Under the Cypress Moon (27 page)

Mark thought it over for a moment but doubted the ability of his father to have such things.  "Naw.  I don't think he should have that.  I don't know for sure, but I wanna ask a doctor before givin' him that kinda food.  Just get me and you somethin', if you want, and if not, we'll fix somethin' as soon as you get back.  Don't you leave without givin' me a kiss, Little Lady!"

As Shylah leaned in to meet Mark's lips, she fell, coming full force, twisted, and almost on her face, onto Mark's lap.  Turning around to face Mark, she bemoaned, "Why, Sir, I do believe you are tryin' to take advantage of this poor lil' ol' Southern Gal.  Whatever shall I do?!"

"Shut up, and kiss me!"  Mark quickly moved in, and before Shylah knew what was happening, Mark planted his lips fully onto hers, nearly enveloping them.  "I don't think I can let you go.  I think I'm gonna need you here with me!"

"Well, I am gonna have to, so you're just gonna have to wait, my sexy man!  I need to get goin' and get back.  You'll have to do without me.  Just don't start without me, though."

"Ok.  Fine then.  Get your sexy ass goin'.  I'll be here."

"You better be!  I'll beat you if you're not!"

"Oh, please do, Baby.  I could use a good spanking!"

"You're too much, Boy," Shylah exclaimed, giving Mark a final kiss.

As Shylah neared her car, a pickup truck came barreling up the drive, parking in front of the door of the house, next to Shylah's car. Two men quickly emerged, the older of the two tipping his hat to Shylah.  "Evenin', Miss King."

"Why, evenin' to you, Mr. Carpenter, and you, Josh."

"What are you doin' here, Ma'am?"

"Oh, keepin' Mark in line."

"Keepin' him in line?  You mean you two... You're together?  Why, if that don't beat all."  The man bellowed out a laugh that made his large belly jiggle and jump.  One might have imagined the man to be Santa Clause from such a physical ruckus. 

"Yeah.  We are.  Not everybody knows yet, but it's true."

"He inside then, Miss King," Bentley Carpenter asked, still shaking from laughter.

"Yep, last I checked.  Well, guys, I'm off to the store.  Just knock on the door there.  You take it easy, if I don't see you before you leave.  Good day to both of you."

"Good day, Shylah," happily but shyly added Josh Carpenter.

As Shylah sped away, the father turned to his son, having to know what was prominent in his mind, "You still fancy that girl, huh, Son?"

"A little, I guess.  I had a thing for her in high school, but she's a bit older'n me.  Looks like Mark Crady beat me to it," the young man ruefully responded, his head hanging low.

"Well, Boy, you didn't take your chance.  The good things go to the man who tries, not the man that sits by and watches the other man.  You gotta learn that or you ain't gettin' nowhere in this world.  I got your mama cuz I didn't wait around.  You think a purdy gal like that didn't have a million other men after her?  Your mama took a likin' to me cuz I tried, and I was nice to her.  You gotta charge in before the other guy does and be a genteel man toward the lady you so desire.  You got me, Boy?"

"Yes, Pa.  I know that.  I was a fool, and I never got her.  I'm payin' fer it."

With another hearty laugh, the father walked around his truck and up to the front door, pounding on it with his meaty fist, alarming Mark who was lightly dozing already. 

When Mark opened the door, much to his astonishment, stood two men that he rarely made contact with and would hardly expect to.  "Why, hello there, Mr. Carpenter.  What can I do for ya?"

"Well, Mark, I heard about your daddy and wanted to let you know how sorry I was and see if there's anything me and mine can do for ya.  Plus, the wife made you this here casserole and the cake Jr. there is carryin'."

"Well, Sir, that is really nice of you and your family.  Tell Mrs. Carpenter I said thank you so much.  We'll surely enjoy this."  Mark quickly tried to take the dishes from the men, though Bentley Carpenter insisted that it was too much and let himself in to carry the casserole to the kitchen.

"I was also kinda hopin' maybe we could talk for a bit, Mark, if'n you don't mind.  I hope we ain't intrudin'," Bentley added as he handed the dish to Mark.

"No.  You're not intrudin' on anything.  I was just sittin' on the couch."

"I heard about you and Shylah King, by the way," Bentley laughingly poked.

"Yeah.  How's that?"

"Saw her outside.  Purdy as a fresh Spring daisy, that girl is.  I never did much go for the gals of her color, though I do admit there is some of 'em that's just beautiful beyond the human tongue to say.  You got you a real looker there, though as long as I know'd her and her family, I thought that girl was a real pistol!"  Bentley Carpenter was not a man to mix words or to hold back what was on his mind, and most in the area respected him for both.

"You're right on all accounts, Sir," Mark replied, laughing as heartily as Bentley had outside of the house.

"That aside, Mark, I got somethin' real important I need to speak to you about, and I hope you don't find me callous or cold for doin' so."

"No, Sir.  I always had a lot respect for you.  I'm sure whatever you've got to say, it's not meant out of any disrespect or unkindness.  Go ahead, Sir."

"Well, Mark, you know how me and my boys always did farm your daddy's land, far back as I can remember.  It started with my daddy farmin' fer yer grandpa way back.  We ain't got too much land of our own, and we really need all we can get.  I've been awful afeard you might up and give the land over to someone else if'n yer daddy goes to passin'.  I don't mean to be bringin' this up at such the inopportune time as it must be, but I can't get it out of my head.  My family and yer family goes back way far back.  We got us a good relationship between your'n and our'n.  I wanna offer you more'n your daddy's been gettin' if you keep the contract goin' after it expires here after this season."

"Mr. Carpenter," Mark began, nearly choking on his own words.  "You... you have nothin' to worry about.  I know how tough it can be.  Look, there's no need to fear about the contract.  We'll renew it, and you don't need to pay me more.  Ok?  If my dad is still with us after the season, I'll make sure he signs another contract, and if not, I will.  I don't own the land yet, obviously, but you're not gonna have anything to worry over.  You got my word, and like I tell everybody, my word is like gold.  You can take it to the bank.  You and your boys will be farmin' this property for a very long time to come."

"That is such great news, Mark," the aging farmer exultingly, and almost with tears, cried out.  "You're a good man, Mark Crady! 
If'n we lost yer land, we'd be done fer.  If you need anything, anything at all, you give ol' Ben Carpenter a call!  You need work done on yer house, yer truck, whatever it is, you got a friend in Ben!"  With a gulp of relief, the man got up from his seat at the kitchen island counter.  Shaking hands with Mark so hard that Mark thought he might be shaken to death, the man turned soon after to walk away. 

Josh, however, felt that he needed to say his piece to Mark.  "Well, you got the girl.  I always did have a likin' for Shylah.  She's the best lookin' girl I ever laid eyes on.  I never did make my move, but you got her all the same.  Just be good to her.  If you aren't, know I'm gonna be right there to pick up the pieces!"

"Josh," Mark laughed, "You have no need for that.  I know what I got with her.  The only way I'm losin' that girl is if I die.  But I'll tell you what.  If I die, you can make all the moves you want."

"Don't pay the boy no never mind, Mark," chimed Josh's father.  "The boy is dreamin'.  He had his chances with that girl way back and never tried.  Like I told him, some men try, and some just wait.  The ones that try is the ones that prosper.  I'll have a new contract drawn up, same as the old one, I reckon, if that's fine with you, Mark."

"Fine by me, but I don't own anything yet, so as of right now, there's nothin' I can do.  My dad still owns everything."

"Well, Sir, I'll have it ready, just the same."  Tipping his dirty, greasy cap to Mark, the man continued, "You take care, Mark, and take good care of that pretty lady of yours.  My best wishes to your daddy.  It's sad to see such a bad thing happenin' to such a good man."

As the Carpenters walked out the door, Mark wondered if Bentley meant what he had said about Thomas.  It always seemed to Mark that the only people to truly believe Thomas to be a good man were those who were of the same mind frame, or, as in the case of Dr. Abrams, those that owed Thomas their life.

"Don't you be makin' deals behind my back," Thomas shouted from his room down the hall, having mustered every bit of strength and breath within him to say this.

Mark was puzzled that his father had been able to shout so hard and so completely without taking breaks in between words.  As he walked down the hall, he felt a deep dread stir within him.  He feared that his father might be back to his old ways or, at least, having one his temporary lapses of memory that the doctor warned about.

"What, Dad," Mark replied as he walked into his father's room to see Thomas sitting up against the headboard of the bed.

"I heard you in there makin' a deal with Ben Carpenter.  You didn't ask me what I thought of it!"

"How'd you hear that?"

"You think I can't hear?  I heard so many things when you were a boy that you thought I didn't!  You thought you were sneaky and could get away with anything!  There was never a thing you did that your daddy didn't know about!"

"Dad, all I did was assure Ben that he'll be able to keep farming the land.  That's all.  I didn't really strike a deal with him, just reassure him. 
There's no new contract.  I told him that it'd have to be run by you.  I'm not doin' anything behind your back."

"Alright.  Alright.  Get me a glass of water, and make it quick, Boy!"

As Mark strode back down the hall toward the kitchen, he reminded himself, over and over, that his father was in a horrible state and was not of stable mind.  He wanted to be angry but knew that he simply could not be.  It would not be right or honorable to strike back at the man, no matter the inclination to do so. 

When Mark returned with the water, Thomas beamed, a smile bedecking his face the likes of which Mark had never before seen.  "Hey, Son!  How's my baby boy?!"

"Just fine, Daddy.  Here's your water."

"Water?  I didn't ask for water.  You must be out of your mind, Boy.  Come sit here by your daddy and tell him how your day was.  How was school, Son?"

"Dad, I've been done with school for a really long time.  I'm not in school."

"What are you talkin' about, Michael?  You're in grade school!  Now, come on over and sit here by daddy.  You still gettin' those straight As, Son?"

"I'm Mark."

"No.  Stop playin' around, Michael.  I'd recognize my Mikey any time.  Get on over here."

"Dad, I'm tellin' you.  I'm Mark!  I'm not Michael.  Michael isn't with us."

"I told you to stop playin' around and come sit by your daddy and tell me about your schoolin'!  Get over here and sit in that chair right there!"

Beside himself, Mark acquiesced, knowing that there was no more that could be done.  Thomas would never believe that he was speaking to Mark instead of Mark's brother or that Michael had been dead for many years.  The most that Mark would be able to do would be to sit by his father and entertain his notions.  Mark was not in the mood to deal with his father's anger, snide remarks, or anything else.  This was only the first noticeable instance of Thomas' mind slipping away, but it would definitely not be the last.

Chapter 13

Mark felt unbelievably happy when Thomas finally drifted back to sleep. It spelled untellable relief.  Now, if only Shylah would come home, Mark thought to himself.  It seemed funny thinking of the place as Shylah's home, but that was what it was becoming.    When Shylah did come home, more than two hours after she left, she found Mark asleep on the couch, leaving her to wonder what good it would ever do to have only one person to tend to Thomas.

"Wake up," Shylah shouted, kicking the couch.  "Wake up!  Wake up!"

"Whu... What?"

"You were asleep.  What if your dad needed help?  And I got groceries needin' carried in.  I need help."

"Alright.  I'm up.  I'm up."

With Mark's assistance, everything was swiftly carried inside and put away.  In that short time, Shylah perused her mind about how she had just treated Mark.  She swore to herself that she would try to be the best girlfriend to him and never be cross with him.  It was tough, but she did not want to live that way, having seen far too many couples quarrel over the smallest of things.  "I'm sorry, Baby," Shylah announced, her arms slipping around Mark, one around his neck and the other around his waist, gripping his left buttock.

"For what?"

"For snappin' at you.  I'm sorry.  I saw you asleep, and it made me a little upset you weren't up to take care of your dad or to help me out."

"It's ok.  Forget it."

"You sound mad.  I don't wanna just forget it.  I never want us to fight, Baby.  I really am sorry.  I want us to always be happy or at least be able to make up right away.  Why don't we go eat, and then I'll show you just how sorry I really am?"  With a wink, Shylah moved her right hand from the back of Mark's pants to the front to tease him.

"I told you you were a tease," Mark shouted, moving his hands all over Shylah's chest.

"Now, who's teasin'?!"

"Just givin' you some of your own medicine, Baby."

"Well, you better give me some more of that 'medicine' in a little while."

"You know I will.  Let's eat."

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Man!  Is this how you salute?"  Shylah had it nearly right, her right hand raised to her brow and a little crooked.

"Close enough, I guess, but I'm starving.  What'd you get me?"

"Got ya a combo, same one as I got.  Deluxe burger, fries, drink."

"Good.  I could eat both of 'em," Mark chortled.

"Well, you won't.  You get yours, and only yours, but you can have some of me when you're done."

Mark knew that he should be used to Shylah eating so quickly, having already seen it more than once, but it somehow still surprised him.  Shylah had her entire meal finished before Mark could get through just half of his sandwich.  "Damn, Baby.  Do you even chew?!"

"Sometimes, but I was too hungry to care."

"I'm barely halfway done!"

"Well, you eat slow."

"You enjoy it more if you take your time."

"Are we still talkin' about food here, Hon?  There are definitely things you wanna take your time with, but food... I'm not so sure it's one of 'em.  Besides, I enjoy it plenty."

"Whatever you say," Mark added, laughing until chunks of food began to spew from the corners of her mouth.

"But part of the reason you take so long is you talk while you eat.  Plus, you show your food to people.  That's not very nice or sanitary."  Shylah turned her head in disgust, feeling almost sickened from what she had witnessed.

"Whatever.  I don't show my food."

"Why don't you eat and stop talkin', at least until you finish that bite.  I keep seein' it, and I saw some of it fall out of your mouth.  Please swallow before you talk.  It's disgusting not to." 

"Why are you turned away, Babe?  Can't you look at me," Mark asked, still chomping as he spoke.

"Because I can't watch you eat and talk.  And just look at your shirt.  You'll see lots of food on it and get my point.  There's a piece, and there's a piece, and there's another piece," Shylah added, pointing at various places on Mark's shirt, feeling her stomach turn as she did.

Mark, upset with this treatment, got up and walked away, taking the rest of his food with him to the kitchen.  Shylah remained seated on the couch, wondering what she had done wrong.  She felt as though nothing that had been said was mean or going too far.  She hated when her brother talked while eating, smacked his lips, or slurped his drinks.  They were disgusting sound, sights, and even thoughts to behold.

A few minutes later, Shylah having never risen from her seat, Mark came back into the parlor, wiping his face with the back of his hand.  "All gone now.  Happy?"

"Sure," Shylah said.

"What now?"

"Nothin'."

"No.  What is it?"

"You're gettin' mad at me just for tellin' you about somethin' that gets on my nerves.  I didn't mean to piss you off.  I just wanted you to know how much it bugs me.  You could tell me if somethin' bugged you.  And you walkin' in here, wipin' your mouth with your hand.  That's kinda sickening, too, but it's a lot better than talking with your mouth full.  I'm sorry if any of this gets on your nerves.  It's just stuff I can't deal with.  Please don't be mad at me, Baby."  If it weren't for Shylah's sweet-looking face bestowing a sort of childlike innocence, Mark might have continued to be upset.  However, he could not remain in such a state.  He didn't have it in him to be mad at such a radiant countenance.

"It's ok.  Lesson learned.  I'll try not to do that stuff in front of you."

"Thank you, Baby.  You know I love you.  I just don't like seein' that stuff, ya know?  Now, maybe we can get down to some us time.  Why don't you come here and take that shirt off?!  And maybe those pants, too.  I think you need to be examined!"

"Whatever you say, Doctor!  I don't know if I can do it all myself.  I might need some helping hands!"  Mark began to unbuckle his belt but happily accepted Shylah's hands groping, pulling, and unfastening everything. 

"Yes.  The doctor is in!  You haven't had an appointment for some time, so I think this is gonna take a while!"

"Can we get a nurse to come help you?"

"Ok," Shylah snapped, flinging Mark's belt back toward him, removing her hands, and leaning back onto the couch.  "That was exactly the wrong damn thing to say!  You can just examine yourself!  Or maybe just go find a nurse."

"Oh, c'mon, Babe. It was a joke!  You're the only one I want checkin' me out!  C'mon!  Please!  Go back to what you were doin'!"

"NO!  You killed the mood!  I don't wanna do this anymore.  And now that I think about it, you haven't taken your pills today.  I was supposed to remind you.  Go take your antibiotic, please."

"Ok.  We good?"

"Yeah, sure.  We're good."

"Don't say it like that, Shylah.  Please.  C'mon, Baby.  Don't be mad.  It was just a stupid joke.  I take it back!  Please, can we let it go?  Pweeze, Behby."  Mark's sad-looking expression failed to cause any lasting effect on Shylah.

"That might work under different circumstances, Mark.  Your little sad puppy dog look doesn't take back what you said.  Just go take your pills.  We can watch TV. or somethin' after that."  Shylah sat with her arms crossed, still looking greatly annoyed.

"Ok.  Be back in a minute.  See what you can find on."

To Mark's great disappointment, the night continued much in this manner, Shylah annoyed with him and seldom responding, only gluing herself to the TV. screen.  Mark attempted, again and again, to bring Shylah around, to make up for what he had said, but all to no avail at all.  Finally, Mark gave up and went to bed, alone.  There were no exchanges of "goodnight," no final kisses, nothing for the rest of the night.  It seemed strange to both of them that they had had their first real fight already and especially that, for the first time, they went to bed mad.  Neither of them wanted it to be that way.  They both intended to always make up right away for any grievances, shortcomings, or irritations immediately.  Now, both wondered if they could make things work.

When the sun began to peer through the window of Mark's bedroom, right into Shylah's eyes, she awoke to find that she was all alone in the bed.  There was no light on in the bathroom, and the door was wide open.  Perhaps, Mark was just in the kitchen, Shylah thought.  A bit worried, she climbed out of bed, tired as she still was, and began to search throughout the house.  She was unsure if she would talk to Mark if she found him, but in order to quell her worries and doubts, she knew that she had to find him.

Mark was in the kitchen, to Shylah's relief, sitting at the table, nursing a large cup of coffee.  "Mornin'."

"Mornin'," Shylah replied, reaching into the cabinet for her own cup.  "How long you been up?"

"An hour, hour and a half.  Hell if I know."

"Someone's a bit snippy this morning," Shylah stated, all of the previous night's irritations flooding back.

"Sorry.  I'm just tired.  I woke up to Dad screaming.  I thought he was callin' for help, but I guess he was havin' a nightmare.  He was dead asleep when I went in.  I decided to just stay up."

"You coulda come back to bed."

"Why?  You hate me right now.  Remember?"

"I never said I hate you!  Damnit, Mark!  I love you!  Don't you see that?!  What the hell is wrong with you?!  I got mad because of what you said, but it doesn't mean I stopped caring about you!  What you said was really hurtful.  I know you said you were sorry, and maybe I should've let it go at that, but I was mad.  I was willing to at least try to just put it behind us, but then you started snappin' and sayin' that I hate you.  Get your head out of your ass, please.  If not for me, for you.  I don't want you to walk into walls and stuff and get it jammed up there even farther!" 

"You know, I kinda wanna be mad at you for that comment, but it was pretty funny.  Sometimes, I swear me and you are too much alike!"  Mark could scarcely contain the laughter that he felt building within him.  He had to let it out, bursting into an uncontrollable fit, so overcome that he had to wipe his right eye.  "You got me almost in tears."

"How can you tell if your head is up your ass?"

"Ok.  It's gettin' a little old now.  It was funny for a while.  Look."  Mark jumped from his seat, taking Shylah's cup from her and setting it on the island counter.  "Babe, let's not fight.  I'm sorry for what I said last night, and I'm sorry if I snapped at you a little bit ago.  Please, let's drop it all.  We should be happy together, so no more fighting!  If I have to crawl out of my ass and spank you..."