"No. It's not like that. He doesn't know about the baby. He just said to keep the church in mind for gettin' married, and we told him we would and that he should expect it one day. It was nothin' more than that, I promise you, Sir." Mark now felt the worries wandering back into his mind, making it even more difficult to stand. His dizziness that the doctor warned him about was beginning to take such effect that it was staggering, overwhelming, and potentially very dangerous.
With no other words needing said, both men headed back into the house to join the rest of the family for their Sunday afternoon meal. Everything was fine and to everyone's satisfaction, though Darius occasionally shot Mark a look that seemed to say, "You'd better go through with it." Mark knew that he must but that much more than that, he really wanted to do it.
After a long while, it finally dawned on Mark that he and Shylah had left Thomas all alone. He seemed perfectly sedated by his medicines; however, Mark knew that it was time to check on him. Gathering Shylah away from her parents and her brother, he escorted her to the truck and made the long drive home. When they arrived, Thomas was well awake, worried, and back to his lapse of short-term memories.
"Where have you been," Thomas snapped. "Where the hell have... ugh... have you been, Michael?!"
Again, Mark ignored his father's ignorance of who he really was, trying to find no hurt in the matter. "We were at church, Daddy, and then havin' some food. You were out cold when we left. We thought you'd be ok sleepin'."
"Well, I wasn't! I've been awake a long time, wonderin' where the hell everybody is! Where's your mama?!"
"Daddy..." Mark could not even finish, knowing that telling his father that he had no wife, that she had passed many years prior, would do no good.
"Go get your mama. And why am I in bed? Why... ugh... why am I hooked up to these machines?! Get your mama! I need to talk to her."
Mark, trying to hide the coming tears, turned his head to Shylah and told her that she should go. He would tend to his father, as painful as it would prove to be. Mark stayed with his father until he fell back to sleep, and after changing the man's catheter, he left the room, contented that he had done his familial duties and could lose himself in something, anything that would remove his mind far from the sad state of affairs at hand.
Mark convinced Shylah that they should steal away to the grove of cypress trees to the north of the house, the place where they had had their very happy occasion of love nights previous. Shylah eagerly agreed and grabbing the baby monitor and a blanket, followed Mark out of the house and across the large, manicured lawn toward the grove.
Laying the blanket out, the couple took seats on the ground under the very large, overhanging canopy above. As Shylah rested her hand on Mark's leg, quickly being taken up by Mark's hand, the woman remarked, frightfully, "Do we have to worry about anything here?"
"What do you mean by that," Mark asked, unsure of Shylah's words and puzzled terribly by them.
"Is there anything that's gonna crawl out of the swamp and get us?"
"Baby, the swamp is a good ways away, and hardly anything ever comes out of it, but if a snake or somethin' comes this way, don't worry. He won't eat much."
"Thanks," Shylah replied, slapping Mark hard on the thigh. "That's reassuring!"
After an hour or so of resting upon the blanket together, talking about nothing much in particular, the sun began to dip down and release the moon into its place, the sky darkening gradually and welcomed by those waiting in watch.
"Beautiful night with a beautiful woman," Mark calmly and exuberantly exclaimed. "Seems a little too perfect, but I ain't complainin'!"
"It is pretty, isn't it," Shylah agreed. "It's times like this that let me just relax and forget my troubles. You don't need to get far away when you're stressed. You just need good company and a place like this."
As the moon showed its fullness rising in the night sky, Mark and Shylah laid their heads down on the blanket, rolling around with one another, passionately kissing each other, running their hands all over, completely enjoying the moment and the aloneness they shared, an aloneness that could be had only with their mutual company, alone from all other people and from all worries.
Soon, the touching and kissing turned to far more, to a gentle removing of each other's clothing and touching of bare skin until the two were lost in each other's eyes and caresses. They made passionate and desperately conjoined love several times before any thoughts of returning to the house or to the life inside of it entered their minds. No other moment in the relationship thus far had seemed quite as perfect or overtaking, so benevolent and giving of its bounties. The only witnesses to the event were the animals concealed in the trees all around, the stars overhead, and the moon that they sheltered.
The place would now become Mark's and Shylah's getaway location, their respite from the world. Night after night, they would come to it to give themselves fully to one another without the threat of interruption or concern that lay within the confines of the high walls of Crady Manor.
The rest of the night in question went off without a further hitch. Thomas slept throughout the night as if he were a newborn babe, secluded in its cradle next to its mother's bed. Day would come, as it always does, but this with so much less worry than usual. Mark arose, ready for the day, ready to accomplish the tasks he set for himself, though not so eager to strip himself of Shylah's loving arms and leave her to deal with Thomas. Mark encouraged Shylah to call her cousin, Shawntel, and offer her the job of live-in nurse for Thomas. Mark desperately hoped that the woman would accept and would begin the job that very day, in order to relieve Shylah of such unfair obligation.
The more that Mark and Shylah prayed for things to go their way, the more they did. Everything seemed to fall right into place, far better than either could have hoped. A larger than normal cleanup crew showed up at the plant, removing ample amounts of debris while repairs and construction were immediately begun. With the substantial bank loan about to come through, Mark and Don agreed that they should double the plant expansion. They had enough land for it but until that time, did not believe that they would have enough money. The furnace company began their work of removing the old and faulty furnaces from the plant in order to replace them with newer, more efficient models. Mark even paid, though quite reluctantly, the millions of dollars of government fines so that the ordeal could be ended.
Upon Shylah's offer to her cousin, Shawntel immediately and ecstatically said yes, showing up before noon to assess the situation, the house, and her patient. Money was not discussed, though Shylah assured that anything that was asked would be given. Mark even found time to slip away from the plant in the afternoon to visit a nearby jewelry store. He picked out a very intricately-layered, though incredibly expensive, diamond ring to use to propose marriage to Shylah. Until the receipt of the ring, Mark would live in utter and exhausting anticipation, much as he did regarding the ensuing and inevitable approach of his father's death.
Night after night, Mark made sure that he spent every possible moment with Shylah, stealing away at every opportunity to the cypress grove, hours passing in loving bliss of hopeful and embracing solitude. Mark wanted so badly ever time to be able to pull the ring from his pocket and ask the question that ate daily upon his mind, making him feel as though the time between each moment and the realization of his dream would be an unbearable eternity.
By week's end, the plant had been thoroughly cleaned, repair were largely completed, construction was well under way, and all of the old furnaces had been removed. It seemed as though, despite the immense expense of things, that the plant would be up and running in no time. It began to weight on Mark's mind that everything had gone too well, far too well, and that there must be something bad looming in the not too distant future.
All that had gone wrong the entire week was the receipt of some of Cyrus Donovan's initial medical bills and the learning of his need for numerous skin grafts and surgeries. Cyrus' face would be permanently dis
figured, no matter the efforts of his doctors, and it would be some time before he would be back to functional health. Mark felt so awful about it all that he could hardly bear to visit Cyrus, though he knew that he must and made two trips to see the man after his release from the burn unit of the Atlanta hospital, subsequently being moved to the hospital just down the road so that he could be close to his family. His first skin graft had gone off without hindrance, and all future grafts would be performed at the other hospital, making things so much easier on all of his loved ones. Cyrus was always of good cheer when Mark visited, but each sighting of the man in his horrid state filled Mark with utter internal disgust for himself.
The bills that Mark received by Friday of that week already totaled nearly one hundred thousand dollars, but Mark happily paid them before the end of the day. He wanted there to be no reasons for anyone to be cross with him or for anyone to claim that he had not lived up to his promise to the Donovan family. Everything else seemed to be going well. Mark distanced his mind, the best that he could, from the thoughts of what Cyrus Donovan still had before him, even just from the knowledge that Cyrus would remain in the hospital for at least a couple of more weeks and then face at least several more skin grafts in the months to come.
As Mark readied himself to leave the plant for what he hoped to be a weekend of fun and relaxation with Shylah, his phone began to ring, catching him a bit off guard, causing him to drop it on the floor. As he knelt to find it, it having slipped under his desk, Mark noticed that it was Shylah calling him. For some reason, the thought made him nervous. He did not know why. A feeling deep within his gut told him that the call would not be a happy one.
Fumbling and shaking, Mark pressed the send button to answer the call. "Hey, Baby."
"Mark, Honey, I hope you're sitting down." These words confirmed what Mark suspected. He wondered what the news would be, but it would obviously not be welcomed.
"Actually, I'm on the floor."
"Why are you on the floor exactly?"
"I dropped my phone and had to get down and look for it."
"Well," Shylah hesitatingly replied, "I have some news, and you're not gonna like it. I really wish you were sittin' down, Baby."
Mark pulled himself to his chair and braced himself. "I'm sitting now."
"Ok. Baby, I'm really really sorry, and I wish I didn't have to tell you this. Your dad..."
"My dad? My dad what?"
"Baby, your dad just died."
Mark sat motionless and silent, unsure how he would proceed, but before he could think much about it, his chair slipped out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor with a hard thud that sent a shockwave of pain throughout his body.
"Baby, you there," Shylah asked, quite worried about Mark's mental state.
"Yuh... yeah. I'm... I'm here."
"Baby, I'm so sorry. I really am. We knew it was gonna happen. I know you can never prepare yourself for somethin' like this, but it can't really surprise you."
"I know," Mark choked out, unable to say anything more.
"Are you gonna be ok, Baby? You know I'm here for you, no matter what. Do you want me to come get you? It's no problem, Baby. You probably shouldn't be drivin' right now."
"Ye... yeah. If you want, you can. I think I'll be ok, but you can come here if you want."
"Baby," Shylah slowly and a little shakily muttered, "I... I just don't want anything to happen to you. I'm scared for you. If you drive home, just be very very careful, please! I'd rather you let me come get you."
"Ok. I guess we can leave my truck here for a while. Come get me if it makes you feel better. Shy... Shylah?"
"Yes, Baby?"
"I... I love you. Just know that." Mark's hand trembled so much that he had to grab his right wrist with his left hand to steady it.
"I know you do, Baby, and I love you, too. I love you so much it hurts. We'll get through this, Baby. I promise. God gives us nothing that we can't get through if we turn to Him. It's hard, but He's always there for us."
Before he could even set his phone down, Mark fell over, his face resting on the carpet of his office floor just below his desk. Slowly moving upward, Mark came to his knees, praying harder than he ever had at any other moment in his life, begging for cessation of his grief and his worries, for acceptance of his father into whatever lay beyond the Earthly world, and for his father to find peace and always know that his son loved him and would always miss him in his own way.
Mark did not cease from praying until he heard the door of his office fly open and hit the wall behind it. "Baby," Mark could hear coming from the other side of the room. "Baby?"
"Here," Mark replied, still leaning toward the floor in supplication to the Almighty.
"What are you doin' down there, Baby," Shylah concernedly asked.
"I was praying, Baby. Just give me a second." Before Shylah could move, thinking that she might have a little bit of time to kill, Mark muttered a soft, "Amen."
Shylah hurried to Mark's side and offered her hand to help raise him from the floor. Mark eagerly accepted the offer, and rising, threw his arms around Shylah, hugging her so tightly that she felt as if her back might break. Mark would not pull away. He would not relinquish. He could not hold back his tears any longer.
Sobbing like a baby on Shylah's neck, Mark let loose every emotion that had been buried within him. Shylah did all that she could to comfort the man, rubbing the back of his head over and over again, though she still felt far too much pressure being applied to her own body. "Baby... Baby, you... you got... you gotta let up!"
Mark pulled away, staring deeply into Shylah's eyes. "What? Did I hurt you?"
"Yeah, sorry, Baby. I love it when you come to me like that, but you can't squeeze me so hard. I'm a lot weaker than you are."
"You wanna get goin' then, Babe," Mark asked, his eyes so red that Shylah had to fight her own tears at seeing the heartbreaking sight.
"Yeah. Shawntel left since there was nothin' she could do, so I don't really know what we should do, to tell you the truth, but I don't really wanna stay here."
"So, he's just layin' there in his bed then," Mark posited, the idea of it seeming strange.
"No. Shawntel called 911 right before I called you. The ambulance was already nearby, and they came and got him. I didn't wanna call you til I was sure he was gone. I'll be honest. I hoped we were wrong, but the emt guys said that he was dead. There was nothin' anybody could do, Baby. But if they hadn't come and got him yet, I'd still be there. I wouldn't just leave him there. This whole thing is just so weird. I never saw a dead body before, not when the person just passed. The only ones I ever saw were in caskets. There is nothin' like seein' a person right after they're gone. You're lucky you didn't see what I saw, and I won't even tell you how bad it really was. I'd suggest burnin' the bed, or at least, the mattress."
"So you were right there when it happened," Mark asked, looking as though his tears had only stopped for a brief period, as if they would begin to pour out once more in an uncontrollable and soaking torrent of soul cleansing.
Shylah hesitated for a moment, not wanting to answer but knowing that she would have to, she affirmed, "Yes, I was. It's not pretty. Believe me, but yeah." Shylah felt a deep lump swelling her throat as she watched Mark, waiting for a reaction.
"I'm glad somebody was," Mark stated, sadly. "I should've been. I really should've. You know what the last thing I said to him was?"
"What's that?"
"Nothin' really. I think I said somethin' about how difficult he was bein', not to his face, though, so I guess the last thing I said to him was just 'ok' when he asked for a glass of water. That's the last thing I'll remember, me sayin' 'ok' and then talkin' bad about him when I left the room."
"Baby," Shylah said, grabbing Mark by the shoulders and staring with burning fire into his glassy eyes, "Don't beat yourself up! You were a great son to that man! You did way more than most would've or could've! You did right by your dad! He's with God no
w. You have nothing to feel bad about. Just be glad he'll never have to suffer again."
"I guess."
"C'mon, Baby. Let's go. We'll go get somethin' to eat, and then, we can do whatever you want. We can go for a drive or go home or whatever."
Mark immediately stammered, "I... I don't wanna eat. I'm not hungry."
"Baby, you have to eat, and I'm hungry. I can't go without food. I can't do that to the baby."
"The baby," Mark shot back.
"Yeah. You know I'm kinda pregnant."
"No. I know that. I mean, I just thought about it. We never once told my dad he was gonna be a grandpa. Why didn't I tell him?! Dammit!" Mark muttered, under his breath, "stupid! stupid! stupid!"
"He knows. Trust me. He knows now. It's ok, Baby. You've had so much goin' on, and there's no way he would've understood. His mind wasn't right for the last couple of weeks. He thought he was livin' years ago with your mama and your brother still around. If he couldn't even recognize you, how would he understand that he was gonna be a grandpa? It wouldn't do any good to tell him. Just know he's way better off now and that you did all that could be expected of you. Let's go get some food, and YOU ARE GONNA EAT, MISTER!"
"Yes, Boss," Mark replied, laughing lightly as he did.
"Yes. Yes, I am, and I'm glad you're able to laugh some."
Though it took a considerable amount of effort, Shylah finally coaxed Mark from his office and out to the car. After a brief stop by one of the local fast food restaurants, the couple returned home, to Mark's general disappointment. Somehow, it all felt wrong. It felt as though there were a great specter of unfinished life in the house, haunting and hanging on, watching and wishing, perhaps, there to torment, even if that were not its intent. Mark wondered how he could live in that place a day longer. Though it was his ancestral home and very dear to him in some ways, it could never again feel like home, he thought.
The only consolation for Shylah that night was that she convinced Mark to take a trip to their spot underneath the cypress trees. Mark did not feel like attending their nightly rendezvous, but he knew that Shylah was his only real source of centering in the world that now made so little sense to him. Perhaps, he persuaded himself, going would bring solace and relief, maybe some bit of hope and happy vision of clarity to the spectacle of things.
Under the Cypress Moon Page 30