Under the Cypress Moon (41 page)

"You want me to," Shylah asked, now feeling greatly hurt all over again at the thought, believing that maybe Mark wanted her to go.

"No!  No, Baby!  I just thought you might wanna go.  Why would I want you to go?!  I wanna wake up every morning next to you and see your beautiful face!  I wanna go to sleep every night with you on my mind and always have that last, late night kiss.  I don't want you to ever leave!"

"Come here," Shylah begged, pulling Mark within an inch of her face.  "I'm not goin' anywhere if you don't want me to.  My place is here, with you, forever!  You got me until the day you decide you no longer want me!"

"I could never not want you!  I'm gonna want you now," Mark assured, lowering himself to kiss Shylah intently.  "And I'm gonna love you tomorrow," and with another kiss and another before continuing, "and the next day and the day after that until there is nothin' left." 

Shylah happily took Mark's lips to her own, accepting them, prodding them, gently kissing, sucking, and nibbling them.  She still wanted to do far more and became completely lost in the possibility, never thinking that she might be once more rejected by the object of her eternal desire and affections.

Mark gave into his passions, letting go of his worries and concerns, partly from not wanting to hurt Shylah further though far more from simply entertaining the same notions of togetherness that Shylah did.  With the night filling with the same unstoppable forces of love that had consumed every previous night for nearly a week, the couple took in every ounce of each other, drank in their love, embedded themselves in a world of glorious and tumultuously fiery emotion, the vociferation of everything beautiful in their lives.

Before either knew it, it was past midnight.  They had spent more than five hours under the caress of the night sky.  It was time to go inside, time to fall to sleep wrapped in a blanket of hotly piercing and entrancing flow of amorous energy that would never die.  It was time to renew all of the love of the universe in honor of and replacement of all that was lost, to replenish the Earth in everlasting hope of days to come. 

Thomas was now gone.  Mark's heart was still breaking, though it was continually repaired and cherished by Shylah.  Tomorrow would be a day of saddened planning in preparation of the required finality of necessary things, but the remainder of the night would remain ready to claim in the name of all that was good and sacred to two happy lovers such as Mark and Shylah.

Chapter 19

Saturday was a blur; Sunday came in a haze of great sorrows and condolences issued from all encountered.  Mark garnered every fiber of strength and drive within him to muster from bed and aimlessly stagger into the church that morning, knowing fully well that his mind would seldom allow auditory acknowledgement of words, prayers, or songs.  Much to Shylah's amazement, Mark carried on, the ever valiant and dedicated soldier of God and of life that he was. 

Greeting after greeting from fellow churchgoers and from each member of the King family, including Aaron Jones, was begun with words similar to, "I'm so sorry for your loss" or "I was so sorry to hear about your daddy."  Mark welcomed each and every word with open hand and often with a heartfelt hug.  Mark knew that few, if any, of the well-wishers felt true sadness over Thomas' passing, but one thing was certain.  All of them felt deep and lasting sorrow for their brother, their friend, or in the case of Mr. and Mrs. King, for their soon-to-be son-in-law that they loved wholeheartedly for so many years.

It was after church and after a lengthy message of hope and love from Reverend Hill that Mark was approached by T.L.  T.L. had not ventured toward his friend at any point until that, out of fear of saying the wrong thing and upsetting his one true friend any further.  He could take it no longer, however, and convinced himself that he must try, that he must let his friend know that he was there to support him and help him back to his place of times of old.

"Hey, Man," T.L. started after a long pause in his conversation with Mark, standing just outside of the church on the large, concrete steps.  "You wanna go get drunk?  I think it'd do you some good."

"I don't know, Man," Mark choked back, barely able to speak.  "I... I gotta go meet with Mr. Rensler at the funeral parlor and make arrangements."

"What are you doin' after," T.L. asked, cheerfully, as his sister walked up behind him.

"He's gonna be with me, T.  You got a problem with that, Big Brother," Shylah asked, tapping her brother on the shoulder hard enough to let him know that she was quite serious, as well as to catch him by surprise.

"Well, I just wanna comfort my friend.  What's wrong with a couple of buddies havin' a few beers together?"

"What's wrong with it?  I can't have any.  That's what's wrong with it.  You guys get to have your fun, and I can't cuz I have a baby in my belly.  It doesn't seem quite fair, does it?"

"You can be there, Sis," T.L. urged.  "You can sit and watch us drink.  You can have a
Coke or somethin'.  C'mon.  Let the man do what he's supposed to and drink away his cares.  It always helps.  He needs it, and I'm not lettin' you tell him he can't!"

"Ok.  Fine, but you guys are drinkin' at our house.  I'm not takin' a chance of Mark drivin' if he's gonna get trashed.  You come over, and you guys drink in the back yard or in the house, somewhere where I can keep an eye on you both.  Deal," Shylah demanded.  She would not accept anything less, and her brother knew before she finished that this was so.

"And you're not worried about me drivin' afterward?  You don't care about your brother's safety?"  T.L. held a look of deep and utter shock upon his squinting face, having never turned around to face his sister, the sun shining so brightly into his eyes that he threw his hand to his face to shield it.

"Oh no.  I do.  I'm not lettin' you leave, T.  That's the thing.  That's the other condition.  If you come over and drink, you're stayin' the night.  You might wanna bring you a change of clothes."

"Mark," T.L. shouted in protest, looking to his friend for aid.  "You gonna help me out here, Brother?  You gonna let her dictate what we do?"

"Hey, she's your sister.  I'm stayin' out of this one, Man."

"Thanks a lot."  Turning around, T.L. faked a smile for his little sister, though he knew that it would accomplish nothing.  "You're really gonna make me stay the night like I'm a little kid?"

"Them's the terms, Bro.  Take 'em.  Leave 'em.  Whatever.  No difference to me.  You wanna drink with him, you do it at our place and stay.  Got it?"

"So, it's your place now?"  T.L. laughed at the thought.

"Well, I'm pretty much livin' there, and as you know, I am carryin' Mark's baby.  I think that kinda makes it my place, too.  So, come over later.  We'll let you know when we're home.  Bring beer.  Bring clothes.  Bring that big smile I know you have in you.  You're gonna be so happy at OUR house, takin' orders from your little sister."  Shylah now more than matched her brother's previous laughter.  She felt the absolute urgency of taking control of the situation and any other that might require doing so.  She did not want to be the boss of anyone any more than was necessary, but this was an occasion that merited it.

"Alright," T.L. unhappily agreed, "but I have a term.  We're cookin' out on the grill tonight.  Me and Mark, we'll run to the store or somethin' when ya'all are done, and we'll get some big ass steaks.  Steak and beer, supper of champions."

"T.L., don't say ass in the Lord's house," Shylah vehemently commanded.

"We're not in the Lord's house, Sis.  We're on his front steps."

"Ok.  Don't say ass on the Lord's front steps then."

"You just said it, too.  Watch your mouth, Little Lady.'

"T., don't make me kick your know what right here on the Lord's steps."  Shylah began to raise her foot to show that she meant exactly what she said, though T.L. seriously doubted her. 

"Ok.  I'm goin' now, sinner.  I'll see ya'all later.  Let me know."  With that, T.L. took off in haste, in a jaunting dash toward his truck.

"Me and you now, Baby," Shylah
reminded Mark, wrapping her arms around his lower back.

"Yes, it is.  I have a beautiful woman with me.  What could go wrong?  I'm sorry if I've been withdrawn and stuff, Shy.  I mean, Shylah.  Sorry.  So much on my mind, ya know?"

"No problem, Baby." Shylah immediately pressed her lips hard to Mark's, not caring who was around to see it.

"Stop that!  Stop that right now," came a harsh command from somewhere near.

Shylah removed herself from Mark to see her mother standing by her side.  "Mama?"

"Yes, Child.  Don't you be kissin' all over him at the Lord's house!  That kind of thing is for other places.  You two get if you're gonna be all lovey lovey smoochie smoochie!"

"Like you and Daddy were never like this," Shylah protested.

"Not here at the church.  If ya'all are gonna stay here for a spell, you take your lips and tuck 'em away!  Ain't no sense in carryin' on like you are right here!  You listen to yo mama!  You wanna do that, go right ahead, but do it somewheres else!"  Mrs. King waved her hand furiously as she stated her order, the full weight of it understood and ready to be complied with by Mark.  Shylah, on the other hand, shrugged it off as if it were nothing to take seriously at all.

As Shylah began to move back toward Mark for another kiss, her mother swatted her hard across her backside.  "I told you two to get if'n you're gonna do that!  Get!  Get!"

"Ok, Mama.  Bye, I guess.  Love you, Mama."  Shylah didn't know if she should feel hurt from her mother's scolding or contented that so much approval had been given to her love for Mark, as long as that love displayed itself in less holy places.

"Love you, too, Child.  Now, give me a hug before you go."

Shylah put her arms around her mother and reluctantly squeezed at first, then, realizing that her mother intended no harm, began to squeeze a little harder, receiving the same treatment in return from the much older, much shorter woman dressed all in purple.

With a kiss on the cheek, Pearlina King stepped away from her daughter to find her husband who she assumed had already started up his truck.

"Let's go, Baby," Shylah urged Mark.  "We got stuff to do.  What time did you say we'd be at the funeral parlor?"

"I just told Mr. Rensler sometime in the early afternoon.  I didn't give him an actual time."

"Ok then.  You hungry?"

"I guess I could eat a little, but I'm not starvin' or anything, and I'm kinda dreamin' about the steaks your brother was talkin' about.  We could go get a quick bite before we head on over to Rensler's.  After  you, love.  Ladies first, ya know."

"Yes, and you always remember that, Sir.  The lady comes first."

"Or sometimes, not at all," Mark added, winking.

In shock, Shylah could hardly search for a response but finally came to
only four words, "Marcus Crady, not here!"

"What's the matter," Mark laughed heartily.

"What's the matter?!  I can't believe you just said that at the Lord's house!  You don't say that kinda thing here!  I'm gonna wash out that filthy mouth of yours with soap!"

Mark could not stop laughing, grabbing Shylah by the arm to steady himself, much as he had against the oak tree in Darius' King's yard.  Shylah, upset with Mark over his words, pulled away, allowing Mark to nearly fall. 

"Baby, c'mon.  It was just a stupid joke.  Let's go, I guess.  You're a bad sport.  You can't take a joke, but you're not about to wash my mouth out!  My mother did that plenty of times, and I am not about to let you or nobody else do that!"

"I see it didn't work," Shylah replied, her mouth curling, wanting to yell or condemn or at least severely chastise.

After a couple of minutes, Shylah let the matter go.  Mark felt well enough to drive, and after the truck pulled out of the drive-through, the two hungrily consumed their meal in a fair amount of silence.  Shylah was a little surprised that Mark ate so quickly, as he said that he was not very hungry and because he always made such a big deal about fast eating done by others.

The funeral arrangements were made easily, to Mark's satisfaction and relief.  Mark spared no expense, planning a funeral that would cost him a little more than twenty thousand dollars, a far sight more than was spent on Tim Bedoe's funeral, though Mark would have happily paid the same amount or more had Mary Jane planned one of more elaboration.

Though the cost was heavy for it, Mark decided it fitting to have bagpipers play Amazing Grace during Thomas' services in homage to their Scots-Irish ancestors that had migrated to Georgia so many generations before that time.  Thomas would have a large and ornately-decorated tombstone, as well as the finest of mahogany caskets, a brand new suit, floral arrangements to stagger all onlookers, and a burial in the private family cemetery on the Crady property.  Though burying Thomas there would save on buying a burial plot, there was added expense for going so far out of the way, for getting digging equipment so far back onto uneven private ground, and for special permissions for the place of burial.  Mark felt deeply contented that everything had gone so well and that his father would have services and treatment to rival a king.  It seemed the right thing to do, as Mark often doubted that he had been the best of sons during Thomas' final days.