Under the Cypress Moon (58 page)

"Yeah.  Husband.  Yeah.  If he makes it."

"Don't talk like that!  Don't say that!  He's gonna be fine.  I know it!  The Lord is on our side!  When you got right on your side, it can't go wrong!  It just can't!  If anything went south on us, I think all of my faith might go right out the window, and I know God ain't about to let that happen!"  T.L., never taking his eyes off of the road or off of the police car ahead of him, was more adamant than ever he had been.

As T.L. stopped his truck at the stop sign just before the entrance drive to the E.R. wing of the hospital, Shylah jumped from the truck and ran until she stood at the front desk.  T.L. wanted to stop her somehow but knew that he couldn't.  Shylah had too much a strong will to be stopped.  "Mark Crady," Shylah asked, huffing and struggling to catch her breath.  "Mark... Mark Crady, please."

"Let me check on him for you, Ma'am," the receptionist answered calmly.  "Are you a spouse or a family member?"

Shylah thought for a moment.  She wanted to tell the woman that she was Mark's wife, but she wasn't his wife yet.  If she were found out for lying, she could be asked to leave.  Not wanting to risk anything, Shylah replied, "Well, I'm gonna be his wife really soon.  We're not married yet."

"Ok, Ma'am.  I'll check on him and let you know, but they may not let you back there since you're not married.  You might have to wait until he's admitted, or if he gets released, wait until that happens.  I'll see what I can do, if you wanna go have a seat.  I'll call you when I find somethin' out.  Ok?  Take a seat right over there."  The receptionist pointed toward the familiar seats on the other side of the room, the seats that Shylah had already sat in so many times recently and deeply dreaded.

T.L. quickly came in and joined his sister, but neither could think of anything to say to one another for a very long time.  Both felt their mind weighed with worry and regret.  Nothing seemed as if it would ease any of the
burdens, except perhaps, prayer.  More than a half of an hour went by without word from the receptionist or between brother and sister.  When Shylah heard the receptionist called for Shylah to come back to the desk, she excitedly jumped from her chair and rushed to the desk as fast as her legs could carry her, nearly panting once more.  Shylah was a very thin woman, despite her habits of eating heavy quantities of food, but the stress of everything lately and her return to smoking had begun to cause her, at times, tremendous difficulties in breathing.

"Is he ok," Shylah demanded to know, fearing that the worst may have occurred.

"Well, Ma'am, he's still in surgery.  I just thought you might wanna know that and know that the surgeon will come out here and speak to you when it's all over.  I let them know that his fiancée is here.  I was told to let you know that when he's out of surgery and has been admitted to a room and is awake, though it's so late, they will allow you to go visit him.  If anyone asks, you are his wife.  We're not supposed to allow it, but given the circumstances, they are willing to make an exception.  I hope this all helps.  As far as I know, he's ok for now.  I don't know any more, though.  I'm sorry."

"Thank you so much," Shylah smilingly said,
and after asking for paper and a pen, she quickly returned to her seat.

After another hour of almost complete silence and staring aimlessly and endlessly at the double doors leading to the E.R. waiting room, Shylah finally noticed a very blood-soaked doctor emerge.  She felt her heart sink at seeing so much blood and knowing that it was probably Mark's.

"Is there someone here for Marcus Crady," the doctor shouted, though there was only one other person in the waiting room besides Shylah and her brother.  "Marcus Crady," the man repeated. 

Shylah was already within several feet of him before he got halfway through repeating the name.  "How is he, Doctor?  Is he alright?"

"I think he's gonna be fine.  He's a very lucky man.  Had the bullet been bigger or had it directly hit a major organ, I don't think we'd be having the same conversation, but the bullet managed to pierce through both of the intestines.  It got him right about here," the doctor added, pointing to a spot on his own abdomen.  "It tore through the small intestine as it wraps around just under the large intestine and got the lower side of the large intestine with it.  Both have fairly large holes in them.  Had the shooter aimed higher, he would've been shot in the stomach, the liver, or any number of other organs.  Also, if the bullet had been bigger, it would have done far more damage and could have even passed through the spinal cord.  Luckily, it didn't.  It lodged between the intestines and the spine.  I was able to remove the bullet and most of the fragments.  There could still be a fragment or two hiding somewhere, but there also may not be any more of them.  Now, the bullet may have caused some nerve damage somewhere, very possibly in the spine.  Though the bullet did not pierce the spine, the entire spine is just loaded with nerves, so many that your mind cannot even imagine them all.  When you get into nerve damage anywhere in the body, you're talkin' about some pretty serious stuff.  Any damage to the spinal nerves, though there is no damage to the spinal cord or vertebrae, could result in paralysis.  We'll know more later, once there's been time for him to heal some.  Right now, what is important is making sure that the bullet and fragments are removed, making sure that the intestinal punctures are tended to, and waiting for the swelling in the area to subside.  Be thankful that there was someone there with him when he was shot.  He very well could have bled out, and you'd be seeing him in the morgue instead of in the hospital.  Whoever it was that was there with him, if I were you, I'd be thanking that person.  They saved his life.  I'm sorry that I don't have any more information for you, but we are going to allow you to visit him when he's awake.  That may not be until well into the morning, however."  Choking down the feeling of a lump swelling his own throat from having to bear such bad news, the doctor walked back through the double doors without saying a further word.

T.L. was there to hear the majority of the doctor's words.  As he and his sister walked back toward the waiting room chairs, T.L. grabbed his sister's hand and gave it a squeeze.  "Well, Sis, you said it was Dan that was with him, right?"

"Yep.  Dan Brady."

"We best be bakin' Dan a cake or somethin'.  I guess we owe him big time for savin' Mark.  This is gonna be kinda weird.  He saved Mark's life, so what does that do?  Mark ain't ever gonna be able to repay a debt like that."

"I know, T.  I know.  Right now, let's just give a big thanks to God.  He must really be watchin' over Mark!  I almost wanna call this good luck, but it's not good.  It's just a relief that Mark pulled through."  Shylah now grabbed ahold of her chair and slunk to her knees to say a prayer of thanks.  Seeing this, T.L. did the same next to her, both never more thankful in their life for a miracle.

Several more hours passed by before word was received.  It was now nearing three in the morning.  Shylah was told that she could see Mark, but only for a few minutes and that her brother would have to remain where he was. 
  Shylah did not want to have to leave but also did not want to anger anyone.  If she and Mark were, after all, already married, she knew that she might be able to sleep in Mark's room, as well as anyone might be able in a chair.  She hated it that she and Mark had not eloped instead of trying to plan out a traditional wedding.  It seemed ironic and spiteful that on the very day that plans were begun, Mark nearly died.

Shylah joyously, yea, triumphantly, turned through the doorway into Mark's room as if she were a Roman general returning from a winning military campaign.  It felt wonderful to know that Mark had not been taken away and that she could be there for him at such a time as it was; however, knowing how close she had come to losing her one true love and the father of her soon-to-be-born child filled Shylah with a near hatred for life. 

"How are you doin', Baby," Shylah wept as she saw Mark's face.  Mark was clearly very groggy and likely not to be as responsive as might be desired.

"I... I umm... I'm... ok."

"Did they tell you what happened, Baby," Shylah asked, using every ounce of strength in her body to fight her tears.

"Yeah.  L... love... you."

"I love you, too, Baby," Shylah cried, the tears streaming down her face, picking up force as if that of a mighty river, as she ferociously grabbed Mark's hand and pulled it to her heart.

As Mark felt Shylah's heartbeat, so fast that it seemed it might cause heart to burst from chest, he smiled.  The smile, though obviously weak, was everything that Mark had.  It gave Shylah an overjoyed sense of hope and honor for having such a loving man.  Shylah, however, wanted to tell him how stupid he was for doing what he had.  She knew that it would be gravely unfair and uncalled for in many ways, but it trampled her mind.  She wanted to let Mark really have it for allowing himself to nearly die over something so seemingly unnecessary as protecting his fortune.

"Here, Baby," Shylah said, setting Mark's hand by his side and pulling a piece of paper from her pocket.  "I wrote this for you while I was downstairs.  Don't laugh.  I'm not the poet you are, but I wanted to tell you exactly what I think of you, how much I love you, and how scared I was.  Ok."  Shylah cleared her throat again and again, feeling unable to find the nerve to begin.  Finally, she mustered her courage and continued,

"
Our love grows wild and free

Like the tall cypress tree

If it washed away

From the winds and the rains,

That cold, dark water

The aches and the pains

And the straining of the loss of my gain

Would leave me as nothing

For our son or our daughter

I don't know what I may be

I'll love you forever and a day,

But if you never can stay

I will be forever lost without you, Baby"

"Beautiful," Mark struggled to say, though Shylah knew not if he meant the poem or her.  She hoped that he meant both.

Shylah hurriedly stuffed the poem under the edge of the phone on Mark's hospital nightstand and once more grabbed his hand, placing it back against her chest.  "I love you so much, Mark.  Don't you dare ever leave me, and don't you scare me like this again!  I can't do this without you, can't live or raise our child alone!  You leave me, and I'm done for!  You are every part of everything good in my life.  I might have my family, but you are my family, too.  You're everything I need and everything I want!  You go, and I'm gonna lose my freakin' mind!  You best be plannin' on stickin' around forever!"

"I... do," Mark choked.

"Now say that at the altar!  You better be around to do that with me!  If I can't marry you, I'm never marryin' anybody!  You and me, Baby.  You and me, one day soon!  We're gonna do this before the end of the year.  You know that.  Three months, only three months!  I need you to be there, at that altar, in front of Reverend Hill, three months from now!  You're gonna be there in your black suit, looking so handsome, so sexy, and I'm gonna be walkin' down that aisle in my flowing, white dress, and we're gonna stand before God and everybody we know and tell each other how much we love each other and be sealed together as husband and wife, and it's gonna happen before you know it.  It's gonna be the happiest day of our life together, at least, til the day our baby comes.  It's you and me, Baby, you and me forever!"

Mark tried to clench his hand within Shylah's to show his approval of her speech.  He found that he simply had too little strength to do it, but Shylah could feel the slight increase of pressure and knew what Mark meant.  As she smiled back at him, Shylah felt an intense sensation of peace, as if God were letting her know that He would provide for all of her wants and needs and that there no longer was any need to worry.

Shylah lost herself in the moment, staring into Mark's eyes and wondering what must be going through his mind.  It was then that a knock on the door sounded to interrupt the happy couple's romantic musings.  "I'm sorry, Ma'am," a nurse quietly stated, "but I'm afraid you're gonna have to leave now.  He needs his rest, and it is rather late.  You can come see him tomorrow, and I'm sure the doctor will let you stay the whole day if you like."

"Ok," Shylah obliged, saddened.  "I love you, Baby.  You get your rest, and I promise I'll see you very soon."  With a light squeeze of the hand and a gentle kiss on the lips, Shylah turned to leave. 

Shylah had T.L. drive her back to Mark's house.  She thought that she might feel better staying at her parents' house, but she did not want to wake them, as they had already gone home hours before, not to mention that she was unsure that she had locked Mark's front door when she left.  Weary, exhausted, and quite perplexed about many things, she had her brother take her back to Mark's.  She worried that she might be unable to sleep without Mark by her side, but she knew that she must try. 

Shylah slept hardly a wink that night.  Everything weighed too heavily upon her mind to allow her to rest.  Before she knew it, the sun was shining, the birds chirping, the wind blowing gently.  Shylah emerged from bed still quite exhausted but happy.  She knew that she would be visiting Mark very soon and hoped that T.L. would be out of bed soon, if he were not already.  He was the only source of travel for Shylah, unless she decided to walk the four miles from Mark's house to her parents' house.