Under the Cypress Moon (31 page)

"What girl?  You mean Shylah?"

"Yeah, that damn no good colored girl.  Where the hell is she?!"

"Dad, are you sure you're thinkin' of Shylah?"

"Whatever the hell her name is.  That nurse.  Where is she?  I been yellin' for her for a long ... long... time.  Ugh."  Thomas had screamed himself nearly hoarse and could barely breathe any longer.

"Daddy, there's no need to call her names.  She's here to help you, and she doesn't need you yellin' at her or sayin' mean things."

"And just where... ugh... have... you been... Boy?"

"At the plant, fixin' some things."

"Ok.  Good... boy... Michael."

Once again, Mark felt his heart slink down further as if it were attempting to break away and leave his body.  He was no longer sure that he could endure the pain of it all but knew that he had no choice in the matter, even if it left him completely heartbroken.

"Do you need anything, Daddy?"

"Yes... Mic... Michael... get... me... sandwich... and... water... good... boy... Michael."

Mark begrudgingly stomped back down the hall toward the kitchen and got the things that his father requested.  When he got back to Thomas' room, however, Thomas was fast asleep.  Mark happily left the food on the nightstand and left.  He could now, hopefully, go wake Shylah up and spend some time with her, maybe even take his mind off of his duties and heartbreaks of being a son.

Mark almost wanted to be upset with Shylah because she had been so upset with him for falling asleep while he was supposed to be tending to his father.  Now, Shylah had done the same thing.  Mark decided that there had been enough fighting and enough stress and, more importantly, that it would not matter anyway because fighting over such things with a woman could never end well.  Shylah would simply make an excuse of one form or another and justify her actions.  Mark did not feel like screaming, accusing, or he and Shylah refusing to speak to one another.  He felt it far better to ignore the matter and comfort himself in knowing that Thomas had been tended to and that nothing further needed done.

"Hey, Baby," Mark whispered as he leaned over the back of the couch, coming ever closer to Shylah's left ear.  "Baby?  Baby?"  Mark got no response and after a while, felt as though drastic measures must be taken or that he must allow Shylah to continue sleeping.  The first, which would require screaming and shaking, would probably result in a fight still yet, but the latter would likely end with Shylah waking rested and happy.  Mark thought it over for a minute and settled on the latter.  Even if there were no intention of causing great alarm or starting a fight, it would more likely than not go in that direction if Mark attempted to wake the woman.

Once again, Mark laid the flowers down and let the situation remain as it was.  There was no one to talk to, no one to spend any kind of time with, and nothing to do.  With a beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, Mark stepped out onto the front porch and sat down in the swing.  Surely, he thought, Shylah would wake up soon and wonder where he was, if he was still at work or had come home.  Maybe she would even see the flowers on the kitchen counter and come looking for him or call him.  Shylah had a real penchant for calling and texting random things at random times.  Mark kept his cell phone in his pocket, hoping that this might be the case.

It hadn't even dawned on Mark, with so much going on all at once, that Shylah was supposed to take a pregnancy test and what the results might be.  No sooner than the thought started to work its way into Mark's mind, his cell phone rang, but much to Mark's disillusion, it was not Shylah calling.  In fact, it was a number that Mark did not recognize at all.  He debated whether or not he should answer the call, but something told him that it was important and that he should.

"Hello."

"Hello.  Is this Mark Crady?"

"Yes.  This is Mark Crady."

"Hi, Sir.  This is Harold Rensler at Rensler Funeral Home.  I have a Mrs. Mary Jane Bedoe here, planning the funeral arrangements for her husband, Timothy Bedoe, who I believe was one of your employees."

"Mr. Rensler," Mark interrupted, "You know me.  You can cut out the formalities.  What's goin' on?"

"Alright.  Well, Mary Jane is tryin' to plan the funeral for her husband.  He had life insurance.  Did he not?"

"Yes.  He had life insurance through the plant, but that money is for his family."

"So, she is tellin' the truth when she says that you're covering all costs, right?"

"Yes.  That was our deal.  I agreed that the plant would pay for everything.  It doesn't matter what it is.  He deserves the best, so give her the best.  I don't care how expensive it is."

"Good.  Good.  Ok, well, that was all I needed to know.  So, how should we take care of these expenses?"

"Just send the bill to the plant.  You can put it attention Mark Crady or attention Don Birchum, whichever.  We'll pay it as soon as we get it, in full."

"That's great, Mark.  That's sure a weight off of Mrs. Bedoe's mind, I'll bet.  We'll total up the bill and get it out in the mail right away.  You have yourself a good day there."

"You, too, Mr. Rensler."

Shylah emerged from the house toward the end of Mark's conversation, her mind aflutter with curiosity.  "Rensler?  The funeral home guy?"

"Yeah," Mark answered, patting the seat of the swing for Shylah to join him.

Shylah's hair was a mess.  Her eyes appeared as though they were those of an insomniac, bloodshot and still very droopy and tired.  Shylah quickly took Mark's suggestion and took a seat beside him, thudding into place as she did.  "Hey, Baby," Shylah happily addressed, giving Mark a very big, very sloppy kiss.  Mark could feel the wetness of Shylah's lips, not as if they were moist with anticipation of the ensuing kiss but as if they were greatly wetted from a drool-ridden sleep.

"You've been droolin' again."

Shylah gave Mark an aggravated look, one of disgust at his words that spoke volumes of her momentary loathing.

"So what?!  And you didn't answer me."

"About?"

"About who that was on the phone."

"Yes, I did.  You asked if it was the funeral home guy, and I said 'yeah.'"

"Oh.  I didn't hear you then.  So, what was that all about anyway?"

"I thought I told you that I promised to pay all of Tim Bedoe's funeral expenses.  Mr. Rensler was callin' to verify it, and I told him that if he sends me the bill, I'll pay it right away, in full.  That's all, Babe.  You look like you're still really tired."

"I am.  But I woke up and didn't know what time it was or if you might be home.  I got up and heard your voice comin' from out here, so I thought I'd check.  I'm glad you're home."  Shylah nudged Mark's shoulder with her own, pushing him into the side of the swing. 

After nudging Shylah back, Mark threw his left arm around her upper back and squeezed her tightly.  "You make a bad day better.  It does me a lot of good to see your smiley, droolin' face!"

"Will you shut up with the droolin' thing?"  Shylah was becoming incredibly mad about Mark's jabs.  "You drool, too!  I've seen it!  And you snore like you're a bear hibernating!  So, don't make fun of me for a little drool!"

"Oh, Baby," Mark replied with another squeeze of Shylah's shoulder.  "That's why we're so good together.  We can point out each other's faults and laugh about 'em!"

"I'm not laughin' about this, Mark.  It's gettin' really old, and I don't wanna be messed with right now.  I just woke up."

"Ok.  Ok.  Well, did you go in the kitchen at all?"

"Not since I woke up, no."

"Then you didn't see what I got you, I guess."

"You got me somethin'," Shylah asked, her eyes lighting up as she leaned in closer to Mark, laying her head on his left shoulder.

"In the kitchen, Babe."

"What is it?!"  Shylah was so excited that it filled Mark with great joy to see it.

"You have to go look."

"Don't do that to me!  Tell me what it is!"

"It'll ruin the surprise.  Just go look, Baby.  It's all for you."

"It better not be somethin' for cooking!  It better be somethin' nice!  I might have to hurt you, Mister!"

"Hurt me, Baby.  Hurt me.  Just go look and then come back.  I'll  be sittin' right here."

Within a minute, Shylah returned, carrying her flowers in one hand, bedecked with a smile large enough to block out the sun.  "You got me flowers, Baby?  They're so beautiful!  I love 'em!  Thank you, Baby!"  Shylah leaned down to give Mark a kiss, nearly pressing the flowers between them.

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.  I wanted to get  you somethin' nice, but I didn't really know what.  I saw the flowers and thought that since I didn't buy you any since we've been together, and they looked so nice, and I thought you'd really like 'em, that was what to get.  I'm glad you like 'em so much, but they're not nearly as beautiful as what I'm lookin' at right now!"

"Yeah.  I'm so beautiful with my hair all strung out and no makeup on, and my mouth is probably crusty.  I'm a real beauty queen right now, Mark."

"You are to me."

"Damn you.  Stop bein' so sweet all the time.  You're too much!  I don't know how I got so lucky.  If I blush anymore, I think my face is gonna break!"

Mark pulled Shylah down next to him, running his fingers through her long, dark hair, staring in wonder at the sight before him. 

"I love your hair, Baby.  Do I ever tell you that?"

"It's a little stringy and frizzy.  I need to do somethin' with it, maybe get it cut.  I don't know.  I guess I'm lucky, though."

"How's that," Mark asked.

"Cuz most black girls don't have hair like mine.  I have long, fairly straight hair.  My mama says it comes from the Indian in us.  So, I guess that makes me lucky.  I don't have to go through all the stuff other girls go through.  I have hair that most black girls want but have to pay for, but I have mine naturally.  Supposedly, between the Indian in my dad and the Indian in my mom, I'm somethin' like a quarter Indian.  I don't know if it's true, but there's gotta be some in me or I wouldn't have this kinda hair.  I'm more thankful for it than for a lot of other things.  I don't have to buy all that fake stuff that women put in their hair just to look like they have hair like mine.  But anyway, thank you again for the flowers, Baby.  They are so beautiful, and you," Shylah stopped to give Mark another kiss before continuing.  "You are so sweet!  I have the sweetest," and with another kiss, "most wonderful," another kiss, "handsome man around!"

"Yes, you do.  I am the greatest.  Don't ever forget that.   In fact, you should write that down.  'Mark Crady is the most amazing man ever to walk the Earth.  I love him so much that my heart explodes every time he is not near me.'  Somethin' like that would be good."  One look at Shylah to see how she would react to this personal acclamation caused Mark to burst into laughter, nearly falling from the swing, followed soon after by the same from Shylah.  When Mark finally calmed himself, the weighty factor of the day reared itself, Mark now wondering about the test and what had been the results.  "So, Hon, did you take that test?"

"I almost didn't.  I was so scared.  But yeah, I took it."

"And?"

"Well...."

"Don't keep me in suspense here.  What's the verdict?"

"Well, and this is just one test, and you can't exactly put all your trust in a store-bought test.  But..."

"C'mon.  Please."

"Brace yourself."

"Ok.  Hold on."  Mark immediately seized hold of the chains connected the swing to its stand, both hands gripped so tightly that his knuckles began to turn pale white.  "Braced.  Now, tell me."

"Ok.  It looks like... you... and me... We're..."

"Yes?  Baby, spit it out.  Please."

"You're gonna be a daddy, but that's just according to a cheap test.  I need to go to a doctor and find out for sure.  The test said yes.  There it is.  We could get another one and try it or I could just get a doctor's appointment for hopefully sometime this week."  Shylah feared Mark's reaction.  She quickly glanced at Mark's face but saw little response, immediately lowering her head to stare at the porch.

Mark released his hold of the chains and put both arms around Shylah, squeezing her once again.  "Well, I guess we got a lot of stuff to plan and a lot of baby stuff to go buy, huh?"

Shylah raised her head slowly, realizing that Mark had not overreacted or gotten angry.  This was the moment to share their mutual joy and excitement.  "You mean you're not mad?"

"Mad?  Why would I be mad, Baby?  This is probably the greatest news anybody's ever told me!  I'm gonna have a Mark, Jr.!"

"It could be a girl.  You don't know!"

"Ok.  Markalina then!  That has a nice ring to it."

"You're joking.  You're joking.  I know you're joking.  You can't really think that that's a name."  Mark's dead expression made Shylah begin to wonder.  She feared that Mark might be serious, even if it were a momentary lapse of judgment.  "You're not serious.  Please, please tell me you're not serious.  That is not a name!"

Mark could hold back no longer.  Laughing so hard that his face flushed bright red, he burst out laughing in a way that almost sounded like screaming.  "Oh.  I had you goin'!  I really had you goin'!  You believed me!  You think I'd name a girl somethin' like that?!  I would never do that.  Oh, hell no!"