Under the Cypress Moon

by Wallace, Jason

  The woman's cockiness was a breath of fresh air to T.L. The woman was intriguing in every conceivable way. "Is that so, huh? We'll see about that. You might even be workin' for me. I got made a supervisor."

  The woman's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Supervisor? Oh. Well, if you do end up bein' my boss, I guess I better be nice to ya, huh?"

  "Yep. Reckon so. So, what's your name, if you don't mind me askin'?"

  "Tamia. You said yours was T.L.?"

  "Yep. T.L. King."

  "What does T.L. stand for," Tamia asked, now a little intrigued about the man standing before her. Though T.L. seemed to brag, Tamia liked it. She loved when a man displayed the same playful arrogance that she did, so long as it didn't turn into actual, entitled arrogance.

  "I can't tell you that."

  "C'mon. You can. I won't tell anybody. What's it stand for?"

  "Promise not to laugh?"

  "Yeah, sure. Tell me."

  "Ok. Tiberius."

  "Tiberius what? That's just the T."

  "It's Tiberius Lamar, but you promised you wouldn't laugh."

  "I'm not laughin' yet." Tamia fought to hold back the urge to burst into a raging commotion of raucous laughing, knowing that it would be impolite, rude, and downright mean.

  "Yeah, I know. I don't like it. That's why I go by T.L. Everybody calls me T.L. Well, some just mostly call me T. Now, you know why."

  "It's kinda cute, I guess. It could be worse. I have a cousin named Lucious. It's not even spelled right. It's just one letter away from bein' Luscious. I always tease him about how luscious he is. He hates it. No worries, T.L. I'll just call you that."

  "Good. So, I've never even seen you around these parts before. You live here?"

  "At this house? No. I ain't rich."

  "Haha. You know what I mean. You live nearby?" T.L. was so smitten, more with each second that passed. He knew that he had to have this woman, had to convince her that he was worth her time.

  "No. I live about twenty miles away. If this job goes right, though, I might move here."

  "Only twenty miles, huh? I'm surprised we don't know each other. I know just about everybody in four counties, it seems like."

  "Well, I guess you missed me then," Tamia smiled as she turned to walk away. She had become a little interested in T.L. but didn't want to seem too easy to get.

  "Girl, I'd miss you every second! I miss you already, and I can still see you!"

  "I'll see you around. Ok?" Tamia quickly walked far away, keeping a safe distance the rest of the day from T.L. She liked him well enough and found herself hoping that she would run into him, at the plant or around town, but for now, she needed to come across as the ultimate prize, the elusive gift that T.L. needed to seek out and work hard to obtain.

  Mark soon ran into Cyrus Donovan, someone that had hardly been seen by anyone. No one from the plant had seen Cyrus even once since Thomas' funeral. When Mark and Cyrus encountered each other, they hugged so tightly that both began to feel growing aches in their backs and in their limbs, finally having to loosen their grips and let each other go.

  "Mark, this is a right nice thing you're doin' here," Cyrus belted in praises of his boss. "I think it's real good for everybody."

  "I'm glad you like it, Cyrus," Mark replied, wanting to beg forgiveness of the man for what had happened to him. Cyrus still displayed all of the signs of severe burns, a terrible amount of scarring evidencing itself all over the man's face. His numerous skin grafts alleviated only so much of his troubles and the marks of his injuries.

  "I heard about what happened to ya, Mark. I worried over you day by day and prayed so ever hard for ya. I prayed every day for your safety, prayed to the sweet Lord for your recovery. You doin' alright now, though? You seem like you're gettin' around, at least."

  "I'm doin' a lot better, got my good days and my bad days, got a lot of headaches from my head injury, but still doin' much better. But what about you, Cyrus? You need to be prayin' for yourself! I bet you still got a lot of doctors pokin' and proddin' you. You need to be worryin' about you. I worry all the time about you, Man. And by the way, I haven't got any new medical bills on you. You gettin' 'em?"

  "They ain't sent but one lately. That was just here not long back. I reckon I forgot to give it to ya. The insurance covered a lot, though. I think this bill the insurance didn't pay is maybe five or six thousand. It ain't that bad." Cyrus' perseverance and chipper attitude inspired Mark, though it also filled him with that much more sadness for the man and pity over his feeble existence, that of a man that looked far closer to death than to life.

  "Well, give it. I told you and your wife, I'm payin' everything! You don't dare try to pay one single penny of this mess! But on another subject, you feelin' ok to work soon? You don't have to, and you're gonna get a paycheck, no matter if you work or don't work. I just wanted to see how you were feelin'. Whenever you're ready, you come to work, but... we will have to have some kind of note from a doctor sayin' you're cleared." Mark regretted that he had to add the last part, but he knew that all bases must be covered in order to ensure lack of liability.

  "Alright, Mark. I don't know when. My legs ain't felt the best in a while. I'm real anxious to get to the plant and all. I just don't know how my legs'll hold up yet and if my doctor's gonna say ok to it all. I'll let ye know. Well, I better go find Tanya and the kids. They's probably expectin' me somewheres around here. If'n I can find 'em is the question." Cyrus walked away, gently patting Mark on the shoulder as he left, no more said, no more needed to be said by either man.

  Mark stood there in awe of the man. He was one of the most shining examples of persistence and hard work ever seen. He gave Mark hope for what was to come at the plant, hope that everything would find its renewal, even a man so badly burned and turned out by life.

  Chapter 31

  November tenth, a Monday, was the big day. The plant had finally reopened after its longest closing in its more than seventy year history. Mark, feeling so much better, having experienced far less of his crippling headaches, was on hand, well before eight a.m. The elevator was fully installed and functioning, allowing Mark, weak as he still felt, to ride comfortably to the upper platform leading to the managerial offices.

  Mark sat in his office for several hours, not knowing what to do. Don had handled so many of the plant's operations for two months, with very little help from Mark. Now that everything was finally on the up and up, finally going as it should, Mark felt uneasy, a little overwhelmed by it all. He wasn't sure that he could remember how to be the General Manager of a steel production facility. He made sure that his office was well supplied with various pain medications and a fridge full of beer, plus a freshly-cleaned coffee maker and a brand new canister of his favorite brand of the delicious, brown brew.

  With cup after cup of coffee and cigarette after cigarette taken from his pack and lit, Mark felt a bit calmer but still unsure of himself. He hoped that he would somehow find his niche again, his raison d'être. He was certain that Don now knew as much as he did about running the place and that he could come and go as he pleased, unless the work began to pile up on him. Shylah had another prenatal doctor's appointment that week, and there was still the matter of her trying on her wedding gown after its most recent alterations and the receipt of and possible sending back of the wedding rings. It seemed that even though so much had fallen into place, as desired, there was still a lot to do.

  Don proved, since his chastisement by Mark, that he was dedicated to the plant and to his job, now showing far greater signs of promise than ever he had at any other time in his career. He assured Mark, first thing that morning, that he could take care of everything, if necessary, and that Mark should just relax and slowly reacquaint himself with his surroundings.

  All of that day, Mark did nothing of any real value or contribution. There wasn't anything for him to do. Don had everything well under control and had even come to find that he liked to have so much to do. It made him feel impor
tant. Mark's threatening speech had been his turnaround point, his motivation to work that much harder every day. Mark began to wonder if he might not just let Don take over entirely, at least, for a while, until Mark had fully recovered from all of his ailments and after he and Shylah were married and back from their honeymoon.

  By Thursday, however, Shylah's dress arrived, with all alterations to her satisfaction, as well as had the rings. All of the bridesmaids' dresses and all of the tuxedos were ordered weeks before. Neither Shylah nor Mark could believe that they still had exactly one month, yet everything was set and to their agreement. The rings were utterly perfect; Mark's, simple and plain but intricately-designed. Shylah's, on the other hand, was incredibly ornate, so detailed that she wept when she saw it for the first time on her finger. It's crisscrossed band, laid out with carefully-placed diamonds, all surrounding a large and stunningly protruding, much larger stone in the middle, was the most elaborate and awe-inspiring, man-made creation Shylah ever laid eyes on, the sheer weight of it seeming to pull her hand ever downward.

  Shylah was beside herself with joy and anticipation. There was not one thing left to do for the wedding until immediately beforehand; the cake would not be made for some time, and though centerpieces had been ordered, they would not arrive for at least a couple of weeks, but that was what Selma Simmons had been paid to do, oversee all of that. She guaranteed that everything would go off without a hitch. She staked her reputation on that promise, and her reputation spoke volumes in her honor.

  Friday seemed a blessing to the couple. Mark could go to work with no more worries about the wedding, though he wasn't sure that he was needed at work, and Shylah could rest, until that afternoon. Mark planned to come home at two o'clock and pick Shylah up to take her to her latest OBGYN appointment, scheduled for three-thirty. Mark could now drive, and that alone was one of his absolute blessed joys. He struggled sometimes to pull himself into his truck or to step down from it, but slowly and surely, he was becoming more accustomed to it, and the driving part of it all presented no problems at all. It seemed to him that he had been so long from the loving embrace of his truck that being reunited with it was much like being reunited with Shylah the day of the employee barbecue. It seemed almost sexual, his love for his truck and his happiness at entering it again. He was so overjoyed that he kissed the steering wheel and the dashboard before turning it on for the first time in so long.

  At nearly ten a.m., Mark heard a knock on his office door. Seldom did Don come to Mark's office, unless there was a very urgent matter to discuss that required Mark's input or approval. Mark announced for the visitor to enter and was surprised to see Dan Brady standing before him.

  "Dan Brady, how the hell are you?"

  "I'm doin' ok. I just thought I'd pop in and say hi and tell you the news. I don't know how to tell you, though." Dan had a look of complete sadness, his head slinking to his chest.

  "What is it? You can tell me. Whatever it is, I wanna know."

  "Well," Dan continued, his hands shaking, "Sara is dead."

  Mark had no idea what to make of the news. He was sure that some part of him felt something, some sort of sorrow over the death of his half-sister. Nothing in particular, however, came to mind. "Ok. Thanks for lettin' me know."

  "Don't ya wanna know how she died," Dan asked, shocked that Mark displayed no visible emotion.

  "Sure, I guess. How?"

  "They never moved her from Atlanta. They were waitin' to process her out of the jail there and move her here. She tried to kill herself, sliced her wrists real bad, ended up in the infirmary. Then, when she got out, she got into it with some of the black inmates. They cut her up real bad. She tried to get revenge on 'em and got stabbed through the stomach. She died almost instantly, before anybody got to her. Seems like a lot to happen in only a month or a little more."

  "Damn," Mark commented, still not knowing what it was that he felt about it. "Well, shit happens."

  "You don't care, huh?"

  "I don't know, Dan. I guess I do. I mean, she was a person. I care about all folks. She was my half-sister who I only knew for a little while. She used me, stalked me, stole from me over and over, tore me and Shylah apart, and in case you forgot, she SHOT ME!!"

  "I know. I was there, Mark, and in case you forgot, I saved your life!"

  Mark sighed a half sigh that nearly resembled a short chuckle. "Yes, and I owe you for that. If you were the one that got killed, I'd make sure you had the funeral of the richest King in the world! I'd make sure you got a casket made out of solid gold! I'd mourn you for the rest of my life! But a woman who did everything she could to try to destroy my life and take everything from me, sister or not, she gets killed, and I'm supposed to be broken up about it? Sorry, but I'm not. I know some part of me feels somethin' about this, I just don't know what part or what it is it feels. I'm a little confused right now. But like I said, shit happens!"

  "Ok, Mark, but are you gonna take care of things or what?"

  "Wait. When was it anyway?"

  "A few days ago. I just heard about it last night. One of the guys I work with has a buddy that works for the Fulton County Sheriff's Department. He got a call about it a couple of days ago. I thought you'd wanna know. So, are you gonna take care of arrangements or what?"

  Mark pursed his mouth and made a sucking, nearly slurping sound of disdain and uncaring. "Naw. She's got her mama to do that. Plus, she had lots of money she got from the estate. I'm sure her mama will get the money. She can pay for it. It ain't my place to worry about her. I'll pray for her soul, pray that she gets help, and maybe that God shows her some mercy, but other than that, I don't know as I feel any more about her than I would about Jimmy Joe Jim Bob down the road, if there is a Jimmy Joe Jim Bob down the road. The point is, I just don't really care. If that's cold of me, so be it. If I have to answer to God for it, I will. I don't have to take care of her. I thought I might go visit her in prison one day and see if she'd changed, and we could make amends. Now, I guess that ain't happenin'. Oh well. I owe her nothing. She is not my responsibility. I went through all of this and then some, all cuz one day, twenty years ago, my dad was in some restaurant and got horny for some waitress and took her to bed, behind my mama's back. Now, tell me how that makes me the responsible one? What did I do to be stuck with her, especially now that she's not around anymore? If you wanna pay for a funeral for her, go ahead. I'll remember her as the bitch that she was. Like I said, I'll pray for her soul. That's all I can do."

  "So, you won't do nothin', huh?" Dan shook his head from side to side, unable to believe that Mark, the man that he always knew to be so kind and loving to everyone, including total strangers, could be so callous.

  "I'll tell you what, Dan. I'm not about to go to her funeral and meet the woman my dad was cheatin' on my mama with, nor do I wanna take the chance of runnin' into the guy that Sara had attack me. Well, maybe she didn't have him attack me. I don't know. But anyway, I'm not gonna see either one of them. What I will do, since I know Sara had real bad mental problems, is donate a huge amount of money, in her name, to some kind of mental hospital or research or somethin'. How about that?"

  "Ok," Dan agreed. "I guess that's somethin', and I guess I understand. But I also guess that you haven't heard the other news then."

  "Other news," Mark asked, not sure that he wanted to hear any more news, thinking that it must be as bad as or worse than the previous.

  "Welp, they got that guy, that Tim Redenour. He's in custody as we speak."

  "What," Mark demanded, nearly flying out of his chair. "What? How? When? How'd they finally get him? I thought he was protected!"

  "Yep. He was. He ain't no more. It turns out he was doin' all kinds of other stuff, and once his stepdaddy got arrested, he was fair game. Mason Church is about to be indicted for embezzlement, insider trading, money laundering, and running a Ponzi scheme. The Governor denied bein' friends with him. He' s tryin' to create as much distance from Mason Church as he possibly can. It was
funny as hell watchin' him on TV. He was all fidgety and nervous. He knew that the reporters had proof he knew Church and was buddy/buddy with him. He couldn't hold still and kept avoidin' the camera. It was like watchin' Bill Clinton or Richard Nixon. He's about as good a liar as either of them. So, Redenour is most definitely gonna stand trial for assualtin' you plus a huge list of other things. You are gonna have to testify, and maybe Shylah, too, but the guys is guaranteed to go away for a very, very long time! He can't even afford a good lawyer now!"

  "Well, damn! I guess good luck does keep comin'! That's good. I wanna see that dude locked away the rest of his natural life. One of these days, he woulda killed somebody, thinkin' his stepdad was gonna get him out of it all." Mark leaned back in his chair, smiling over the wonderful news of the latest legal affairs.

  "Ok, well, I gotta get my ass home now. My bed is callin' me. It's as close as I got to a lover, and it does love me ever so. You take it easy, Mark. You need anything, anything at all, I'm here for ya. Oh, and I just got my invitation about a week, week and a half ago, maybe a little more. Hell, I don't know, but I got it. I'm gonna be there. I already put in to make sure I don't work that whole weekend. That means I can get drunk with you and T.L. and make fun of you for finally gettin' hitched! I'm just kiddin', sorta. Shylah's a real fine lady, and you are one lucky man. I'm real happy for ya both. But I do gotta make one little request. Make sure there's lots of gorgeous women at the weddin'. I need to meet me somebody. Make 'em young, but not too young. If you can maybe throw in a few with great big bazoongas, tatas, tetons, whatever, please do. Later." Dan walked to the door and quickly turned, offering Mark a salute as if he were a superior officer in the military, Mark quickly saluting in return.

  "Crazy guy," Mark thought to himself as his friend stepped out of the room.

  Everything that Dan said gave Mark a lot to contemplate, leaving him to wonder if he could, perhaps, be too uncaring and unchristian about the whole thing. He knew that there should be a far greater part of himself that cared, no matter what Sara had done to him. She was, after all, family, and she had problem for which she needed tremendous help that she never received. Mark planned fully to keep his vow to make a substantial donation to help people like Sara, and to make it in Sara's name. He just had to find the right place to give the money to and be certain that it would be used for good things.