"I am, Babe. I am."
Mark sat on the floor, holding his father in his arms, terribly afraid of the worst, having never thought to check for a pulse. To Mark's great relief, however, he began to feel Thomas' breath on his arm, shallow as it was.
"Ok. Ok. He's breathing. Thank God! He's breathing. What'd they say?" Mark stared blankly up at Shylah who was still clutching her phone tightly in her hand. She had never cared much for Thomas Crady, but he was still Mark's father, and Shylah knew that Mark did not need any more negativity in his life or any great tragedy, not to mention that Thomas Crady was still one of God's children and had recently proven that he was trying to change.
"They said.... They said..."
"What," Mark screamed, scaring Shylah. She had never, as long as she had known Mark, which was actually, from the day that she was born, to act this way, to scream so hard, and especially, to treat the woman that he loved so harshly. Shylah chalked it all up to the horror of the moment and reminded herself that it was a very difficult and stressful time. She would have to endure Mark's fevered emotions.
"They said they're sendin' somebody. They'll be here really soon. I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry. I'm tryin' to help, I promise." Shylah threw her head into her hands and began to sob uncontrollably, leaving Mark to wonder if he should continue holding his father or lie his father back on the floor and go to comfort Shylah.
"Baby," Mark cried. "I'm the one that's sorry. I'm so sorry. I swear I don't mean to take anything out on you. I'm scared is all. Please believe that. I never wanna make you cry. Please don't be upset. Ok? I promise you I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. I'm so glad you're here to help me. I really, really am. I need you so much. You have no idea."
"You do," Shylah choked out, barely able to complete the two words.
"Yes! I need you. I do. I want you. I need you, especially now. Please don't go."
"I'm... I'm not goin' anywhere, Baby. I wouldn't leave you. I'm here for you, whatever you need. I'm gonna be by your side through everything." Shylah finally began to smile, knowing that she was doing the right thing and also knowing that Mark was not mad at her and truly appreciated her presence and her assistance.
Within less than ten minutes, the paramedics arrived, their profuse beating of the front door nearly causing Mark a headache.
"Come in, guys," Shylah shouted.
It was no time at all until Thomas was whisked away to the ambulance, loaded in, and stabilized. The tires of the rig screeched and squealed as the driver pulled away from the house. Still sitting on the floor, Mark had no idea what to do now. He wondered if he should follow his father to the hospital, terribly worried that this could be the moment that he had been dreading. The worst case scenario that Mark could imagine was that Thomas might actually die that day. No one, except Thomas' doctor, knew for sure how bad the cancer was. What if the doctor was wrong, Mark thought. What if the doctor's estimation was off, and Thomas actually had far less time left than had been stated?
Another day spent in the hospital, less than twenty-four hours after Mark had been released did not seem like an ideal time. Worried as he was, however, Mark would not allow worry or personal wants to get in the way of being by his father's side through the worst of it all. Shylah quickly pulled Mark from the floor and supported him as he walked to the car parked close to the front of the house.
As the two of them sped back to the hospital, Mark was silent. He could not utter a single word the entire trip, much to Shylah's dissatisfaction and fear. The day would surely be one of great catastrophe. What good could possibly come of all of this, both thought to themselves, neither knowing that their minds were working in unison.
Mark was desperately afraid that he would lose his father, perhaps, not even get to say goodbye. Losing his mother was more than he could handle when it happened, but losing his one remaining parent would be far too disastrous, maybe even too much an ordeal from which to ever have hope of recovery.
Shylah dropped Mark off at the entrance to the E.R., knowing that he could not possibly walk the hundreds or more feet from the parking lot. When Shylah arrived inside, she found Mark sitting, his head in his hands, hunched, hiding his tears.
"Baby," Shylah instilled into the moment of grief and anguish, "Baby, it'll be ok. Trust me. You'll get through this. Your dad is a fighter. Your dad is too stubborn to ever give up."
Mark wanted so badly to trust in these words, but he could not help but remind himself of the great lack of evidence to support them. "Thank you," Mark returned, rather muffled. "But... But I don't know. I just don't know. The doctor already gave him very little time. What if this is it?!"
Rubbing Mark's back, Shylah had no clue what to add to the conversation, of what she could possibly do to comfort Mark further. Searching endlessly, she found nothing. She wanted to ask questions but was afraid that doing so would only upset Mark more than he already was. It seemed that the entire relationship thus far had been nothing but tests, but Shylah knew that they could get through it all. They had already weathered so much and come out on top. She would not give Mark up for any reason or let anything, no matter how big it might be, get in the way. She would remain the loyal, loving friend, lover, and partner throughout it all, consequences be damned.
With her other hand, Shylah rubbed her eyes, partly from the tiredness brought on by so much recent stress and partly because she wanted to hide. There was nothing that could be said to make things better, but if she just sat there, holding Mark as she did, it would all somehow improve. At least, that is what she told herself.
"Crady? is there someone here for Thomas Crady?" The voice was a welcome boon to Shylah. Good news or bad, it took away some of the pressure, for a little while.
Mark jolted from his protruding, stumbled-looking position to see the face of a man in white, sporting a bushy beard and a clipboard.
As badly as he felt, Mark sprang to his feet and rushed to the doctor. "Is he ok? Is he? How is he? What's going on? Can I see him?"
"Sir," politely interrupted the doctor. "He's ok, for now."
"But can I see him?"
"He's still unconscious," began the doctor, staring more at his chart than at Mark. "But he's stable. I'm pretty optimistic about his current state."
"What does that mean," Mark demanded, almost screaming with worry.
"Your father is alright for now," the said casually, finally looking up and paying Mark his deservedly respectful attention. "However, I don't know how much he might have told you about his cancer. It is inoperable, and I'm afraid that he is nearing the end."
"What," Mark exclaimed at the top of his lungs, causing everyone else in the waiting room to take immediate notice. "I thought he had a few months."
"Well," replied the doctor, his mouth cringing at the thought of having to relay the next bit of information. "That was a while ago that he was told that, and it seems to be spreading at an even greater rate than his doctor had anticipated."
"Like how long," Mark asked in disbelief, his mouth hanging wide open, the awe of it all confounding his thoughts.
"I don't specialize in that," the doctor assured, "but if I had to make a guess off the top of my head, I would say a month, maybe less."
Mark, too speechless to reply, stood there with his mouth still agape.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Crady, very sorry," the doctor rambled in his vain attempt at comforting.
As the doctor strode back through the large double doors, Mark darted after him. "Wait!"
"Yes?"
"You never said if I could go see him."
"Well," mused the doctor, trying not to sound agitated or demeaning. "I did say that he was still unconscious. Honestly, I would say that he will be out for quite some time. I wouldn't suggest waiting around."
"I wanna see him," Mark demanded.
"Alright, Sir. He's being admitted as we speak. I'll have someone come for you when he's situated. Ok?" The doctor walked away as quickly as he could, wondering to himself about
the level of intelligence of the people that he continually had to deal with, thinking Mark to obviously be of a below average level at best.
Mark stormed back through the double doors and took a seat next to Shylah who had decided to leave the matter alone, resuming her place in one of the very uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.
"What's wrong," Shylah asked right away, seeing that Mark was upset.
"The doctor."
"What about him, Babe?"
"He's an asshole! I asked him a simple question, and he treated me like I was a little kid. I'm stressed out over all this, and honestly, I haven't been thinkin' too clear since the blow to my head." Mark sat with his arms crossed, huffing and not really in the mood to talk but not wanting to ignore Shylah. The last thing that he wanted was to push her away in any way.
"What can I do, Honey," Shylah proposed, rubbing Mark's back once again but still having no idea what she could really do.
"Nothin'!"
"Babe?! C'mon. Tell me." The worry weighed on Shylah's mind so heavily that she felt she had to get Mark talking again, to get him in a better mood and hopefully, find some bit of hope.
"I don't know," Mark snapped, not realizing what he was doing.
"I know this is all hard on you, Mark, but don't snap at me, please."
"I'm... I'm sorry, Babe. I didn't mean to yell. I'm so stressed out, so very stressed out. I'm scared. I'm freaked out. I'm... I'm lost here."
"You got me. It'll be ok, somehow. I know it. The Lord provides. This is probably better than ever a time to be praying. Just close your eyes, and say a prayer. It'll help. I know it will. At the least, it'll make you feel better. God always gives some kind of answer, even if it's just in letting your mind ease off. Trust Him, please, Babe." Shylah smiled so intently, so affectionately at her boyfriend that he knew her words must be truthful. Mark had always trusted in God in times of need but hadn't thought much of it that day.
Mark felt like dropping to his knees right there in the waiting room but didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself. Instead, he took Shylah's advice and closed his eyes, losing himself in a silent prayer, begging for his father to have an easy passage, for him to know how much he was loved and would be missed, and for all of the pain to go away. Mark's real comfort at this moment was the sudden knowledge that no matter what, his father would be better off and would no longer have to suffer. Realizing that, Mark knew that that was his answer. God had already given the support that was desperately needed.
When Mark lifted his head at last, Shylah was there to meet him with her angelic smile. "Feel better, Baby?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. It worked."
"See! Like I said, just put your trust in Him, and you'll get through anything. Just don't give up. It's when you give up that He may not be able to help you cuz you won't let Him help you. As long as you still have some little bit of faith in His power, nothing can get you down for good." Shylah felt as if the situation were testing her own faith somewhat, but she still believed and wanted Mark to believe just as strongly. Shylah had already prayed so many times that day for Mark's well-being and even for that of Thomas, a man that she had wanted to hate for so long. Now seemed the best time to let it all go and forgive the man for all that he had done to the King family and to so many others. If Thomas had truly give his heart over to God, as he said that he had, there was no longer any need to hold onto such ill feelings toward him, not to mention that there was no need for the empty and lingering sickness that such feelings often leave those experiencing them to hold onto in their own hearts.
"How did you get so wise," Mark asked, somewhat incredulous about it all.
"You don't pay a lot of attention to Reverend Hill, do you? I listen to every word the man ever says. He's got this stuff figured out. Maybe you need to listen a little more next time. Just sayin', Babe. You're a good man. Don't ever forget what a good man you are and that so many people know it, see it, feel it. You're the sweetest man I ever met and have one of the purest souls that's ever been on the Earth. I see it every time I look at you, but you gotta just trust some more. I'm not the best example for a lot of things, but I do know who it is that I can turn to, no matter what. You got the love thy neighbor thing down better than anybody, except maybe Reverend Hill. I think you let your faith slip, though. If you get the faith thing down, you'll get through anything."
"I had it," Mark quickly added, looking as though he might begin to cry.
"I know, Baby. I know you did, and I think you still got it somewhere, maybe more under the surface than it used to be, but you got it. Just know I'm here for you through anything and everything, and I know God is, too. And please know how sorry I am for what I put you through. I promise you I'm never gonna do that to you again! You didn't deserve what I did. I listened to my dad and ruined the best thing I've ever had. I won't lose that again."
"Well," Mark replied, taken aback some but both greatly relieved and a little too worried that Shylah was so worried, "I know. You've apologized so many times. It's ok. Look. We're together now. We got each other. If anything, it was good for it to happen. It taught us some things. And I'm glad you don't ever wanna lose me. I could never wanna lose you either. You think I would've fought that guy at the bar and gone through this stuff if I didn't love you so much? I've loved you so long that it killed me inside to see you with somebody else and see you not want me. I know you were confused and goin' through a lot, and it's all ok now. I'm not mad at you. I'm not. Just know that I would do anything for you and anything to keep you. I'll fight til my last breath to protect you and to show you how much I care about you. I'll slay dragons for you, Shylah, even if they're wearin' ball caps and come from Valdosta." Mark started laughing so hard that he shook all over and nearly fell from his chair, causing Shylah to begin laughing just as hard. Both were glad that the mood had been lightened so much.
Shylah, after she finally recovered herself, threw her arms around Mark's neck and kissed the side of his head. "And I love you for that, Mark! I'll fight for you, too. You think I didn't wanna stomp a mud hole in that skank at the bar I saw hittin' on you? I couldn't say anything to you then, but I never felt so jealous in all my life! You got me now, and I got you! I hope neither of us ever forgets!"
Mark leaned in more closely to Shylah, accepting her full embrace, throwing his hands over Shylah's arms, gripping them tightly. They remained huddled together like this for quite some time, forgetting all around them and the troubles they were facing with the health of Thomas and Mark's fears about it.
Eventually, a nurse emerged from behind the two large double doors, barely noticed by Mark or Shylah. "Crady," the nurse shouted over the waiting room TV. that had been turned up to an intolerable volume. "Crady?"
Mark, finally hearing the shout, jumped to his feet. "I'm Crady."
"Marcus Crady, right," the nurse asked. "Is your father Thomas Crady, Jr.?"
"Yes," Mark exclaimed, fearing the worst.
"Your father is awake now, Mr. Crady. You can go see him."
"Where?"
"Room 214."
Mark rushed for the nearest elevator so quickly that Shylah could barely keep up the pace. She was afraid that Mark would leave her behind, but that was never his intention. As soon as the elevator opened, long before Shylah reached the spot, Mark held the door, yelling from a considerable distance, "Hurry up, slowpoke! I don't have all day! C'mon. C'mon. C'mon." Shylah might have believed that Mark was serious if it weren't for him letting out a deep chortle.
"Boy," Shylah announced, now within less than twenty feet, "I'm gonna hurt you!"
"Hurt me, Baby! Hurt me!"
At that moment, Shylah made it to the elevator and immediately slapped Mark very hard across the shoulder as he let go of the door.
"Ow," Mark sarcastically screamed. "You hooht me so bad. I tell on you."
"Who you gonna tell," Shylah asked as the doors closed and the elevator began to rise.
"I'll tell your mama. She l
ikes me. She'll take my side." Mark could hardly hold back his laughter at the thought of it.
"Whoo," Shylah resoundingly shot back. "My mama? You gonna tell my mama? I am so scared. She might... She might... She might tell me, 'don't do that.'"
"That's right! And you'll be grounded!"
"Boy, you're too damn silly," Shylah laughingly stated.
The doors opened quickly, Mark and Shylah emerging into a stale and sterile air that seemed overwhelming. They strode quite happily, hand in hand, to room 214. Mark found joy in knowing that he could be there for his father at the worst time of his life and at least, relay more of the same things that the two of them had discussed.
Chapter 9
Thomas looked pale, frightfully pale, far more so than Mark had ever before seen or imagined. Much of the hope and comfort that Mark had previously felt now dissipated with the sight. "Dad," Mark shouted.
"Hey, Son." Thomas could barely find breath, most leaving him before it could be mustered.
"Dad, you doin' ok? You feelin' ok?"
"Well, they got me hooked up to eighteen thousand machines. I got needles in me all over, and it is about the most uncomfortable thing I ever felt. Other than that, I guess I'm ok. I got lost of pretty nurses to look at when I'm actually awake." After finishing this, Thomas took a very deep gasp, struggling to reclaim what little air his lungs could fight to filter.
"That's good, Dad. I'm glad. A man always needs a pretty woman to look at, or in some cases, lots of 'em! Just rest, though. Don't talk too much. It doesn't sound like your lungs are that good right now. Know that we're here. We're gonna be here for you for a while. We don't need to go anywhere. Do we, Babe?" Shylah barely noticed Mark's question, staring at all of the machines and wondering what they all did, also thinking of how it had only been a few days prior that she had seen Mark in much the same condition.
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