"I'm not lettin' him go, T.! It looks like he's lettin' me go! If he comes around, if he comes to his senses, if he finally sees this bitch for what she is, I'll take him back in a heartbeat! Sorry, Mama. I know. Don't even say it. I said a bad word. But you know, I'm goin' through a lot here! That woman is a bitch! I'll say it and say it again and again! She's a bitch! She's an ugly bitch! She's a mean bitch! She's a mean, ugly bitch!" With a deep, welling sigh, Shylah got up from the table and marched off to her room. She needed a moment to cool down and get over her brother's words. Most of what T.L. said made perfect sense to Shylah. She never wanted to lose Mark or to give up on their relationship. Every bit of her hoped that Mark would come around. Something drastic would have to be done. Surely, no one would prove to Mark how conniving Sara was or that she was only conning him.
The next day, Shylah found the strength, through prayer, to rise and file from bed and out among the living once again. Everything in her told her to go to church. She needed it. The Lord would look after her. These things echoed in her mind as she sat down at the table, awaiting her mother to serve breakfast to the family.
"Mornin', Baby," Pearlina said to her daughter, leaning down, spatula in hand, to place a nurturing kiss on her daughter's face.
"Mornin', Mama. It all smells good. Bacon?"
"Yessirree! Bacon, eggs, grits, jes the way yo daddy likes it, hot, steamy, and on a plate, like me!"
"Mama, please tell me you're talkin' about the food and not how Daddy likes you." The thought of it caused Shylah to start feeling queasy.
"Well, you know, Child, married folks still get down and dirty! Mmmm!"
"Mama, it's Sunday, and you're talkin' to your daughter about what you do with her daddy! I don't know that I can eat!" Shylah attempted to rise from the table but was quickly nudged into her seat by her mother.
"Oh, don't you worry now! Jes set there, and smell the fresh cookin'! It's so good! You goin' to church with us, right?"
"Plannin' on it, Mama."
After a hearty breakfast and a quick shower, Shylah was nearly ready to go, throwing on her clothes in a hurry and applying very little makeup for one of the first times ever in her life. All she cared about was looking presentable but not breathtakingly beautiful. The thought of looking particularly good for anyone, Mark included, just wasn't of any real concern for her.
When Shylah strode into the church with her family, she was quickly approached by Reverend Hill. "Shylah, I see you are not with Mark today. Is there somethin' wrong? You two havin' troubles? If it's of any help to you, I do offer counseling services for couples, and I'd be happy to lend a hand to ya. You know, love is a powerful thing and a dangerous thing at the same time. It has the power to transcend, the power to build up, and the power to take away. It's a tightrope you have to walk to be able to see the beauty and the hazards, the mountains and the valleys. I do believe, however, that you and Mark make a wonderful couple, a happy couple, a loving couple, a good, God-fearing couple! I'd hate to see anything bad happen to your relationship with him. If you need anything, you come to me. You remember that the Lord is always, ALWAYS around for His children! You just have to ask!"
"Thank you, Reverend. I appreciate it. I just don't know. I can't really explain it all right now. It's nothin' you might expect. We were happy, very happy, maybe too happy."
"There is no such thing as too happy, Child. There is only your perception of your happiness that can tear down that dream. Don't ever sell yourself so short that you let yourself believe you do not deserve that powerful, everlasting, sustaining love! If you love someone that much, and they love you just the same, you hold on! You don't ever let anything or anyone stand in your way! I have to get on up to the pulpit and get ready now, but if you'd like to discuss this more after the services, you come right on up to me. Reverend Hill is just God's messenger, but I am never too busy to deliver the message, except when there is another I must deliver, such as now!" Reverend Hill walked away, leaving Shylah to stand in the aisle, stricken with confounding thoughts.
Throughout the services, Shylah could hear little of what was spoken from the pulpit or sung by the choir. She sat motionless, staring at Mark across the aisle and several pews ahead. She wanted so badly to run to Mark even before the services let out, just to hold him, to lean on him, to tell him that everything would work itself out, and that it was silly of them to fight, but she knew that she couldn't. She would likely not speak to him at all for some time.
As soon as church was over, Shylah darted from her pew, without saying a word to anyone, hoping to avoid all eyes and all inquisitions, including those of Reverend Hill. As Shylah reached the bottom step outside, she felt a hand take hold of hers. She quickly spun around to stare face to face with Mark.
"Baby, please talk to me," Mark begged. "I can't take this. Please talk to me! I really wanna talk to you about somethin' important!"
"What, Mark? I gotta go."
"Will you please just listen to me for five seconds," Mark bellowed, attempting to whisper but full of emotion as he was, he couldn't.
"I said what, so what is it," Shylah snapped, pulling away.
"I know you're mad, and you have the right to be. How she treated you isn't right. I talked to her about it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. You're everything to me, Baby. I swear that to you! You're my world. I was thinkin' maybe we could go away together for a while, just you and me, no family, no job stuff, just you and me go to the beach for a few days, celebrate my birthday early, just get out and have fun and no worries."
"Goodbye, Mark. I gotta go." Shylah turned to walk away. She was screaming inside to give Mark another chance and to consider his proposition, but she was still far too mad about what had happened, particularly, about Mark not standing up for her enough or getting rid of Sara.
"Baby," Mark pleaded, grabbing Shylah's arm.
"Let go of me," Shylah screamed, loudly enough that several people nearby took immediate assessment of the situation.
One of the men standing less than twenty feet away, a very burly man named Samuel Jenks, rushed to Shylah's aid, prying Mark away. "I believe the lady said to let go of her! Why don't you just leave her alone? You don't manhandle a woman like that!"
"Sam," Mark replied, starting to fume, "Stay out of this, please, Man. This ain't none of your concern!"
"Well, it is when I hear a woman tell a man no. If she don't want ya, leave her be. Maybe the sista ain't got time for you and your triflin' ways! I ain't afraid to throw down in front of a church. The Lord understands."
"Ok, Sam. I don't want any trouble." Mark choked to fight back his tears and the deep, suffocating lump in his throat. "Think about what I said, Shylah, Baby. Think about it. You know we belong together. I'll do whatever it takes. Just know that."
As Mark stepped away from Shylah to head to his truck, Shylah shouted, "Get rid of you know who, and maybe we can talk!"
Chapter 23
Several days passed by with no word from either Mark or Shylah to the other. Mark stopped calling Shylah entirely, stopped texting her, and even refrained from saying anything on the matter to T.L. when the two encountered one another. T.L. made his general inquiries and his speeches to his friend, attempting to mend the chasmic rift between him and Shylah.
By week's end, both Mark and Shylah were nervous wrecks. Neither could sleep well, eat much of anything, or do anything but sob. In Mark's case, however, the sobbing always led to drinking, which led to more sobbing, which led to more drinking. He knew that he was breaking a promise to Shylah, but it didn't seem to matter considering that Shylah would not speak to him. Mark barely spoke to Sara, never muttering more than a few words in passing or seeing each other in the kitchen or in the backyard.
Mark was so despondent that he didn't much care about anything anymore. He occasionally showed his face at the plant, but so much construction and machinery fitting was still going on that there was hardly anything that he could do. Don saw clearly Mark's distress and or
dered him to take more time away. Mark took it upon himself to use the time to travel, on his own. If Shylah would not accompany him, so be it. He would drive around and bounce from town to town until he ended up somewhere that he liked. He thought about Savannah. He thought of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. He thought of Tampa, Miami, even California. Anywhere with a beach and lots of alcohol seemed like the perfect place.
On Saturday, now six days without word from Shylah, Mark loaded his truck with belongings and handed a copy of the house key to Sara, informing him of his trip and asking her to keep the place safe until his return. Little did he know that Sara had dreamed of such a thing. She had plans that she knew Mark would never approve of, but now, her initial inheritance payment had been made, and she had a quarter of a million dollars burning a hole in her pocket.
Mark took off as quickly as he could throw his things into the back of the truck, not caring where he went, paying no attention to what direction he headed. He sped aimlessly down the drive and out onto the gravel road connecting it to the county highway, barreling faster and faster down each successive road until he made it to the interstate. He had no idea for a very long time if he was headed east, west, north, or south, and didn't care. He lit cigarette after cigarette and blared music until he thought he was almost going deaf. With the wind blowing through his mid-length hair, the windows rolled down, and nowhere in particular to be, he drove like never before.
Mark never saw the sign that said he was entering Florida, recognizing nothing at all until he stopped at a rest area eighty miles past the state line. When it dawned on him just where he was, he thought that he might continue until he reached Tampa, approximately two hundred miles south of his current location. Surely, he thought he could find a vacant hotel with much ease.
It was then that Mark realized how empty his life seemed, how nothing made any sense without Shylah, and especially that he could not happily or easily continue on his journey without her by his side. Everything, without Shylah, was meaningless. He wished that he could have convinced her to go with him, to say goodbye to all seriousness and lose herself in her love for Mark and the moment of victory shared in letting go of their home life and welcoming the cleansing renewal brought by giving into a complete lack of plans or expectations.
Mark climbed back into his truck, slumping back in the seat, trying to hide the fact that he was bawling his eyes out like a baby. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing him, even if they were only strangers. He immediately thought of heading home and trying one last time to convince Shylah that they should be together, but he knew that it would be to no avail and that if he were ever to have any semblance of peace or happiness again, he needed this time away from all of his cares and worries.
Mark continued heading south on I-75 for what seemed an eternity, passing endless palm trees and very few noticeable off ramps. As the lanes dwindled from four to three and back over and over, Mark thought that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He hadn't driven so far south into Florida for a very long time. Traffic moved so quickly, most vehicles traveling easily at eighty miles per hour or more. Mark felt a sense of freedom as he revved his truck to eight-five and often, ninety or even ninety-five, veering between small gaps in the parade, merging from one lane to another and another until he had shot so far past person after person after person that he couldn't help but lose himself in laughter.
As the lanes merged once again from four to three, Mark saw what looked like an easy to obtain gap in the middle lane that might allow him to once again jolt ahead of others, but it required merging quickly from the far left lane. The only obstacle was a fast-traveling semi. As soon as the semi careened a little more ahead, Mark decided to go for it, not seeing beyond the back of the semi's trailer. As he veered into the middle lane at just under ninety, he saw that another truck was attempting to do the same thing from the far right lane, the two of them nearly colliding. Mark quickly jaunted back into the left lane and motioned for the other driver to take the spot that they had both wanted.
In an attempt to once more forget everything, Mark cranked up the volume on his stereo. At that moment, Jake Owen's "Anywhere with You" came blaring back, bringing Mark's thoughts all back to Shylah, to her beautiful face, to everything now lost. It was exactly what Mark wanted, to have convinced Shylah to steal away with him, with no planning, to end up wherever the road would take them, with no cares but each other and having a good time, emboldening everything that they already felt.
Before he knew it, however, Mark saw the sign for a detour that would take him west toward the Tampa area, saving many miles over continuing on I-75. In very little time, he saw the looming lights of the city, not knowing what city it was exactly, unfamiliar as he was with the Tampa area.
It was still daylight, the sky well enough lit for Mark to easily navigate until he wound up at a beach resort in Largo, completely unaware of exactly where he was but only knowing that he was in the general area that he wanted to be and that the hotel had beach access. Luckily enough, there were vacant rooms available. Mark happily, rather, greedily, slapped his credit card onto the front desk of the hotel lobby and demanded a room with an ocean view.
The view from the room, Mark thought, was absolutely breathtaking. He still wished that Shylah were there to enjoy it with him, but he figured that going solo for the time being would have to do. Quickly emptying a few small bottles of liquor from the mini fridge made Mark feel somewhat like a new man. He thought nothing at all of how expensive the liquor might be. All that mattered was having something to numb the pain as much as possible, as quickly as possible.
With no further thought about anything at all, Mark hurried from his room and out onto the beach, stripping himself of his shirt as he went, tossing it aside. The semi-cool ocean breeze felt amazing on his bare skin. His rippling muscles drew the attention of more than a few bikini-clad beachgoers. Mark knew that numerous sets of eyes were fixated on his body, but it meant nothing to him. He had no inclinations toward cheating on Shylah. Even if they were, technically, on some kind of a break, there could be no taking advantage of the moment in such a way. Mark soon plopped down onto the warm sand and dug his feet in. With his hair blowing behind him and his well-tanned body still uncovered for all to see, woman after woman began to murmur about the new guy.
It seemed funny to some that the guy they knew nothing about was on the beach in jeans and cowboy boots, though Mark removed the boots as soon as he sat down. It was only a few minutes before a gorgeous, very fit woman with long, lustrous, brown hair and a bikini colored just as brown as her hair took a seat only two feet away from Mark.
"Hey, Cowboy," the woman greeted Mark promptly.
"Hey there, yourself," Mark muttered, nodding to the woman but not really caring much about having company.
"I'm Melina. What's your name, Handsome?"
"Mark. Mark Crady." Mark never turned his face toward the woman. Having no idea what she looked like, he continued staring toward the ocean waves slapping against the shore and the impending sunset.
"I love your accent. Where are you from?"
"Georgia, Ma'am."
"Ma'am, huh? Damn is your voice sexy. I thought you'd just be some tourist like me, not a real Southern boy. I think Southern guys have some of the sexiest voices ever! You sound like you could start singin' me a country song." The woman moved slightly closer and pretended to fall over onto Mark's shoulder. "Oops. I'm so clumsy!"
Mark couldn't help but laugh at the compliments and at the woman's eager attempts. As he belted out a deep and hearty laugh, it only served to endear him more to the woman sitting next to him. She couldn't help but desire him in ways that he thought only Shylah had lately.
"Even your laugh is hot," Melina chortled. "You're sexy and have a sexy drawl and a sexy laugh. Where you been all my life?"
"Georgia, Ma'am."
"Georgia, Ma'am. Georgia, Ma'am," Melina repeated in her best impersonation of Mark's accent. "You don't have to keep
callin' me Ma'am, ya know. You can just call me Melina."
"I was raised to be respectful is all. It wouldn't feel right to show ya disrespect, Ma'am."
"It's not disrespectful, and I find that pretty hot you're so nice and sweet. I bet you taste as good as a strawberry daiquiri, smooth and sweet. I could eat you up." Melina placed her hand on Mark's shoulder, and though it felt a bit strange, Mark did not bother to remove it.
"I don't know my fiancée would like you tryin' to eat me up," Mark responded with a semi-serious grin.
"Fiancée, huh," the woman quickly repeated. "Then why are you here, and she's not?"
"Long story, Ma'am, I mean, Melina. Long story, way longer than you'd wanna hear. Trust me."
"I got time. See my friends over there?" Melina pointed a finger to a spot a hundred feet up the beach. "They're not goin' anywhere for a long time, and we're probably just gonna hit up a beach club later. I got all the time in the world. The sun's not even goin' down yet. Tell me."
Mark relayed, the best that he could, the gist of everything that had happened over the past nearly month and a half since had his first date with Shylah. Melina listened endlessly, seldom interrupting, taking it all in. By the time that Mark finished, the sun was dipping down past the horizon, and he had a new friend, a friend that felt so deeply sorry for him that she saw him as far more than just a great-looking man but saw him as a beautiful and tortured soul.
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