Under the Cypress Moon (42 page)

When all was said and done, Mark felt so much better, despite paying out such an enormous amount of money up front.  He wanted everything to be fully covered right away and have nothing left to worry about except for the wake that would be held Tuesday night and the funeral late Wednesday morning.  The plan would be completely closed on the day of the funeral, allowing for everyone, including Don to attend without having to worry that any construction crews were in the building unsupervised.

It was as if both a great weight had been lifted from Mark's shoulders while another was added.  Mark was relieved that his father would no longer have any mortal toil, suffering, or worry, yet he did not want to say goodbye or to have so many people displaying their grief that Mark was left to question.  Before Mark could even get inside of his house, there was a small line of cars in wait in the drive.  Neighbors, friends, and acquaintances of Thomas all wanted to let Mark know how "deeply sorry" they were. 

With each successive "thank you," Mark wanted more and more to run away and hide.  He knew that everyone was being nice, doing exactly as was expected of them, but all that he could think about was spending time with his best friend and his best and only girl and using that time to let off so much steam that made him feel as though he would completely burst at his seams.
  The relief in it all was in knowing that so many people cared, if not for Thomas, at least for Mark, that most of them brought food, meaning that Mark and Shylah would not have to cook for a while, and that they were, most of them, finally gone.

Among the line of well-wishers sat Lou Sanders, though he had a double purpose for his visit.  He had not seen Mark since Tim Bedoe's wake, and though he wanted to express his utmost and sincere affections for his friend of so many years before, but he had an even bigger agenda weighing on his mind.  He knew that he could not live with himself or withstand another moment of his wife's berating if he didn't get out of the house and go see Mark.

Lou waited until the last of the cars ahead of him whipped back around the circular section of the driveway and made their way toward the road.  Mark could not see who it was in the last vehicle, the old, rusty Chevrolet truck, yet he knew that he could not go inside just yet.  If he did, he would surely have to answer the door.  Lighting a cigarette, he stood in front of the door, motioning for the last driver to emerge and then told Shylah that she should call T.L. so that they could have their moment of peace.

As Lou stepped from the truck,
tall, stocky as could be, wearing a dirty and dingy buttoned shirt as well as a rust and oil covered ball cap, Mark felt a dread sink inside of him.  He liked Lou well enough but was a little sick of all of the visitors and pitied Lou more than anything else for his dim wittedness and childlike manner.  "Hey there, Mark, ol' boy," shouted Lou as he neared the house.

"Hey there, yourself, Lou.  How goes it, Man?"

"Wee-ell, I'd be a lyin' if'n I said it was goin' so good.  I know you got your hands full with all a this mess.  I's sorry when I heard about yer daddy a passin'.  I wanted to come by and tell ya how sorry I was, but I also gotta talk to ya.  I hate a doin' this at such a time, Mark.  I hope you don't take ya no offense to it."  Lou begrudgingly followed through with his statement, as much as he did not want to have to.  He knew that he needed to and that his wife would never let him have one moment of peace if he did not, but it pained him to put pressure or stress upon his friend, especially one so bereaved as Mark Crady.

"What's that, Lou?  You know I always got time for a friend.  It's just I just now got home from makin' arrangements, and me and T.L. and Shylah were gonna have a little, private cookout."

"Oh.  I don't mean to interrupt or bother you'ns if'n I could help it.  I'm sorry 'bout this.  I got my wife all over my ass about it, and it needs sayin'.  Please don't be mad.  I'm just the messenger."  Lou hung his head, expecting Mark to berate him the same as had his wife and his in-laws.

"What is it, Lou?"  Mark, though a bit annoyed by things, more from stress than anything else, and not wanting to take anything out on anyone else, extended his hand to the other man and took hold of Lou's before Lou even knew what was happening.  "You can tell me anything, Man.  I'm always here for a friend.  What's on your mind, ol' buddy?"

"Well, Mark, I know you's a good guy, a real good guy, and you never did once turn down somebody in need.  I know your mama raised you up to be a right respectable Christian and all."

"Yes.  Yes, she did.  Good woman, she was, the best."

"Well, Mark, I lost my job drivin' the tow truck.  They didn't believe my story about what happened at the hospital, and I tried to lie, but my mind just don't work good enough fer that.  I was taught to tell no lies.  Maybe it's me bein' simple.  I don't know.  I was hopin' maybe you could help me find somethin' to get me by.  I know what went on at the plant, so you probably ain't got no jobs right now.  It's just I don't know what I'm to do.  I got my wife on me about it.  I got my kids goin' without new clothes fer school and even all the supplies they need.  My mortgage bill is gonna be late.  I'm beside myself."  Lou strained his hands against Mark's, pressing so hard that it reminded Mark just how strong Lou was.  It had been a long time since he felt the immense power from the man's body.

"We don't have jobs right now at the plant, Lou.  I'm real sorry.  I had people doin' cleanup, but that's done now.  Until we get the place fixed and get new equipment in, there just won't be any work.  I got an idea, though.  If you'd be willin', I guess, for the time bein', until I can get you a job at the plant, you could be my handyman around here.  I'll pay you twelve dollars an hour.  No, make it fifteen.  I can afford it.  It'll get you by til we get runnin' again, and then, I'll make sure you have a job at the plant.  How's that?"

"Oh, Mark," Lou said, sobbing, "That sound so mighty nice of you.  That'd be great!  I knew I could always count on you.  You always been good to me.  I can't than ya enough.  I really can't.  Thank you.  Thank you!  Thank you!"  Still sobbing, Lou took his crusted handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his besmeared eyes, soaking the cloth thoroughly. 

"You wanna stay for supper?  Me and T.L. were gonna go get some steaks and grill 'em."

"No.  No.  I can't impose like that, Mark.  You guys have ya a nice night, and I'll be back tomorrow to do whatever you need me to do around here," Lou insisted.

"Hey, c'mon.  The more friends, the better.  You, me, and T.L., we used to be close in high school.  I could use the company.  I'm sure T.L. won't mind a bit.  Just stay a little while.  C'mon.  You gotta.  I won't let ya go."  Mark felt sorry for Lou for everything he was going through, not to mention that a part of him really did want to catch up since the two of them had spoken so little since high school.

"Well," replied Lou, his eyes now largely dried, "I reckon I could use some time away from the wife.  She's drivin' me crazy as all get out."

With a hearty, sincere laugh, Mark slapped his old friend on the back and said, "Well, c'mon then.  We'll have a good time tonight.  You can tell your wife you were here discussin' your new job!"

"Guess I'll just follow you then," Lou said, smiling so happily, the most that he had smiled in a very long time.

Mark and Lou dragged out the propane grill while Shylah brought them each a beer.  It was Sunday, and the town had strict Blue Laws.  Mark wondered if he had enough beer for himself, let alone for his two friends.  He hoped that T.L. would bring whatever he had in his own house and that it would suffice for the entire group, Shylah excluded.

Luckily, T.L. seemed to read Mark's mind.  He brought all but three beers that he had in the refrigerator at home, leaving only the three remaining brews for his father.  T.L. knew that if Darius had no beer to drink while watching TV., he would be too difficult to deal with and would make things miserable for his wife and for T.L. as well when he got home the next day.

"What you got there, T.," Mark asked as T.L. stepped away from his truck, carrying what looked to be a case of the sweet elixir they so enjoyed. 

"Brought beer, of course.  We can't have steaks without beer.  Bad thing is there was fifteen in this thing when I bought it, but now, it's got maybe eight or so.  You got any?"

"I got maybe five or six left, I think.  Me and Lou each had one already.  I don't know that thirteen or fourteen beers are gonna be enough."

"Lou's here," T.L. asked, feeling beleaguered.  "What's he doin' here?"

"He stopped by to talk.  I thought I'd invite him to stay.  You got a problem with Lou?"

"No, not really, but how we gonna make what we got fix up the three of us?  That ain't enough.  You know that.  Me and you could easily drink all that and then some without Lou.  We're gonna have to find a way to get more.  What's Lou got?"

"None on him.  If he goes home, he'll  have to stay there with his wife.  That's why I asked him to stay."

"Well then, we got a problem.  Now, don't we, Mark?  I guess we're gonna have to call up Minton.  Let's see what he can do for us.  You wanna call?"  As T.L. finished his words, he spit a large amount of tobacco juice onto the ground, not far from Mark's feet.

"When you take up chewin' again, T.," Mark asked, quite concerned.

"Recently.  Had to get off cigarettes, but it ain't workin'.  Now, I'm hooked on both."  Just for good measure, to cause his friend a bit of annoyance, T.L. spit another gob of juice.

"Will you stop doin' that?  Damn, is that disgusting!  You wanna do that, do it away from my feet," Mark snapped at his friend.

"In that case," T.L. replied, spitting another thick, twisting, splattering mess.

"Let's get the beer out back and go get some grub, Man.  Ok?"

"Sure," T.L. agreed, hurriedly taking the beer out to the back yard, setting the half of a case onto one of the picnic tables.  "Hey, Sis," T.L. quickly addressed to his sister.  "I brought you some Coke."

"What kind?"

"Root beer and Coke Coke.  Which you want?  It's out in the truck.  I'll get it for ya, and then, me and Mark are gonna head into town for food."

"I guess root beer for now.  You can just bring whatever you got."  Before T.L. could walk away after this remark from his little sister, Shylah threw her arms around her brother and kissed his face again and again.

"Will you stop," T.L. screamed, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

Shylah took it as an invitation to annoy her brother.  Both of them possessed the same sense of humor, one that comes from seeing the uneasiness of those closest to them.  Shylah immediately grabbed her brother once more and pulled him close, kissing one cheek, then, the other, back and forth until she had smothered her brother in her wet embrace.

"Enough!  Stop doin' that!  I gotta go get ya your drinks so we can get goin'!"

"What's the matter, T.?  You don't like kisses?  How about another one?"

"Kiss Mark!"

"I will, but maybe I wanna give my brother a kiss.  Come here, Big Brother," Shylah added, laughing so hard that she had to hold her stomach, rubbing gently as she did to soothe the discomfort she had caused herself.

"You gave me enough.  You want your Coke or not?"

"Yee-ah.  Duh!  Jes bring it!"

T.L. happily brought the other drinks to his sister as quickly as he could carry them and signaled for Mark to come to the truck.  Lou, the puppy dog that he was to Mark, followed suit, both marching off to meet T.L. and head into town.

"You call Minton yet," T.L. asked Mark when he arrived within five feet of the truck, now spitting another thick glob of juice not far from where Mark tread.

"I told you to stop spittin' at my feet, dammit!  And yeah, I called Minton.  He says he's got some cases stashed at his house he took home from his store.  He'll sell us a couple of cases for thirty bucks a piece."

"Thirty?  Damn!  That's almost double what they are at Wal-Mart!  He think his beer is made outta gold?!  Guess we ain't got us a choice then.  Let's go."  T.L. slammed his door, dissatisfied with the news.  "Who's payin' for this?  That's a lot of money."

"You're the one makin' pay just to sit at home now, plus all the money you made cleanin' the plant.  You made triple pay there for a while," Mark casually commented.

"Yeah, well, I got bills, rich boy!  And I got a girl I gotta get after.  How about the rich boy pays for a change?"

"I pay most of the time, Man.  When do you pay?  I got a lot bigger bills than you do.  You ever imagine payin' out almost eight million dollars to the government in one swipe?!  You imagine payin' out a couple hundred thousand on funerals and somebody's medical?  Imagine payin' another twenty million or more just to get your business up and runnin'.  I got a lot more to pay than you think."  Mark had no intentions of letting his friend pay for the beer but only wanted to make him sweat a bit.

"Damn.  I had no idea.  Well, what's sixty bucks gonna hurt ya then?"

"You're too easy, T.  I was gonna pay.  I was just a larkin', Man!  You bowed up or somethin'?  Sixty ain't a thang.  Ain't a thang."

"Ain't a thang but a chicken wang, huh?"

"That, too.  Let's get this rust bucket movin' before I die of thirst!  Get it goin', old man!"

"Old?  Who you callin' old?  If you don't remember, Marky Mark, you're about two months older than me!  I think your memory's failin' ya."  T.L., Mark, and Lou shared a heartfelt and mutually enjoyable laugh all of the way down the driveway and out onto the narrow gravel road leading to the county highway.