This is gettin' old now, Mark."

"Ok, Baby.  I was just messin'!  Please don't kill me!"

"Oh," Shylah exclaimed, "I guess I won't have to if you don't call Cindy.  But maybe I need to keep a close eye on you, Mr. Ladies' Man, Jr." 

Thomas hadn't paid much attention to the goings on, thinking them to be only the business of Mark and Shylah, but at this remark from the woman, Thomas laughed harder than he had at any previous moment, sending all of his remaining breath to flee from his body and leave him in utter exhaustion.

"I think your dad needs some rest, Hon," Shylah said, her head turned completely toward Thomas.  "It's good he's able to laugh, but look what it's doin' to him.  It's awful.  He doesn't need the excitement and... and the stress on his body."

"You're probably right," Mark agreed heartily.  Stepping ever so close to Thomas' bed, Mark leaned in, and after placing a small, gentle kiss on the forehead of the old man, Mark stepped back a bit and informed him, "Daddy, I think we're gonna get goin'.  We put you through enough today.  But if there is anything at all you need for any reason, you have somebody call me right away, or you call me if you're able.  Ok?"

"O... Ok... Son."  Every word was too much for Thomas.  His body would barely cooperate enough to utter any sort of response to further inquiries or statements.

"Bye, Sir," Shylah happily shouted from a couple of feet away.  "We'll be back.  I promise.  I won't let this mongrel here forget.  I'll take good care of him.  Don't you worry about that.  And I'll keep him in line, too.  He had a doctor's appointment tomorrow just down the road, and we'll make sure we pop in here to see how you're doin'.  You just get some rest."

As Shylah said this, she stepped closer so that Thomas could hear her better, but as she turned to walk away, a hand, a very clammy hand at that, gripped her wrist.  It shocked her severely for a moment, not realizing what was happening.  Spinning around to look at Thomas, Shylah saw that the old man had a look of sadness and perhaps, gladness in his misty eyes.

"I.... I... I want..."

"Daddy, you ok," Mark asked.

"O... Ok.  Shy... Shylah... you're... you're good... good to.... to my boy.  I... I'm... I'm hap... happy."

Without thinking anything about it, Shylah knelt down and laid a kiss on Thomas' cheek and smiled at him in a way that let him know just how she felt and that there were no longer harsh feelings between the two of them.
  Thomas quickly moved his head to face his son, whose eyes were filling with mist the same as his father's.  The look from father to son said many things.  Mark immediately understood all that his father wished that he could say but was too physically weak to mention.  They both knew how they felt about one another and how the other felt, knew that there would no longer be any harshness or callousness toward Shylah, her family, or her race. 

Thomas was truly a changed man and wanted all those close to him to know it.  God had worked a miracle in the man, removing his hatred and bigotry, his shortcomings and failings, but in order to do so, had put Thomas' life at an end.  It was beyond the ability of words to convey these things.  Everyone present knew it all, understood that sometimes, a heavy price must be paid for such a large gift, and hoped that God would find a place for Thomas James Crady, Jr. somewhere in Heaven.

Mark and Shylah exited Thomas' room the same way that they had entered it, hand in hand, occasionally turning to stare into each other's eyes.  Shylah was certain that she would one day be Mrs. Crady.  Mark was not as sure but wanted the same thing.  For now, he was happy just to be in Shylah's presence and allowed to bask in her beauteous glory.

"Thank you," Mark said as they walked away.

"For what?"

"For being so sweet to my dad.  I know how hard that must've been on you."

"Hey," Shylah loudly sounded, pulling Mark's arm to get him to stop where he was.  "Your dad is not the same man he was.  I see it.  If there's never been a miracle in anybody else in this world, God sure worked one in him.  It breaks my heart seein' him like that.  He may have made mistakes in his life, but he's tryin' to make amends for it all, and nobody deserves what he's goin' through.  I don't wanna see you lose your father, Honey, and I know that at least some part of your goodness must've come from him.  He's showin' now what a good man he is and could've been his whole life.  He chose to fight against his nature.  He spent so long hating that he forgot how to love, and now, he's loving too much to know how to hate.  I pity the man, not because he's dyin'.  Ok, maybe some, but more cuz he's only just now learnin' how to love people, and he doesn't have the time left to really show what good he could do.  If your daddy realized all this a long time ago, he could've done a lot more good than most.  It's so sad that it took this long and this much pain to see what he's done."

Mark nearly choked, studying Shylah's words carefully.  He knew every one of them to be true, trusted in them, bathed in them,
and refused to relinquish them from his heart and mind.  "Babe, you don't know what good it does me to have you with me, especially right now.  I couldn't go through this without you.  I think God, maybe, possibly, brought us together at least partly for that reason.  I could not make it without a good woman to help me bear my cross, and there's nobody better'n you.  You know that.  You're all I got and all I want."

Shylah smiled, wanting to kiss Mark, but knowing that it was a very public place and that there were far too many people around, held back, concealing her emotions, contenting herself in holding his hand and continuing the journey that they had begun together.  Neither of them thought about the fact that Mark had done a lot of walking without becoming weakened.  His condition, Shylah expected, was supposed to keep him lacking in strength and energy.  She had quite expected to have to support him the entire way.

Mark's condition was not improving much.  Instead, he was experiencing a temporary moment of strength and ability.  There was weakness within him, but neither he nor Shylah noticed it.  With his focus on Shylah and on his father, Mark thought very little of his own health.

Mark felt so much better in every way that the ride from the hospital seemed the entire opposite of the ride earlier to it. 

"You feelin' better, Babe," Shylah asked, turning only a little.

"Yeah.  I'm ok.  Thanks for comin' with me."

"No problem.  You know I'm here for you and with you and whatever.  Maybe later, on top of you."  Shylah laughed so hard that she began to veer toward the edge of the road.

"On top of me," Mark greedily mused aloud, his eyes rolling back.  "mmmmmm."

"Oh!  Your prescriptions!  We gotta go get 'em!" 

"Oh yeah.  Change the subject," Mark tumultuously chortled.

"Well, it's true.  We need to get your meds and get some food.  I don't know about you, but I'm starved.  We didn't get to eat anything yet today.   Remember?"

"I know.  Sorry."

"Not your fault, Babe.  But we definitely gotta get somethin' and soon!"

"How do you keep that figure eatin' the way you do," Mark posited quite seriously.

"Well, I'm still young, and I don't eat that stuff as much as you think.  How do you?"

"How do I what?"

"How do you stay in shape?  I bet you eat more junk than I do, and you're in about the same shape you were in in high school.  How?"

"It's all this clean livin'," Mark replied as he pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it, putting the window down.

"Clean livin', huh?  Right.  Cigarettes, beer, fast food.  You're definitely concerned about your health."  Shylah smiled at Mark as she said this, so much so that Mark fought to control his urge to laugh, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips to the floor.

"Well, tomorrow," Mark firmly added, "I'm goin' to the doctor, so ha!"

"Yep, to get your head examined."

"I guess you're right.  I am, huh?  You ever think you'd be with somebody who'd actually be able to say they're gettin' their head examined?"

"I think anybody who'd be with me needs their head examined," Shylah stated, seeming to mean every word.

Mark's face grew immediately grim, his smile turning to a callous frown.  "Don't say that!  Don't you ever say that!"

"Geez," Shylah shouted.  "You take things so hard.  You don't have to yell."

"Well, don't say shit like that about yourself!  You're beautiful, smart, sweet, funny, the best thing to happen to me in forever!  I don't wanna ever hear you tear yourself down like that again, ok?  Please!"

Sighing deeply, Shylah agreed to Mark's terms.  "Alright.  Alright.  I'm sorry.  I guess maybe we're both lucky then."

"Yes.  You can say that.  Just don't say bad things about yourself.  I know I'm sure as hell lucky!  I don't know about you, but I am."

"Now, who's tearin' themself down?  If I can't badmouth myself, you can't do the same to yourself!  Got it?!  Don't say that kinda stuff!  If you do it, I'm not gonna stop about me!"

Mark felt horrible about what he had done and realized his hypocrisy.  "Ok.  Ok.  Deal.  No more me sayin' bad things about me or you sayin' bad things about you.  Let's go do what we gotta do so we can get home."

After a quick trip through the pharmacy drive-through, Mark's prescriptions were in hand, and food could be had for he and Shylah, much to their tremendous relief.  It was no time at all before they were back at Mark's house, unsure of what to do with the rest of their day.

"Hey, Babe," Mark quickly stopped to say as he exited the car, standing between it and the door, his arm resting on the door's upper edge.  "Wanna go somewhere with me?"

"Go somewhere," Shylah doubtfully snapped. "We just got back!  Why would you wanna leave again?"

"No.  I'm not sayin' let's leave.  I wanna take you somewhere here at home."

"Ok?"

"Just trust me, alright.  It's not far, just a little walk."

Shylah somewhat reluctantly allowed Mark to take her hand and leader her away, to where, she knew not.  "Do I need to close my eyes," Shylah asked, laughing.

"I wouldn't recommend it.  There's plenty around here to trip over.  You can keep 'em open.  Just keep up."

"Kinda hard to not keep up when you're jerkin' me around by the hand, Baby.  We got a lot farther to go?"  Shylah felt certain that Mark would not be taking her anywhere that was not for a purpose or benefit but could not keep herself from wondering how far it would be or what it would be.

Finally, Mark stopped in front of a very large, very old cypress tree and pulled Shylah close to him.  "This is it.  This is what I wanted to show you."

"Yeah," Shylah sarcastically yet somewhat inquisitively stated.  "It's a tree.  It's really pretty.  I've seen trees before, Mark."

"Just trust me, please.  You said you'd trust me.  Look at the tree."

"Yeah.  Like I said, it's a tree.  It's big.  It's old.  It's nice.  Wanna head back now?"

Mark, a little infuriated and irritated and Shylah's callousness and rejection, grabbed her right hand and forced it to the trunk of the tree, dragging her fingers around its surface.  "Feel that?"

"What?"

"Feel the carving here?  Look at it.  Feel it."

It was then that Shylah took a much closer look at the tree and the letters carved into it.  "T.C. + R.M.?"

"Yeah," Mark enthusiastically returned.

"Your parents?"

"Yep.  Thomas Crady and Rachel Miller, my parents.  This was their tree when they were dating and for a while after they were married, back when my dad still gave a damn.  They'd come here when times were tough or when they were happy or when they were sad.  They'd come out here and picnic.  Sometimes, we'd come out here as a family.  The only times I ever saw my dad really happy and nice was when he was at this tree."