Under the Cypress Moon

by Wallace, Jason

  Darius, his wife, and their son now all wondered if something were not dreadfully wrong in Shylah's head. They thought that she may have, after all, "snapped." It worried them ever so, made them contemplate urging Shylah to seek professional help, but that would be for another day, and T.L., at least, thought that his sister would probably be back to normal soon, maybe even listen to her father once and for all, perhaps, even be tremendously happy and be the girl that everyone once knew once Mark was back home.

  Everyone felt listless the rest of the day, Mark included. No one really knew what to do, and the King family, especially, had no idea what to say to one another. There existed a great tension in the air that could not be easily killed. T.L. and his parents spent much of their time quietly discussing Shylah's present state, as well as how things might be when Mark was home from the hospital. None of them really wanted to speak about Shylah behind her back, but there were no other options. Her family was incredibly worried, worried that she might not return from whatever place she had suddenly gone, worried that things might never be able to be as good as they once were, worried that there might be an unfixable rift in the family.

  Shylah, much to the disappointment of all others in the house, locked herself in her bedroom and refused to speak or even to eat. She didn't want to be angry with her father any longer and felt as though maybe she didn't need to be. He had apologized and tried to make things right, yet Shylah just could not face anyone. She knew that everyone meant well, but she had no idea what she could possibly say to anyone and knew that she must be the topic of discussion. She felt it better to leave it all alone, to leave herself to solitude than to wander directly into a conversation all about her and probably feel an overwhelming need to confront everyone.

  Inside, Shylah was in utter turmoil. She could not fully cope with what she had done, allowing Mark to end up in the hospital, knowing that it was because of her. She hadn't been able to turn herself away from Mark, yet she hadn't been able to give herself to him. All the while, she had felt as if listening to her father was the wrong choice to make. She never wanted to hurt Mark in any way. He was far too sweet of a man, far too caring, and far too desirable. Shylah knew that she wanted Mark, but how she could make things work she did not know.

  It was then and there, sitting on her bed, with her knees pressed nearly to her chin, that Shylah decided that enough was enough. She had delayed too long, toyed with Mark far more than she ever should have or ever wanted to do. No matter what, no matter who got involved or what they said, Shylah would give every fiber of her being to Mark. No one would stand in her way, not even her father, the seemingly almighty Darius King.

  Unbeknownst to Shylah, however, Darius had already decided that he had gotten far too involved and that neither Mark nor his own daughter deserved any of it. It was their life together, their lives separately, whatever they wanted. From now on, Darius told himself, not only would he not stand in the way, but if it came to it, he would either step completely aside or hopefully, if he could allow himself to, encourage the relationship wholeheartedly.

  Shylah remained in this state for the entirety of the rest of the day, not emerging from her room for much of anything. Though her family was severely worried for her sake, Shylah could not muster the courage to face any of them. It was a terrible curse that had stricken her, but it was hers to deal with, hers to find some way with which to cope and come to terms.

  When Shylah finally opened her eyes the next morning, she felt a torturous dread overtake her. She had no idea what it was or why she would feel it, but it was there all the same. Instead of attending church with her family, as she always did on Sundays, Shylah awoke early and headed straight to the hospital and into Mark's room. Mark barely showed signs of consciousness the entire morning or even well into the afternoon, right up to the point at which his father strode into the room. Thomas did not act as though he owned the place, despite Shylah's feelings to the contrary. The man had an arrogant way to him, an overwhelming sense of superiority that he seemed to display at all times to many.

  Shylah quickly excused herself and left the hospital to go home and face her family once more. They would surely have gotten back from church by that time, and Shylah hated the thought of encountering the wandering, questioning , and perhaps, accusatory eyes of all of them. Shylah had not eaten in more than a day, and though famished, could not yet spend time with the other members of the household, no matter their urgent protests to change Shylah's mind. This day would be spent exactly as the previous, in utter seclusion and pondering penitence.

  When the big day came, the moment of Mark's expulsion, his triumphant immersion into the outside world, Shylah finally felt a little bit of peace. Though it was by far one of the most difficult things that she had ever had to do, Shylah immediately called Mr. Crady to ask if he would mind passing the torch, so to speak, allowing Shylah to be the one to bring Mark home. Though Thomas had planned on retrieving his son, the offer made things easier on him, meaning that, in his greatly sickened state, the man would not have to chance his own disabilities at getting out of the house or driving. He had already had to plead with a neighbor for a ride to the hospital the previous day, and this was something he did not want to do again. He felt a dire change within him in days of late, yet he was still the same proud, stubborn man that he had always been.

  It would be a day of celebration and rejoicing for Shylah, the anticipated day of being able to spill her heart to Mark, she hoped. Perhaps, it would be a day of reconciliation and progress. Shylah's heart longed for this; her mind told her to go for it. Even if all Shylah could do was nurse Mark like a mother bird, so be it.

  Chapter 7

  No sooner than Thomas gave Shylah permission to pick Mark up from the hospital, she raced to her car and jumped in before her mother could say a word. Darius and T.L. were already at work, and Mrs. King hoped for some help cleaning the house and the yard, things that she could not easily do herself in her declining health, having been largely crippled with arthritis and stomach disorders.

  Mrs. King tried, desperately, over and over to call her daughter back to the house, but all to no avail and much to her grave dissatisfaction. Mrs. King knew that Mark was coming home after two long days away and that Shylah desperately wanted to see him, but why Mark's father could not attend to the matter seemed beyond understanding.

  "I swear that girl is as bad as her daddy sometimes," Mrs. King mumbled to herself, shutting the screen door and turning back into the kitchen. Quite upset with her daughter, she knew that there was nothing at all that she could do to change Shylah's mind once it was made up.

  Shylah sped toward the hospital, traveling so fast around curves and narrow roads that it seemed a miracle not to get into an accident herself and end up in the same state as Mark or, perhaps, worse. Shylah ignored the sign in front of the hospital that read, "THIS IS A PICKUP ZONE ONLY

  FOR IMMEDIATE PICKUP

  OF PATIENTS"

  Though Shylah could hear someone shouting for her to move her car, she ignored the person with a quick wave of her hand and an emphatic, "No time!" She knew that she was taking a huge risk and hoped desperately that her car would not be towed by the time she got outside, but this was an emergency, so she thought, and she was not violating the hospital's policy, no matter what they said.

  As Shylah raced into Mark's room, almost knocking a few people over from her hurried excitement, she felt a renewed and strange fear fill her entirety as she neared the door. Taking a deep breath, Shylah entered to find that Mark's things had already been gathered and that he was dressing himself. Shylah did not mind seeing Mark barren of shirt or even more, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen much more a few times. Knowing that it was true, that Mark really was going to be allowed to go home, began to remove the dread in Shylah's heart bit by bit. Mark, however, had not even noticed Shylah's entrance, nor did Shylah really want to let Mark know that she was there. The sight of Mark's half-naked body took some of the burde
n of the situation away.

  As Mark turned around, he was so startled by Shylah's presence that, even though it was a great sight for him, he nearly fell backward into the heart monitor and i.v. stand. "What are you doin' here," Mark exclaimed joyously, feeling no real malice toward Shylah for what had happened, though there was still a little bit of that for Shylah's having treated Mark so poorly for weeks.

  "I'm here to take you home, Silly!"

  "What," Mark questioned, furling his brow.

  "I called your dad and asked if I could pick you up instead of him. Surprise!"

  "You? You called MY DAD?!" Taking a long pause from bewilderment, Mark continued on, "I'm shocked that you had that kind of courage. I'm hardly able to talk to the man, and he's my dad. You and your family never liked him."

  "Maybe not, but you know we love you, Mark. It's a price you gotta pay to do somethin' for someone you care about. If it means I gotta talk to him to see you get better, I'll do it, and I'll do a million things more. I owe you."

  "You love me, or you LOOOVE me," Mark asked, jokingly, but with a slight amount of seriousness.

  Shylah could only shake her head, unsure of how she was supposed to answer the question. She knew that she had feelings for Mark. That was undeniable. Expressing them so profoundly at that exact moment, however, even though she wanted to, seemed difficult. "You know how I feel, Mark. I care about you. I always have. So, ok, maybe I care about you a lot more than a little and a little more than a lot. So, maybe you're on my mind like almost twenty-four/seven, and maybe, just maybe, I feel horrible about EVERYTHING that's happened lately and wish I could take it all away. Maybe I want to make up for every little bit of it. Maybe," Shylah continued, a little embarrassed and hardly able to hide it, "Maybe I want so much more with you than I let us have before. To hell with what my dad says or anybody else. If you'll give me another chance, I'll prove to you exactly how I feel."

  "Well," Mark replied, "as long as there's that," grinning from ear to ear, smiling so big that his mouth looked like it would soon swallow the rest of his face. "At least I know how little you care, but I guess I can live with it." Mark now let out a body-shaking laugh, and underneath it all, he was very happy that he had been hurt in the bar fight. Without the incident, he might not ever have found himself again in Shylah's good graces and in her heart. There would have been a lifetime of awkwardness with the entire King family.

  "Boy," Shylah said, nearly snorting with uncontrollable laughter, "don't you start with me. I'd hate to have to knock you over the head."

  "Somebody already did. It hurts," Mark added, "but not as much as listening to some of your brother's stories."

  Before Shylah could tell Mark to grab his belongings, he already had them all on the bed, working in such a fury that Shylah had never seen in him before. Mark was obviously anxious to leave; however, no sooner than Mark had the belongings on the bed, his doctor came into the room and ordered him to sit down.

  "Mr. Crady, you shouldn't be standing. You're weak."

  "I'm fine, Doc."

  "Well, still, I want you to remain seated. You can leave, but you have to go in a wheelchair. It's hospital protocol. We'll get you some bags to put your stuff in and the wheelchair. Other than that, it's all lookin' good. I'll have the nurse bring you your discharge papers and follow up orders, prescriptions, and all of that good stuff when she brings your wheelchair. Ok?"

  "Alright, Doc. Sounds good." Mark did not like being ordered around or having to sit back down after he had spent two days in the bed, rarely rising for anything more than to eat, but he had no other options at the moment.

  It wasn't long until the nurse showed up with the bags, paperwork, and wheelchair, to Mark's delight. He had seen far too much of the inside of a hospital, enough to last him a dozen lifetimes, he thought. With the paperwork in one of the bags and all of the bags draped across Mark's lap, Shylah hurriedly wheeled Mark toward the elevator. It felt sort of like a prison escape. If the two of them could only get downstairs and navigate through a sea of people, and if the car had been left in the same place that it was earlier, they would be home free.

  Just as Mark and Shylah exited through the front doors of the hospital, they saw that Shylah's car was about to be towed. It seemed Divine Intervention that they arrived when they did.

  "Hey," Shylah shouted at the tow truck operator. "Please, Sir! Please! That's my car! Please don't tow it! I'm right here!"

  "Sorry, Ma'am. I was ordered to tow it. I can't exactly just stop now. I was just hookin' it up. Gotta do my job, ya know?"

  "Please! I'll pay you to put it down!" Shylah, nearly screaming in the man's face, felt far too helpless and frustrated to control herself.

  "Can't do it, Ma'am," replied the man, cordially but firmly.

  Luckily for Shylah, the man then turned his head and noticed Mark, who had just begun to raise his, still feeling a little overmedicated and droopy.

  "Mark Crady," the man shouted happily.

  Scratching his head, Mark could not remember for the life of him who the man addressing him was. Mark stared blankly into the man's face, all recollection failing him.

  "It's me, Lou Sanders. We went to high school together, man. You and T.L. King used to call me Chubby. We was on the football team together until I blew out my knee junior year. You tried talkin' me into gettin' into wrestlin' with ya."

  "Chubby?"

  "Yeah, Man. It's me." Taking off his hat, Lou looked heartily into Mark's eyes, hoping for some spark of teenage memory to come flooding back.

  'Yeah. Chubby Sanders. I remember now. Sorry. I had a head injury. Been pretty out of it. How the hell you been, Sanders?"

  "Not too bad, Crady. I got a wife of four years now and two beautiful little boys. They're a handful each, rambunctious as hell, but other than that, just been workin' for Parker Towing for a while now. I actually tried gettin' a job at your plant but never heard back. I'm still a little bit mad about that, but I know that was your daddy's doin' or somebody under him, not yours. Head injury, huh? A little too rough with this'n here," Lou asked, casually pointing to Shylah with the tilt of his head, which caused Shylah to grow angry, though she knew that she needed to stay on Lou's good side.

  "Nope. I got in a bar fight a few nights ago," Mark replied, thinking exactly the same as Shylah. The comment, given the circumstances, seemed too much, but Sanders had always been that way, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and he needed to be kept happy if there were to be a hope of getting him to leave Shylah's car alone.

  "Bar fight, you say? Damn, Man. I thought your fightin' days was over."

  "Long story, Man," Mark said, almost snapping, fighting hard to control the furious desire to let the other man have a piece of his mind. Mark was normally very calm in any situation, but all of the recent events made remaining calm a little too tough to do.

  "Well, ya know," Sanders came back with, raising his lower lip above the upper and rubbing his forehead. "I suppose," and rubbing a long line of sweat from his head and replacing his hat, continued, "I could let ya'all have the car back. I don't see no need to make ya go through all of the paperwork and trouble and gettin' a ride if ya ain't got nobody else. I could just say you was gone before I could get here or somethin'. I'll figure somethin' out. Ya'all just take the care and go."

  "That's mighty nice of you, Sanders," Mark sighed in relief. "At least let me give you somethin', for your kids." Mark, winking at Sanders, began to pull his wallet from his pants pocket.

  Putting his hand out and shaking his head from side to side, Sanders quickly and adamantly exclaimed in exasperation, "No! No! No! I can't take your money. You was always a good friend to me, and that's what I'm tryin' to be right now. 'Twould not be right. I don't need such things on my conscience when I go before the Judgment Seat."

  Shaking Lou Sanders' hand, Mark had secretly palmed a fifty dollar bill, making sure that he shook long enough for Sanders to feel the presence of the money. Winking again, Mark added, "I
do appreciate this. I got a gift," and with another wink, Mark iterated, "a gift for your kids. From Uncle Mark. Make sure they have fun with it."

  Sanders, though reluctant at first, accepted the money, clutching in his fist as he pulled away from Mark, making sure that no one saw the exchange. "Welp, Mark, ol' buddy, I guess I'd better get goin'. I got other work that needs done."

  As Sanders began to turn away, Mark stopped him, not only all anger toward the man having ceased but Mark now feeling great appreciation toward the man, and perhaps, pity for his obviously poor financial state. "Hey, Sanders."

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't know when I'll be back at the plant. Gotta heal up some, but if you come by there, I'll make sure you get a job, ok? You gotta wait til I get back, but I'll see to it. When you come by, I'll streamline your app and tell personnel I already interviewed you. So, if you want it, just be ready in two weeks to a month, ok?"

  "You mean it, Man," Sanders exclaimed, nearly jumping up in the air with immeasurable joy.

  "Yep. You got my word. You got a job after I get back to the plant. Deal?"

  "You got it, Buddy!" Sanders, smiling harder at Mark than he had at anyone else since the day his second son was born, hurried to his truck and hopped in, slamming his palm into the steering wheel over and over and shouting, "Yes! Yes! To hell with this job! I don't gotta tow no more! Finally, somethin' good for ol' Lou Sanders!"

  "Thank you so much," Shylah stated, almost exasperated, throwing her arms around Mark's neck.

  "Ow!"

  "Sorry. So sorry, Baby," Shylah squealed, pulling her arms away.