Under the Cypress Moon (17 page)

"Wouldn't you love to find out how good I really am with my mouth," Shylah joked.

"Well," Mark began.  "You know me.  I am a man."

"You are?  I had no idea!  This whole time, I thought I was fallin' in love with a woman!  Shit!  I don't know what to do now!"

"Fallin' in love," Mark asked, not only amused but seriously wondering if Shylah meant it.  If so, Mark told himself, it was the happiest day of his life.

"Did I just say that," Shylah replied, rolling her eyes into the back of her head, her mouth twisting itself a bit into the lower left corner.

"Yeah, you did.  You said you're fallin' in love with me."

"Well, ok then.  I said it."

"Did you mean it?"

"Damn."  Shylah knew what she felt but had so much difficulty expressing herself.  It seemed so funny that the man in the relationship could do it so much more easily, but when the woman who wanted to give her everything to that man tried to do the same, the words eluded her.  "Ok, yes.  Yes, I am falling in love with you, Mark.  You gotta understand how hard it is for me to say exactly what I feel, but yes, you're right.  I said it.  I meant it.  I do love you."

"You just said you're fallin' in love with me, and now you're sayin' you love me.  Wow.  That's a big leap."

"Damnit, Mark," Shylah screamed, rolling off of him and onto her side of the bed.

"What," Mark casually insisted, nudging Shylah, then running his hand up and down her side.  "You know I feel exactly the same.  What's the big deal?  If it makes it any better, I'll lay all my cards out right now.  I love you.  I've been in love with you for so long that anything else seems like losing.  I can't live without you.  I can't be without you.  I can't go on without you.  Your life is my life.  Your happiness is my happiness.  You're everything I've ever wanted and everything that I can't believe I finally have!"

"Really," Shylah shyly asked, slowly moving back to face Mark, moving herself under his hunched figure.

"Yes!  You know it.  I meant every single word of it!  You're everything to me, and I don't want you to ever forget it or for me to stop showing you!"

Shylah lunged at Mark, nearly knocking him down.  She pulled him on top of her, their lips never failing to touch.  They were lost once more in passion so deep that they could never find their way back, nor would they want to do that.  Staring into each other's eyes, lips locked so tightly that nothing could separate them, the two lovers rolled and embraced, frolicking in love so great that they were entirely one, if only for that moment.  Kissing and touching soon turned to more lovemaking.  Mark did not care about the pain.  It did not matter any longer.  Surely, he could take some pain in order to have some pleasure.  The rest of it all went by much as it had the night previous, the two of them enjoining themselves with heated fervor and giving themselves completely over to the utmost of temptations and feeling. 

The morning carried on in this manner, more than two hours passing by as a blink of an eye, nearing ten o'clock before either of them knew it.  They had not eaten in nearly a day and hardly gave it the slightest thought.  That was, until Mark's stomach began to grumble so loudly that he couldn't take it any longer, jumping from bed, from Shylah's embrace, throwing on the clothe he had worn the day before. 

"You want some breakfast, Beautiful," Mark asked Shylah, quite eager to take care of her for once.

"Sure, Baby.  What ya got?"

"Well, I'm not the best cook in the world.  You might be better off with cereal, but I can make some pretty decent eggs.  I have to go hunt 'em down first.  The problem is findin' the bunny and beatin' him up to take 'em.  I hope you don't mind some shell."

"Shell?  Really?  Ewww.  No thanks, Hon.  I'll eat cereal after all."  Shylah, for some reason that morning, took Mark seriously, not stopping to think of what a sarcastic and joking person he really was.

"You know what scares me," Mark asked.  "It scares me that I think you actually think I'm serious.  I'm not gonna put shells in the food.  I might be a man, but I do know how to crack some eggs and throw away the shells.  I really do make some pretty decent eggs, no shells, I promise."

"Alright then," Shylah agreed.  "I'll take some eggs then."

"How many?"

"Forty-six."

"Wow.  I guess sex really builds up an appetite in you."

"Ok.  Ok.  Three, unless you're fixin' somethin' else with it."

"I'm not that good a cook.  If you wanna help out, you can."

"Ok.  So, I'm the guest here, and just cuz I'm a woman, you think I'm gonna cook you breakfast.  You men are all the same!"

"Sorry," Mark choked out, thinking that he had just made Shylah very upset.

"Now, who's the gullible one," Shylah laughed.

The two walked, hand in hand, to the kitchen, finding Thomas lying on the floor.  The man had fainted and had lain there for who knew how long.  Mark, in a fury of delirious worry, ran to his father's side and tried to revive the man.  Shaking his father profusely, Mark got no response.  "Shylah, call 911!  Please!  Call 'em right now!"

"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.