Under the Cypress Moon (65 page)

Shylah took Mark inside and did her utmost to resist the temptation to throw herself at him.  It was one of the most difficult ordeals of her life, but she maintained composure as best as she could, astonishing to both of them.  She treated the affair much as if it were a job so as to not give herself to lustful yearnings.  The thought was always present in her mind, toying with her, somewhere, but outwardly and consciously, it was pushed far away, shoved off as if it were an attacker that had thrown its hands all over her unwilling and unyielding body.

T.L. soon arrived to take Mark to work, bringing his mother with him to help Shylah plan Mark's birthday party for that evening.  Mark thought that something might be up, as Mrs. King rarely ever came to his house, but he could say nothing.  He simply kissed Shylah goodbye and climbed into her car with her brother, ready to get his committee meeting finished so that he could come back home, but unbeknownst to Shylah, Mark kind of wanted to stay at work even longer than usual.  He didn't look forward to come home and do nothing.  At least, at work, even if he could do very little, he felt like he was still in charge.  He was still in charge, actually, but he felt like he had real control and something to do.  He could tell others to do something, and the speaking of the orders and watching the employees do as told was enough to keep him happily busy.

T.L. and Darius, despite having so little to do at the plant, felt much the same as Mark.  They had gained some control, feeling empowered, and looked ever forward to having anything to do to stay busy.  Most of the time, they sat around at home, reading hunting, fishing, and car magazines, watched a lot of TV., drank so much beer that they often felt as if they were swimming, and did a lot of fishing in their pond.  It was all good and well for weekends, but through the week, they wanted to work.  They needed to work.  It was all that they knew. Unless they were to suddenly be able to go far away, somewhere really fun, they did not want to be away from work, if they could help it.  Darius knew, however, that even if he were given the opportunity to go on a vacation, he would never know how to enjoy himself.

Everyone was raring to go when they arrived, even Don.  Don promptly let Mark know that he had been there since seven-thirty a.m.  He was livid with fear of losing his job, and Mark could tell.  In fact, Mark had plans of letting Don know that he could be replaced, thinking that it might motivate him.  He didn't want to be mean.  Mark nearly always tried to be the nicest guy possible, but he still felt resentment toward Don.  Though he had decided previously to not say anything, today, he would let Don in on his secret, that he had thoughts of finding a new assistant plant manager.

When Don began to show obvious signs of sucking up to his boss, Mark knew that it was time to let Don have it.  "Don, I wasn't gonna say anything, but you're kissin' ass a little too hard.  You're makin' me sore.  I'm glad you're tryin'.  Keep it up, but you gotta know somethin'.  I think you're scared that your job is on the line. Well, it is.  I've been thinkin' about your screw-up and thinkin' about replacing you.  I know you know this job better than anybody, except for me, Hell, maybe a little better than me, but I'm gonna have my eye on you every chance I get.  If you do anything remotely like you did, you're busted back to production, and by production, I don't mean supervisor.  I mean you're gonna be on the floor, running a furnace or a rolling mill.  Just do your job the way you're expected, and you're good.  If you mess up from time to time, that's gonna happen.  Everybody messes up.  It's when do wrong on purpose that it pisses me off.  I don't wanna do anything to you or to anybody.  I want you to be in that office, where you're meant to be.  I want you to take my place one day when we open a new plant.  That, or you go there to be the GM of that plant.  One way or another, I'm hopin' that you will show yourself to be every bit the leader and manager I know you to be.  I wanna believe in you like I used to.  I'm givin' you a second chance, with no more said after this, but I won't give ya a third.  Don't make me regret my decision.  Please."

"I know, Mark," Don said, shaking, almost in tears.  "And I wanna thank you for that.  I won't let you down.  You have my word!  Don Birchum doesn't have much, but he has his word!"

"Good.  I know you're right for it.  I've seen it.  When you get goin', you're hard to stop.  You're like a machine.  You really get stuff done.  I wanna see you like that all the time.  If you make it to be GM, think about it, that's a lot more money, better benefits.  You'll be set.  You and Betty Jo will have such a better life.  Notice, though, that I said IF, not when."

"I know.  I know.  I will not let you down.  What would you like for me to do?"  Don seemed as though he were backing up his words, standing ready, alert, and anxious to start doing some serious work.

"Just stick around for a few, til we've gone over everything.  I have some ideas of what we need done, but I wanna hear from everybody first.  What ya got, guys?"

T.L. quickly glanced to his father, hoping that he would be the first to speak, but he knew that Darius had few, if any, ideas about anything.  "I ain't thought of nothin' much, Mark, nothin' you haven't already thought up.  I think as long as we make sure we get all the machines in the new building and make sure we got enough men to cover it all, we're good.  That's all I know.  I think it might be a good idea, though, to get all the foremen back in here real soon and have them start trainin' me and the boy here since we're gonna be supervisors, too, and anybody else you plan on makin' supervisors.  We all need to start learning the job fast.  If we plan on openin' back up real soon, we gotta be ready the very day the door opens.  We gotta be ready, waitin' on our guys to get here so's we can start 'em in on everything firs thing that mornin'!"

"Good.  Hey.  That's all good.  I like that.  See, that's what I'm talkin' about.  It might seem like simple ideas, but it helps.  Everything helps.  Believe me, Mr. King, that's a lot better than you think.  You made real good points.  Is it weird I keep callin' you Mr. King?  I've been callin' you that all my life, but I'm marryin' your daughter.  Could I just start callin' you Dad?"  Mark belted out a laugh that echoed throughout the entirety of the long metal platform above.

"Yeah, Daddy," T.L. chimed in.  "He should just start callin' you Dad.  He's always been just like a brother to me anyway.  So, Dad, how do you like it if he calls you Dad?  Don, meet Dad.  You should call him Dad.  We'll all call him Dad.  We'll get all the guys on the floor to call him Dad.  Won't that be good, Dad?"

Darius looked incredibly bothered, beyond the ability to control himself and his growing anger and annoyance.  "Boy, you know that sayin' that I brought you into this world, and I can take you back out of it?  Well, it's true.  I'm two seconds from knockin' you so hard you gonna fly through the roof and up into Heaven.  Lay off with the Dad.  Mark, don't you reckon you callin' me Dad would be bad?  Your daddy wouldn't like that much.  I know he ain't here, but still.  I reckon if you want to, you can.  Just don't be like the boy over there and do it all the time.  I got my limits."

"Alright.  I got an idea, Mark," T.L. quickly urged in order to change the subject back to the important matters.  "I say you get ahold of a temp place and let them know that you might need some guys comin' up whenever it is you plan on reopening.  They could come up with a plan for you and let you know how much it would cost.  At least, you can be ready for whatever.  That's what I'd do, in case we don't get enough guys by that time."

"Good.  I like it.  Ok, Don.  Here is what I need you to do today, and guys, I don't think we need to meet Friday.  Let's plan on next Monday, and we'll try to get the supervisors all here by the next meeting.  Ok.  Anyway, Don, call a temp agency and tell 'em we might need, what would you say, like a hundred or so workers?  We're gonna have a whole new shift, so, I don't know.  Guys, think up how many are on the current shift.  Don, give that figure to the temp place.  Then, call the elevator company and see about havin' a new elevator put in.  We're gonna need it very soon.  Call Sam Turner and Kayla Jones, and have 'em come in and start placin' ads sayin' we're hiring.  They can start doin' interviews right away so we get people ready.  Other than that, make calls to all the supervisors, and just let 'em know we need 'em here by ten on Monday to go over things and train some new supervisors.  Other than that, I think we might be good, unless anybody can think of anything else."

"Sounds good, Mark," Don agreed, happy to have something to do and happy that he had the opportunity to once again prove himself.  "I'll get on it a.s.a.p. and let you know all the details.  I can't think of anything else we need, but if I get all that done, I think I'm gonna do an inventory of the plant.  I'm gonna do an office inventory and a supply inventory and see what we need.  I'm hopin' to get material orders placed by next week so we have what we need to begin production.  And thank you again, Mark, for believing in me and giving me another chance.  I promise I won't let you down!"

"Ok then, T.  If you and Dad wanna go write down all your hours for today and any time you spent at home doin' idea plannin', go on upstairs, and do that.  I'll be waitin' here for you, and we can go bug Shylah, I guess, for somethin' to do."  The entire time that Mark spoke, he kept his eyes fixated on Darius.  Mark liked the idea of being able to call Darius "Dad," but also kind of hoped to see Darius nervous about it, just for another hearty laugh to be had.

Meanwhile, back at the house, Shylah and her mother were flying desperately through their list of things needing done for Mark's birthday party and through the list of things that had already been done.  As Pearlina mixed batter enough to make several large cakes, she motioned for her daughter to make a list of everyone that they knew might come to the party in order to know how much food and other necessary items to have on hand.  "Hey, Baby, how many you got on that list now?  I don't know if I told you, but I called and invited Uncle Ivers and Aunt Helen.  She said she can't wait to be here.  She ain't seen Mark in so long, and now that he's gonna be joinin' the family, she is so excited.  She said if you need any help plannin' ya'all's weddin', to call her.  I told her you had yourself a fancy planner woman to help you, but she insisted.  She was all beside herself, though, when I told her about Mark bein' shot and all.  She says she may have to put a knot in that boy's head."

"Mama," Shylah shouted with excitement, "Please tell me Aunt Helen is bringin' one of her pies!"

"Pecan and sweet potato, Baby.  She's makin' four of each!"

"Four of each?!  Mama, I think I died!"

"Why... why's that?"

"Cuz Mama, I must be in Heaven if Aunt Helen is makin' her famous pies!  The baby says that he wants pie, especially Aunt Helen's.  He ain't had it yet, and he wants to know.  Look at me.  I keep sayin' he, and it could just as well be a girl.  I can't help but hope for a little girl.  She's gonna be so cute.  Just imagine your little half black/half white granddaughter.  Now, I keep sayin' she!  What is wrong with me today, Mama?"  As Shylah rubbed her belly, she turned to see her mother's reaction, looking for some reassurance.

"There ain't nothin' wrong in hopin', Baby.  Just don't get your hopes up now.  You could have a boy, and we'll all sing sweet praises of joy to the Lord for the blessing, and if it's a girl, we'll sing sweet praises of joy to the Lord.  You see what I'm sayin', Baby?  Either way, it don't matter.  A child is a blessing from God, and he needs boys here just like he needs girls here.  He'll decide what He needs and what you need, and you love that child all the same, no matter what it is."

"So, between me and T., you don't have a favorite, Mama?"

"Favorite?  Lord, no, Child.  A mother loves her children equally," Pearlina smilingly informed her daughter, though inside, she was a nervous and shoddy wreck of fitful laughter.

Still rubbing her belly, Shylah let it be known exactly her thoughts on the matter.  "Uh huh, Mama.  You can say it.  I know you favor T. at least a little more than you do me, just like Daddy favors me more.  It's ok.  It's how it is.  I imagine if we have a girl, she's gonna have Mark wrapped around her little finger from moment one, but if we have a boy, he's gonna have me wrapped around his little finger from moment one.  And either way, I can see Mark fillin' the child's head with all kinds of things from huntin' to fishin' to workin' on trucks to all kinds of stuff about guns and who knows what else!"

"That's your daddy!  He's gonna be fillin' that child's head with all of them things, if it's a boy, at least.  With a girl, I don't know, but if Mark is gonna do that to a girl, may the Lord Jesus be with us!  He'll have that poor girl some kind of tomboy, rowdy as your brother ever was, rowdy as you were, to be truthful, but I reckon you turned out to be a surprise.  Despite all your tomboyish ways, you became a very beautiful and ladylike adult.  You still have your ways, but if nothin' else, you have become the kind of woman I am so proud to have as my daughter.  You have molded yourself into a very fine and respectable woman, and if I had even half a hand in that, I say that I did my job."  With her hands still covered in flour, even though she had brushed them on her apron, Pearlina came to within an inch of her daughter and squeezed her tightly.  "I love you, my baby.  I may favor your brother some, but I love you no less than I love him!  You are both my babies!  Your brother needs more of his mama's care than you do.  I don't see nothin' wrong with my little girl.  I think you learned quite well from your mama."

"Thank you, Mama," Shylah said, putting her arm over that of her mother.  The love between mother and daughter reciprocated, resounded, and reassured.  With every second, both could feel, more and more, just how much the other cherished their bond.  "Mama, I am worried, though, not just cuz of Mark's problem with his stomach, but he's been havin' these weird dreams and shakin' a lot.  His hands start shakin' at odd times, and he can't even hold a cup sometimes.  And he's screamin' in his sleep.  He screams, 'No, Daddy, no!'  I think maybe somethin' happened to him when he was little, somethin' he won't talk about."

"Could be anything, and it could be nothin', Baby.  You never know, but if he don't wanna open up about it, don't push him to.  You're liable to have a fight on your hands.  Just be there if he does wanna talk about it.  You might mention it from time to time and see if he does wanna let you in on it.  He might not even remember what it is, or it could all be made up somewhere in his head.  Dreams sometimes say everything, and sometimes, they don't say nothin'."

At that moment, T.L. and Mark were on their way back from the plant.  Shylah asked T.L. before he left to keep Mark away from home for a while, at least, long enough for cakes to be put into the oven and lists to be completed for the party.  T.L., however, had no idea how he was to do what his sister asked of him.  It was a Wednesday, not even noon yet.  Taking Mark to a bar was not an option.  T.L. thought of trying to get Mark to go fishing, but that would not be easy with Mark in a wheelchair. 

"How come you never told me Kayla was workin' at the plant," T.L. said, finally breaking the silence that had lasted five minutes. 

"T., she's been workin' there for over three months.  How could you not know your own cousin was workin' there?"

"I don't know.  Uncle Aaron never mentioned it, and I don't ever see Kayla really.  You could've told me, though.  I would've gone into HR every now and again and said 'hi' to her.  Didn't you used to kind of like her?  Seems funny, you likin' my cousin and then my sister."
  T.L. let out a slight chuckle, but during all of this, he tried to figure out how to keep Mark busy.  Maybe, he thought, before Mark answered him, he could get Mark to the backyard and share a few beers.  That would kill a little bit of time and maybe allow for T.L. to think of something else.

"That was a really long time ago, T.  She was two grades ahead of us, and there was just somethin' about her.  I think I liked her when were like in middle school, maybe for a little while of high school.  She was gorgeous, still is.  I got your sister now, so it don't even matter.  But
yeah, ok, I do like black girls, or, at least, a couple of 'em.  I don't really have a preference.  A beautiful woman is a beautiful woman.  She could be black, white, Chinese, Puerto Rican, don't matter.  But anyway, now you know that your cousin works for HR.  I recommended her to Sam Turner.  He needed help, and Kayla had the right degree, the grades, the right work experience.  Sam was real happy to get her and says nothin' but good things about her."

"She gonna be at your... your ummm... never-mind.  Shit."

"My what, T.?"

"Nothin'."

"Tell me, T.  I may be laid up, but I can still kick your ass.  Tell me."

"Ha.  You couldn't whoop my ass before you got shot.  Don't forget, my white brotha from anotha motha, I got a lot of weight over you and a lot of power.  You can't take me."  T.L. couldn't help but once again chuckle, though it failed to bring Mark to laughter.

"Oh yeah?  Well, I say when I'm all better, we find out.  You and me, no referee, we have us a little wrestlin' match.  I'm gonna show you just what a white boy that's shorter and lighter than you can do.  I'll whoop that smile right off your face!"

"Ok.  No referee.  Me and you, Man.  Me, the King, against you, the little prince.  Anyway, what you wanna do today?  You gotta do somethin' special for your birthday."

"I think I already am.  You said there's somethin' goin' on, but you won't tell me.  That says to me there's a party.  So, I guess you're supposed to keep me away for a while so your sister and your mama can get stuff ready.  I won't say you let anything slip, but even if you didn't, it'd be pretty obvious if I'm not allowed in my own house.  Your ideas are as good as mine.  There ain't a lot to do on a Wednesday.  I guess I could use a beer or two, but that's only gonna kill a few minutes," Mark said, furrowing his lips, thinking that Shylah might be overstressing herself and that he didn't want the fuss or to have to be kept away.

It was then that Mark looked down at his shirt.  He thought that he had been experiencing a stinging pain, almost a burning, and some kind of a pulling feeling, along with a great wetness, but he didn't know what it was.  His shirt was soaked with blood, billowing out as if it held back a mountain spring. 

"Ummm, T.," Mark alarmed his friend, his voice growing more and more intense with the words to follow, "T., I think you gotta take me to the hospital, Man!"

T.L. looked at his friend and saw the horrendous amount of blood.  "Oh shit!"  T.L. stepped on the gas as hard as he could, propelling Shylah's little, under-maintained Ford Taurus down the gravel road that led to and beyond Mark's house.  The car could barely handle the speed and began to fishtail everywhere. 

"Slow it down, T.  We can't have an accident on the way to the hospital.  You'll be all messed up, too, and I ain't havin' it.  Either find a blacktop road or slow it way down.  You got Fishback Road comin' up.  Get on that. It might go just a little out of our way, but you can floor it on that one."

"You mean Buckman Road?"

"T., you know as good as I do why they call it Fishback Road, even if that ain't the real name, and this ain't no time to argue.  Hurry, but don't get us killed."

"Grab a napkin or somethin', Man!   You gotta stop the bleeding!"  T.L. was so frightened by it all that he could hardly maintain his view of the road, instead, looking too long at his friend's profusely bleeding wound.  "Get somethin'!"

"A napkin ain't gonna do shit!  I got my shirt pressed on it.  It hurts like Hell, but I don't know. I think it's too soaked through."

"Keep pressure on it!  We'll be there soon.  Just keep your hand pressed hard!"

T.L. quickly turned onto Buckman/Fishback Road and laid into the accelerator, sending the speedometer racing past fifty, then sixty, seventy, eighty.  It seemed that the car would give out sooner than allow such speed.  T.L. hurriedly grabbed his phone from his pocket and called Shylah.  When she heard the news, she dropped her phone on the floor and nearly feel out of her chair.  If her mother were not standing a few feet away to witness it and help her up, Shylah might have fallen onto her stomach.

"What is it, Baby," Pearlina screamed, with no response from her daughter.  "Shylah?!  What is it?!  What is goin' on?  Baby, you ok?  What is it?"  It was then that Pearlina picked up the phone and spoke to T.L.  When she heard the news, she clenched fist so hard that she cracked its screen
from the top to the middle.  Neither mother nor daughter knew what to do.  Pearlina quickly called Darius to have him come to the house and tend to the cakes that were about to be put into the oven.  Shylah needed to be at the hospital with Mark, Pearlina told herself.  Someone would have to take her.  It would be the worst birthday possible for Mark, but as long as he had his family there, he would, at least, be coming home to celebrate what was left of it.

Chapter 29

Shylah rushed to the front desk of the E.R., so displeased with having to see it so many times as of late.  She kindly asked where Mark Crady was and if she could go back into the E.R. with him.

"Are you a family member or his wife," asked a woman the desk, somewhat snottily. 

"I'm his fiancée.  We're just about to get married, so I'm practically his wife."

"Sorry, but practically does not mean are.  You'll have to wait over there until he comes out, unless the doctor says otherwise.  Go have a seat."  The woman, rather rudely pointed to the waiting area that Shylah knew only so very well.

"No, you don't get it," Shylah snapped back.  "I may not be his wife on paper, but I'm the same as, and I don't give a damn what you say!  You let me back there, or we're gonna have trouble here!  He got shot a while back, and his wound opened up.  He needs me back there with him!  I'm the only one that's gonna keep him calm!"

"Yeah, and I can call security, so just go sit down, now!"

"Oh.  You messed with the wrong woman.  I didn't come in here plannin' on bein' a bitch.  I'm a very nice person to everyone I meet, until they're mean to me a second time.  You go ahead and call security on me.  Will they get here before I pull you across that desk?  You let me back there, and we won't have no trouble!  Now, I'm goin' through those doors, and if you wanna call security, you call security.  I'm gonna go see him.  Security might get to me.  They might not.  They might get there just in time to take me out of here, but they won't be around when I wait outside for you to get off work!"

"Ma'am, you cannot threaten a hospital employee.  I could have you arrested for that," the receptionist said, glaring so hard that if looks could kill a person, Shylah would have been dead.

"I didn't threaten anybody," Shylah reminded the woman.  "I never said what I'd do.  For all you know, I'd only be waitin' to tell you what a horrible bitch you are."

"Ok.  Fine," the receptionist replied, not wanting further confrontation and especially, not wanting to take the chance that Shylah might back up her words.  "I'll let you back there, but if anybody asks, you are his wife.  If they say anything to me, you told me you were his wife, and I took your word on it."

Shylah arrived in Mark's curtained off section of the E.R. as the nurse finished applying a double layer of thick gauze to the stomach wound to keep it from bleeding further.  "Hey, Baby," Shylah happily exclaimed.  She was overjoyed to see that Mark was still alive and at least, doing fairly well.

"Hey, Girl.  I'm glad you're here." 
Mark tried to get up to give Shylah a kiss, but before he could, Shylah stuck out her finger, pointing at the bed, for Mark to continue sitting on it.

"Sit, Boy!  I'll come to you!"

As Shylah pulled away after giving Mark a very loving and heartfelt kiss, Mark could not help himself from remarking, "Sit, Boy?  What am I, a dog now?"

"You're my little puppy."