Under the Cypress Moon (48 page)

Since having the two cigarettes that she had gotten from her brother a few days prior, Shylah had had difficulty reverting to a smoke-free life.  Mark thought little of the smoking and only mentioned it once that he felt it wrong due to the pregnancy.  Mark began to supply Shylah with cigarettes of her own, and because of this, Shylah believed them to be hers and only hers, not to be taken without permission.  When Sara marched toward the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, and swiped a cigarette from Shylah's pack without asking, Shylah forced away all thoughts of jerking the filtered stick out of the other woman's hand and placing it back into her pack.  Shylah merely continued to puff on her own cigarette and sip her own coffee in complete silence.  Sara seemed unlikely to speak, the one gift that she could give Shylah that Shylah would actually want or readily accept.

This went on for more than an hour, Sara helping herself to whatever she wanted, before Mark arose and stumbled into the kitchen.  He heartily greeted both women, first Shylah with a powerful kiss and then Sara with a grizzly bear-like hug. 
"How ya'all doin' this mornin'," Mark asked with a strenuous smile as he fixed himself a cup of coffee.  "What sounds good for today, bein' Saturday and all?"

"Don't know, Babe," Shylah stated in an unfeeling and reflexive manner, never looking up from the table. 

"Whatever you want, Brother," Sara chimed, staring coldly at Shylah.  Though Shylah noticed the stare and felt a desire to reach across the table to strangle Sara, she relented.  Mark, on the other hand, noticed nothing, not even that his sister was wearing very scanty clothing.

Sara watched her glares and words from the moment that Mark took his seat at the center of the table.  Shylah felt as if her blood were boiling inside of her.  She wanted to scream.  She wanted to tell Mark to get Sara out of the house, to try, once and for all, to see what she was capable of, but this urge, though it would not subside, would have to be quelled and controlled, kept at bay for some later time, after Sara proved herself to be the witch that others knew her to be.  If only there were a way to break Sara's spell-like hold, Shylah contemplated.  If only she could be shown for what she was.  Shylah wondered if Mark might go his entire life not seeing any of it.  It seemed, to Shylah, that even Thomas would see through the lies and despicable behavior, if he were alive, but then again, if Thomas had lived, there would have been no encounter at all with this lost spawn of Thomas Crady's adventuresome loins.

After several more minutes of thinking these things, Shylah excused herself from the table, saying that she hadn't slept well and would return to bed for a while.  In reality, she just wanted away from Sara so badly that her stomach cringed.  There would be no sleep, and Shylah knew it before leaving the kitchen.  She would give anything to get away, including lying to the man she loved, so long as the lie would not hurt anyone. 

After several hours with no word from Mark, Shylah arose from bed once more, having slept none at all in that time.  She looked endlessly throughout the house but could not find Mark anywhere.  Finally, stepping into the backyard, she found Mark sitting at one of the picnic tables, smoking a cigarette and perusing a gun magazine while Sara lounged in a reclining lawn chair, sunbathing herself in a quite skimpy bikini, wearing what appeared to be some very extravagant jewelry.

"That's some fancy neckwear she's got on," Shylah commented as she took a seat next to Mark, well away from the figure so hideous to her.

"What are you talkin' about," Mark asked plainly, never moving his eyes from the pages of the magazine.

"Sara, she's got on a really fancy necklace.  I don't remember her havin' it when she got here.  Do you?"

"I don't know.  She probably brought it with her," Mark wantonly observed, glancing for a mere second in the direction of the mentioned subject.

"Why would she bring it with her but not wear it at her own father's funeral," Shylah countered.  "Just seems strange to me is all.  It doesn't seem like somethin' you just wear while you're layin' around in the backyard.  It's more of a fancy dinner/funeral kinda thing to wear is all.  Forget I mentioned it."

Shylah lit a cigarette and waited for the information to sink into Mark's brain.  She hoped that Sara was wearing something she found in the house, something that would tip Mark off to her sneaky and suspicious ways.

Mark took a second look and then a third at what Shylah was talking about, at the lovely pearl necklace draped around Sara's neck.  Mark suddenly flew from the table over to Sara.  Fighting back his inclination to demand where Sara got the necklace, Mark calmly asked, "Could I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure, Mark," Sara noted, failing to open her eyes to look at her addresser.

"Where did you get that necklace?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where'd you get it?  I never saw you wear it before.  It looks just like somethin' my mama had, somethin' Dad bought her right before she died.  I'm not tryin' to accuse you or anything, but I just wanna know where you got it."  Mark stood, patiently awaiting a reply that would satisfy his curiosity, his arms folded as he glared at Sara's seemingly uncaring form.

Sara knew that she had been caught.  She could not finagle her way out the mess in any way other than confessing what she had done.  "Well, I... I found it in the bedroom.  I didn't think you'd be so upset.  I'm very sorry, Mark.  I thought that since no one was using it, and it looks so very beautiful, that I'd see how it looked on me, and I must say that I do ever so enjoy the feeling of it."

"Take it off.  Please, take it off.  It was my mama's.  I'm not tryin' to be mean to ya, but I don't want her things messed with.  You gotta understand.  That was hers, and it belongs to nobody but her.  It needs to stay where it was left.  Please give it to me."  Mark held his hand in expectation of receiving the necklace into it so that he could put it where it belonged.  It bothered him far more than he let on.  He didn't want to scare Sara away or make her feel uncomfortable or unwelcomed, but he could not have her wearing his mother's things.

Grudgingly, Sara removed the necklace from around her throat and placed it into Mark's hand.  As Mark stepped into the house to take the necklace back to its rightful resting place, Sara gave Shylah a look of deep contempt.  She knew that Shylah had to have informed Mark of the deed.  Shylah, quite pleased with herself, gave Sara a glaring look of merry disdain and returned to face the tabletop.

As soon as Mark returned to the yard, Sara grabbed him by the arm.  "Mark, I do believe that a swimming pool would be a great addition to this place.  You could build one easily and quite affordably anywhere in this yard, as it is so spacious.  Over there, just beyond those tables, would be an excellent spot."

"Whoa," shouted Shylah.  "That's the place we were gonna save for a playground area for our child when it comes!  Mark, you promised me!  How is our baby gonna have a play area if you do that?"

"Oh, Honey," retorted Sara, looking over the top of her dark sunglasses, "your child will have a long time before he is old enough to use such a thing.  I am sure that you will be able to find a more suiting location for that in the meantime."

"First of all," Shylah replied, unable to hold back any longer, "it could be a girl.  You don't know.  And it doesn't matter.  Mark promised that it would be the place for a swing set and a slide and maybe a sandbox.  That's where it's gonna be!"

"Ladies.  Ladies," Mark remonstrated, sighing and raising his head toward the sky, "Please.  Come now.  There is no need for such bickering.  We could find a way to have all of those things here.  We could find a place for a pool, surrounded by a fence for the child's safety and still keep the area for the playground.  I believe that everyone can have what they want and not need to fight so."

Mark casually sauntered back to the table, giving Shylah a peck on the temple as he sat down to resume his reading.  Sara and Shylah spent several minutes passing dirty looks to one another, without Mark's notice.  Shylah decided then and there that she would put up with no more of Sara's chidings and cold remarks.  Something had to be done about her, and something would be done about her, one way or another.

After a lengthy amount of time, Shylah walked toward the house, thinking that she might find something to do there so that she would not have to be around Sara.  As Shylah started to pass the other woman, Sara called out to her, "Shylah, Dear, would you refill this glass for me?  Make yourself useful."

"Have you ever heard of feet?  Did you forget to bring 'em with you from Macon or wherever the hell it is you're from?  Around here, we say please and thank you to people that we want to do things for us.  It's respectful and the way that the Lord wants us to act.  Demanding things gets you nowhere, so you might wanna try and learn ya some of that."  Seeing that Sara would not reform her ways and continued to lie back in her chair with her glass held out, Shylah took it from her.  She had a plan.  She would teach the cold-hearted snake a lesson in civility.

Shylah filled the glass with water from the fridge, so cold that it would make anyone, no matter how used they were to cold, to cringe, jump, and scream.  The glass was so cold from the water that it chilled Shylah's hand as she held it, causing her to have to switch it to her other hand and back to the first and so on.  When she reached the place where Sara was, Shylah announced loudly, "Here's your drink, Ma'am," and threw the entire contents of the glass onto her intended victim.

Sara jumped from her chair, screaming with shock and awe, seeming to dance as if she were a jig doll. 

"Marcus!  Marcus," Sara balked at the top of her lungs.

"What," Mark shouted from his seat at the table, never looking toward his sister.

"You did not see what this, this, this woman just did to me!"

"What is that," Mark demanded, still not looking up.

"She just threw her drink on me!  She has covered me in this water that she has dredged from the bowels of some glacier!  It is frighteningly cold!  I may catch pneumonia now!  I demand that you do something, Marcus!"  The look on Sara's face was priceless to Shylah.  Shylah was so pleased with herself that she chuckled until she nearly fell.

Mark staggered toward his bride-to-be, and staring intently into her eyes, begged to know what was going on and why she had done what Sara only claimed that she had done.

"First, Mark," Shylah said, pursing her lips as she had not done for some time, but mad as she was, she could not control her physical gestures.  "First, it wasn't my drink.  It was her drink.  She told me to get her a drink.  She never once asked me.  She commanded me!  She refused to say please or thank you.  So, what did I do?  Yeah, I got the coldest water I could find, and I did throw it at her, but she deserved it.  She will not come here and order me around like I'm some kind of maid."

"But, Honey," began Sara, "Isn't that what you are?  I thought that about you the moment I met you.  I pitied my poor brother here, believing that he had fallen in love with the help!"

"Ladies.  Ladies," Mark once again begged, hoping that everything would shortly diffuse before it blew up entirely.

"I may come from a family that's always had to work to get what they needed," Shylah informed her accuser, "but at least, we know how to work, unlike some spoiled little rich girl whose daddy gave her everything she ever asked for!  I may be poor, but I have dignity and know how to treat people with respect!  My daddy didn't bow down to me like I was some princess he had to serve and buy everything for!  Oh wait.  That's right.  You didn't have a daddy.  Did you?  That's probably why you're such a bitch!"

"Marcus," Sara huffed, "I cannot abide this place a moment longer with this, this thing you call a woman speaking to me this way!  Do something!"

"Ya'all need to chill," Mark suggested.  "Just take a second, and breathe.  Like this."  Mark quickly inhaled a deep breath and slowly exhaled it.  "See how easy that is.  I feel better.  You two try it."

"No, she's right, Mark," Shylah answered.  "She shouldn't have to spend another second here with me.  I think I'll go to my parents' house where people actually treat me like they want me there.  You two just enjoy each other's company, and if you come to your senses, you call me."

"Oh, he won't be calling you, Babydoll," Sara chimed.  "He has no need of trash.  Once you get rid of it, it needn't ever return!"

"That's it," Shylah screamed, losing every bit of her temper that she had ever had.  She quickly rushed toward Sara and gave her an enormous shove, propelling her backward several feet.

Sara countered by slapping Shylah hard across the face, which Shylah immediately reciprocated.  Once Sara reached for Shylah's hair and began to pull it, however, Shylah knew that she could not and would not hold back, stomping the heel of her foot into Sara's instep, quickly elbowing her in the stomach
, this making Sara release her hold of Shylah.  Then, with a catlike flash, Shylah turned to face her opponent and leveled her to the ground with a side hand chop to the throat and an uppercut to the chin.

"That's how you do that," Shylah shouted as she stood over Sara, who now lie almost unconscious.  "Never mess with a girl who has an older brother!  I don't go for all that stupid hair pullin' and face slappin'!  I fight for real!"

Shylah scurried into the house and threw everything of hers that she could find into the few bags that she had and stormed off to her car without saying a word to Mark.  Before Mark knew what had happened, Shylah was gone, planning to stay at her parents' house and not even speak to Mark until he came to his senses.  Mark, in the meantime, stood in the driveway, wondering why Shylah left in such a hurry, why she said nothing to him, and how she could be so callously unloving.  Mark spent the majority of the day nursing his sister's wounds and listening to her endless rants about Shylah and "what she did to me," but it only made Mark think of Shylah all the more, about how wonderful, beautiful, and amazingly sweet she was.  He did not blame Shylah for anything.