Under the Cypress Moon (44 page)

"Thank you, Mr. Walker, Sir.  I guess that does help a little.  I'm still pissed, though.  How come he couldn't just be a man and tell me about my sister?  You were his friend.  You knew him, in some ways, a lot better than I ever did."  Mark shook his head, so angry that he wanted to scream.  He wanted to punch something.  He really wanted to do both.

"Your father was what he was, Mark.  He wasn't that complicated of a man.  He was pretty open about how he felt about people, especially the ones that he thought bad of, but he was very secretive about anything that he thought might make him look bad.  His whole life was spent tryin' to save face.  That's just the man he was.  It's awful, and it's not fair to you, but take comfort in knowin' that all of this will be handled for you and that at least, he left you taken care of for the rest of your life.  Now, I'll have some forms for you to sign soon, when they come in.  Right now, I just have two for you, if you'd sign by the x for me on that one there in front of you, saying that you acknowledge everything that I've told you and consent to it and by the x on the form next to it to begin the process of getting the estate settled for you.  If you have any questions at all, as long as they don't pertain to your half-sister, I'll be glad to answer 'em any time.  I'm gonna write down my home phone number and my cell for ya.  You call me if you need anything, even to talk.  Your family and mine go a long ways back.  Your father and I knew each other since we were boys, and I don't mind lookin' after his one and only son.  See, not all lawyers are so bad.  Some of us actually care about people."  Stan quickly scribbled his phone numbers on a sticky note and handed it to Shylah while Mark signed his name on the form before him, stopping first to glance over the text of it.

"Thank you, Sir," Mark said politely as he stood up, extending his hand once more to Stan Walker, who cordially took it in his and shook it, looking into Mark's eyes with a look of solemn condolence and offering of support.

"You have a nice day, both of you, and I hope to see you again.  Just remember ol' Stan Walker if you need anything at all."

As Mark stood in the doorway, sipping the last of his coffee, he clamored, "Uh, Mr. Walker, what do you... what do you want us to do with our cups?"

"You can just hand 'em off to Judy at the desk if you like.  Hey, how's the repairs at the plant comin', by the way?"

"Pretty good, Sir.  The repairs are pretty much done, but we're expanding a lot.  We're fitting out some brand new furnaces, upgradin' and all to keep up with the times, and we're gonna be hirin' a ton more workers.  I'm hopin' to turn the plant into a bigger money maker and provide a lot of jobs, but I have a bunch of other ideas, too.  I wanna turn this thing into a huge company, somethin' that would blow my dad's mind if he could picture it all."  Mark choked back tears as he turned to walk out, leaving Stan Walker to wonder about the seriousness of the proposal.

Stan hurried to shout to Mark before he got too far away to hear, "Just remember to come to me for any legal questions, Mark.  I can help you to do all of that!"

Mark felt a storm of emotions within him.  He had no idea how to handle all of the news.  He did not mind waiting for his inheritance.  Between  his trust and his salary, he could easily have plenty for all personal needs, and even though a part of him wished that he could get everything immediately so that he could carry out his numerous business plans, without the aid of the bank, he knew that he would be well contented with things the way they were, even with the idea of an unknown person getting more than ten million dollars of the estate.  What really bothered him was that he now viewed his father as not only having been as bad as he was ever thought to be but far worse for having another child and for  having cheated on Mark's mother.  Mark wanted to find out exactly who this half-sister of his was, what she was like, maybe even to get to know her well enough to have some sort of basic familial relationship with her.

As Mark and Shylah headed toward the truck, arm in arm, Shylah could not stand seeing the saddened, downtrodden, deeply worried expression on Mark's face.  All that Shylah wanted in the entire world was to make Mark happy, to bring him the joy that she was certain he deserved.  She wanted their life together to be imminently and enormously happy, overwhelming them with so much joy that they could never plan to recover from it.  "I bet I can make you laugh about this, Baby," Shylah assured Mark.

"Yeah right.  Bet ya can't."

"I bet I can.  Imagine this, Baby.  Think of it if your sister turned out to be black!  Wouldn't that be heeeelarious?!"  Shylah stared at Mark, attempting to read his face as it changed from defeated to emboldened with new found cheer.

Mark suddenly stopped and began to laugh so hard that he pulled his arm away from Shylah's, clenching his stomach as he doubled over.  "Ok.  Ok.  You got me.  That was funny as hell.  I can't even picture it, but that'd be the best thing ever!  Maybe not.  I don't... whooo!   I don't know.  It'd mean he was really livin' a huge lie, but I guess he was doin' that with everything else anyway.  It'd show he really didn't hate your people like he said he did, or maybe it'd just show he liked 'em in that way too much.  Who knows, but it would be funny.  Thank you, Baby.  I was feelin' like shit.  You made me smile again.  How do you always do that?!"

"I have my ways, Baby.  I just wanna see you smile.  I wanna make you smile every time you're down.  I wanna always be there, right beside you, sharin' your pain, sharin' your joy.  You mean more to me than you know.  I plan on spendin' my whole life with you, so you better just accept it that Shylah's got the funny when you need it."  As she finished, Shylah winked at Mark, just as he started to raise from his stooped position.

"Well, I need a beer, Hon.  Let's go to Minton's."

"Mark, it's eleven, well, more like a quarter after eleven in the mornin'.  You don't need a beer this early.  Let's just go get somethin' to eat.  You didn't have any breakfast, and I didn't have much.  If I don't eat soon, I'm gonna have to kick your ass cuz the baby says he wants it!  Gimme food!"

"So, now you admit that it's a boy?  Ha!  You know it's gotta be!  We're havin' a boy!" 

Though Shylah enjoyed seeing Mark smile, she did not want to hear his gloating.  "No.  I'm not sayin' that!  It could just as easily be a girl, for all you know, so ha to you, too!"

Shylah compromised with Mark that as long as she got food right away, he could have all of the beer that he wanted, though it quickly dawned on her that Mark had mentioned nothing of going to work.  "Wait.  Aren't you goin' to work now?"

"Nope.  Don said I should take the week off with everything that's goin' on right now.  All that's happenin' at the plant is the construction and the fittin' in the new furnaces and the CATOX system.  I'm off all week, so you gotta put up with me twenty-four/seven!"

"I don't know what the cat... cat ticks system thing is, but oh gosh!  You mean I have to see your face all the time now?!  That's just great.  How am I gonna have time with my other boyfriends now?!"

"Oh!  Now, you really got jokes, huh?  That's cuttin' low!"  Mark threw his arm off away from Shylah's hands as they neared the back of his truck.

"Baby," Shylah urged, reaching for Mark's arm again.  "I was kiddin'!   You know you're the only one I want.  Don't be mad, Baby.  I swear it was a joke!"

"You know," Mark began to counter, "both you and your brother don't know how to tell when I'm playin'.  You can't take a lark when you see one!  You're just too easy.  Mere, girl."  Mark enthusiastically took Shylah's face into his hands and planted a nearly crippling kiss.  "Better?"

"Yes.  Now, food!"

"Ok.  Food it is.  And then beer, lots of beer!"

"Lots?"

"Ok, a little anyway.  But I'm gonna go get beer and head to the lake and sit out by the pier and just take it easy.  Sound good?"

"I guess," Shylah reluctantly affirmed, "except the beer part.  I can't have any!  I'm sad now!  I cry!"

"Actually, I kinda feel like bein' alone, though," Mark replied, to Shylah's utter disappointment.

"You don't want to be with me?  You want me to go home," Shylah asked, lowering her head.

"No, Baby.  It's not that.  I just got so much on my mind.  I kinda want just a few minutes to myself is all, nothin' against you.  I swear!"

"Well, I'd say you could just take me to the house and then go, but I don't want you drivin' after you been drinkin'.  So, you're gonna have to put up with me."

"I know, Baby.  I'm sorry.  You know I love you.  I just have so many thoughts right now that are just killin' me inside.  It's a lot to deal with."  Mark no longer felt like crying, but he did feel like cursing his father's name.  The point of going to the lake alone was so that he could not only reflect on everything but scream his curses into the wind where, hopefully, no one else would hear them.

The drive to the lake was spent in silence.  Shylah did not want to upset Mark further and decided that she would wait for him to come to her.  Shylah remained in the truck while Mark took the walk down the nearest pier, his carton of beer in hand.  It was not a particularly windy day, but Mark felt happy in knowing that he was alone enough to fill the air with his curses, if he still chose to do so.  The only person that would hear him would be Shylah, but surely, Mark thought, she would understand.

After nearly a half of an hour of this, Mark marched back to the truck, allowing Shylah to drive them home.  He spent the remainder of the day drinking every beer that he could find, as well as much of his father's secret stash of aged scotch and even much of his well hidden moonshine.  Mark withdrew into his own solace of knowing that he had done all that he could, replaying so many things in his mind over and over, largely ignoring Shylah.  He spoke less and less as the moments passed, soon enough, becoming so sickened that he covered nearly the entire parlor couch in vomit and passed out on the floor where he rolled.

Once again, there would be no late night rendezvous with Shylah under the canopy of nearby cypress trees.  There would be no moonlit secret serenade of love. 
Shylah felt horrible in so many ways but decided that if she attempted to clean up the mess in the parlor, she would lose every bit of food in her own stomach.  Mark could clean the mess when he awoke the next day, as Shylah gave up trying to wake him.  There was so much cleaning necessary anyway, as the following day, Tuesday, would be the day of Thomas' wake.  Mark paid top dollar to the local newspaper to convince them to run Thomas' obituary in the Tuesday edition of their paper. 

Under normal circumstances, the wake and the funeral would not be held so soon, allowing for all potential mourners to take notice, but Mark wanted everything over and done with as soon as possible.  He figured that running the obituary on the day of the wake, as well as having Don inform everyone from the plant, would be plenty of notice.  Mark wondered, however, before he passed out, if his half-sister knew anything of their father's passing.  Surely, Stan Walker would have mentioned it to her when he called to let her know of her inheritance.  Mark secretly hoped that she would be at the wake, or at least, at the funeral.

The next day, Mark woke up, covered in his own sick, crusted to his shirt and face.  He immediately wondered what had happened the night before and where Shylah was.  Unbeknownst to him, Shylah contemplated going to her parents' house for the rest of the week to allow Mark to grieve and for them both to have a break from all of the stress.  Shylah could not bear to see Mark in so much pain and especially, to see him deal with the pain by drinking so heavily.  She wanted so badly to help him but did not know how.  At a total loss, she prayed harder than she ever had at any other time in her life, begging for sanctuary, security, and any form of hope and release of the enduring waves of forceful, penetrating forlornness as of late.

Not much was said all of that day.  Mark and Shylah greeted one another, and after Mark showered, brushed his teeth, and put on clean clothes, Shylah happily hugged and kiss him, but it seemed that there was always an elephant in the room, one that neither wanted to address.  Mark, of his own accord, vowed to Shylah that he would not drink so heavily again, that the previous night was his one allowance to do that.  Shylah wholeheartedly accepted the offer, hoping that it was meant with all sincerity.  The rest of the day was spent hurriedly cleaning and cooking to prepare for the wake that evening.  With both people working together, the house was cleaned spotless, plenty of food was prepared, as well as bought, enough to supplement anything brought by anyone else.  They had no idea how many people might show up and fully expected that it might only be them, T.L., Don and his family, and maybe Stan Walker.
  Mark knew that he had forgotten to tell Stan of the wake and the time of the funeral, but there seemed little doubt of Stan's receiving the local newspaper, not to mention that he seemed more on top of matters than did Mark.

All in all, it turned out to be a happening affair.  Nearly as many people showed up as did at Tim Bedoe's wake less than two weeks prior.  Not only did Thomas' close friends, fellow church members, and some business acquaintances show up, but nearly three-quarters of the plant's employees did as well.  Most of the employees that expressed their condolences to Mark stated that they came largely out of respect for their new boss.  Mark knew that very few held any real respect or love for Thomas.  It still meant the world to him that so many showed their outpourings of support.