Under the Cypress Moon Read online

  Smiling at Shylah awkwardly and unsure of how it looked, Mark rushed off to the bathroom where he would stay for a considerable time, contemplating what to do, afraid of the results. He stood helplessly in front of the mirror for a long period, disheveled, scared, terrified really. "Mark, you idiot, just do it! Do it! Do it!" Mark kept repeating himself, as if doing so would get the point across. He hoped that no one would hear him, wanting to shout at himself yet knowing that he couldn't. It was more of a loud, yet somewhat muffled whisper.

  "She's out there! She's sitting there waiting, even if she doesn't know it! She knows somethin's up! Do it! Do it! Do it!"

  Mark finally mustered all of his courage and slowly walked out of the bathroom, but when he did, he stumbled, nearly falling to the floor, catching himself on the wall. As he caught himself, his fist hit the wall hard enough to knock a sizeable hole into it. Now, he had two major problems and no ideas on how to deal with either. The problem with Shylah would be resolved one way or another by simple talking, and with any luck, it might end up just the way that Mark hoped. The other problem, however, would require some sincere apologies to everyone in the King family and paying what Mark was sure would be a pretty substantial amount of money.

  Mark snuck around the other way in order to avoid Shylah. Facing the north wall, her back toward the entrance into the living room, Shylah never noticed Mark at all. He quickly lurked out of the house and found T.L. in the garage, cleaning the two fish that they had caught.

  "Hey, man," started T.L. "You do it?"

  "No. I was too damn chicken. And I got somethin' else I need to talk to you about."

  "What is that," asked T.L., a little curious.

  "I put a hole in the hallway wall."

  "What?!"

  "I didn't mean to." Mark had a terrified look on his face, so afraid of the reaction to what he had done, though, of course, an accident.

  "So, how? Why?"

  "I was so worked up and worried that I couldn't hold myself up straight. It was like I was drunk. I felt like I was gonna pass out, man. I caught myself on the wall, but my fist went through it."

  "Damn, man," began T.L., shaking his head. "Just do it already! Ask my sister out! Tell her what you told me last night, or I will!"

  "I... I... I can't, man. I can't do it!"

  "Do it! I'm tellin' you now if you don't do it, I will! I'm serious. I'll tell Shylah everything!"

  "Ok. Ok.," Mark replied, uneasy, scathed by it all, contemplating running away. "I'll talk to her. I think I need a beer or somethin' so I can get some courage."

  "You need beer guts to talk to the woman you love? Just be a man and do it already!"

  "Whatever, and yeah, I do need some beer guts. With anybody else, no. With your sister, hell yeah! I can't just talk to her so easily, man."

  "You've been talking to her for years, Mark. What the hell does it matter now?"

  Mark felt almost like slapping his best friend for putting him down and telling him what to do. He didn't understand just how difficult it really was for Mark. "You don't understand how hard this is for me, and for your information, anytime I talked to Shylah, it was always 'hi' or 'bye' or 'good morning' or asking her a simple question. This is telling her how much I care about her and can't stand not having her in my life as more than a friend!"

  T.L. had no idea what he could say at that point. There wasn't much need to say anything. There was no good that any words could bring.

  Mark, almost in a huff, stormed out. Maybe the near fight with T.L. was just what he needed. He was a little mad, enough that very little else could bother him. As he got closer to the house, however, this courage seemed to leave him more and more, seemingly absent once he reached for the handle of the door.

  Mark trotted in slowly, twisting his body to gently shut the door, unaware of much of anything that he was doing. When he turned back and saw Shylah again, his heart melted, his knees became completely weak, his palms started to sweat all over again, his eyes twitched, his neck, arms, and back itched severely. Taking a very deep breath, Mark attempted to delve deep within himself and find the courage that he felt a minute before.

  "Shylah," Mark muttered, a little incoherently.

  "Yeah?"

  "Ummm... could I talk to you?" Mark was shaking so badly that he once more felt like he might pass out.

  "Sure, Mark. Come sit down."

  Mark stumbled his way toward the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and plopping down so hard that he almost missed entirely, catching himself on the edge and having to scoot to a seated position.

  Mark tried to look Shylah in her eyes but couldn't. His head down, fighting to lift it, Mark couldn't find words.

  "What is it, Mark? Why are you so nervous? Come on. Out with it," Shylah retorted, laughing.

  "I... uh... I..."

  "You? You what?"

  "I have something to tell you, to ask you, to... I don't even know."

  Shylah, now very puzzled, cocked her head and cleared her throat as if to question Mark further.

  "I... I guess I have to just let it all out. I can't stand it one bit anymore. It's killing me inside!"

  Now, Mark had Shylah's complete and undying attention.

  With another sigh, Mark opened his mouth again and tried to speak. The words, however, were as fleeting as his courage. "Shylah... ummm..."

  "Mark, you know, you're kinda confusing me here and makin' me a little nervous. I'm sorry, but you gotta get the words out. You've known me pretty much all my life. Why are you all of a sudden so shy?"

  Mark knew that he couldn't leave yet, and he couldn't walk away. He couldn't stop the conversation. He couldn't change the subject. It must be done. He would have to find words or fall over dead. Either one sounded pretty good to him.

  "Ok. Here goes," Mark began again. "Shylah, I'm crazy about you! I can't stop thinking about you. I think about you when I wake up in the morning and when I go to bed at night. You're my every thought, my every hope. I can't get one moment of peace from it all, except when I sleep, and that's if I don't dream about you."

  "Wow," Shylah choked out. She had never had any man be so incredibly sweet to her before. She didn't know what to say. She didn't want to hurt Mark, but she wasn't sure that she could be with him, for a number of reasons.

  Shylah always thought that Mark was good looking, a sweet guy, a cool guy, smart, funny, and fun to be around, but she had rarely entertained any notions of anything more than friendship with Mark.

  Shylah knew that she had to have some answers now, but she was so afraid that she would hurt Mark's feelings, would leave him broken, maybe even damage his friendship with T.L., though she was worried that if she said yes, and things didn't work out, that she would hurt their friendship far more than what she could simply from giving Mark a rejection.

  "Mark, you know you mean a lot to me. You always have. You and my brother have been friends for so long. My brother loves you. My parents love you. We all love you. And I do love you, Mark. I just don't love you the way you think you love me." Shylah almost could not believe that she had just spoken these words.

  Mark, holding his head low, not knowing how to raise it or how to speak, found his one moment of strength and opportunity. Jerking his head up high, staring intently into Shylah's beautiful brown eyes, he stammered out, "Think? I don't think I love you, Shylah! I know I do! You are everything I've ever wanted. I don't know why it took me so damn long to figure that out, but I want you in ways that you cannot even imagine! I would give up absolutely everything I have just to have you for one day!"

  "Really," Shylah asked. "You'd give up everything for me? You'd give up your company, your big house, all your money, your fancy trucks and cars, everything?"

  "YES!"

  "Mark," Shylah came back. "I... I don't know what to say, what you want me to say."

  Mark knew the answer and felt defeated, utterly and completely defeated in every conceivable way. He had tried, and he lost. He poured out his h
eart, and it mattered not. He did not hate Shylah, and he knew that he would still love her and desire her with every fiber of his being, but it could not be and could not matter to anyone but him.

  Mark nodded a bit as if to say that he understood Shylah's unspoken words. Getting up from the table, he wasn't sure how he could even look at the woman he loved. He wondered if it would affect his friendship with Shylah's brother. Even if it didn't, Mark was sure that he could not come to the King home for a very long time.

  Mark slowly walked away, so dejected that he felt like going home and either drinking heavily or crawling into bed and never coming out. He walked aimlessly toward his truck, only to be stopped by T.L. who had finished cleaning the fish and had come out of the garage to take the meat into the house.

  "So?"

  "So what," Mark replied.

  "So, how did it go with my sister?"

  "How do you think," Mark responded, a tone in his voice that said everything that T.L. wondered.

  Without another word, Mark hopped up into his truck and sped off, shooting rocks everywhere, some of which nearly hit T.L. in the face. T.L. was certain that Mark had no intention of hitting him, and now, he kind of wondered about the money to have the hallway wall fixed, but that could be sorted out later.

  T.L. stormed into the house and flung the fish onto the table in front of his sister. Shylah was quite used to T.L.'s fits, but she knew that this one had to have something to do with her conversation with Mark.

  "What the hell is your problem," T.L. demanded sharply.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Mark pours his heart out to you, tells you how much he's in love with you, and you turn him away like he's some piece of trash or dead animal layin' around on the road?! Do you realize that that is my best friend, my only real friend I've ever had?!"

  Shylah was now angry. She was angry with her brother, maybe a little with herself, and wondering what Mark said to T.L. and if she should also be mad at Mark. "I did not say one mean word to him! I tried to let him down easy! I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to say to the poor guy! I told him that we all love him but that I don't love him the way he wants me to. What was I supposed to say. You tell me! Wait... you knew about this?!"

  "He told me."

  "Told you? When?" Shylah was so confused that she felt like she might scream just to let out some of her frustration.

  "Last night, at the bar."

  "And I'm guessin' you told him to ask me out," Shylah responded a little coldly. She didn't really know why she was upset.

  T.L., his teeth running across his top teeth, unable to say anything, finally stormed off, letting out an "Ugh!"

  Shylah sat back, confused, scared, more than perturbed. Rarely did anything get to her this badly. Most of the time, she was so easy going that nothing could get to her, but this was different. She had hurt someone very special to her. She broke the heart of a good man, one of the few good men in the world, she knew. Shylah had never had good luck when it came to men, and it was rare for a woman to find such a caring man, no matter how hard she tried. Perhaps, Mark could be everything that she ever needed, but for some reason, she just couldn't say yes. She would spend the entire rest of the day and night thinking it all over, running the issue around and around in her brain, debating the pros and cons of it all, attempting to figure out if maybe there were actually some way for giving it some small chance.

  Mark, however, would do all that he could to try to forget it all. He hurried home, slamming the doors of his truck and his house, causing a great alarm to his aging and usually irritable father, Thomas. "What is goin' on down there," Thomas shouted as soon as Mark got in the door."

  "Nothin," Mark shouted back.

  "It don't sound like nothin'!"

  "None of your damn business, old man," Mark snapped.

  "Don't you ever talk to me like that, boy, or take that tone with me! You know who you're talkin' to? I brought you in. I can take you out!"

  Mark had about as much fear of his father, in any way, as he did of a gnat, but all in all, he knew that there was nothing he could do when it came to Thomas Crady, Jr., nothing at all. Mark had no desire whatsoever to remain in the house. He wanted his own place more than anything else, save to have Shylah. He only moved back in so that he could look after his father in his advanced age and general sickness. He gave up his spacious apartment in town for an even more spacious but haunting house in the country, complete with a domineering father whose very sight made Mark cringe and long for any place where Thomas was not.

  Mark scampered off to his room, luckily, a floor below that of his father. He did not want to see anyone, especially his father. The man was a pain that cannot be described with words. He made Mark's life miserable, and now was definitely not the time to have to deal with anyone that made him feel such a way.

  There was nothing that Mark wanted to do really. He thought of watching TV. He thought of listening to music. There was a chance that doing either would only cause his father to complain. Thomas liked things to be very quiet at all times. Mark seldom got to have the slightest bit of fun. He had much more of it at work than he ever did at home, unless he could somehow secret himself away from the house and into the woods or out somewhere on the four wheeler.

  It didn't even matter now. Mark couldn't help but feel sorry for himself. His heart had been crushed. His will was broken. He felt no urge, no need, no hope to carry on any longer. If it weren't for believing suicide to be utterly wrong and unforgivable, he might just do it, might give in to the temptation and put a bullet in his mouth. He didn't even own a gun, but his father did, and it would take little effort to go get it and put it to use.

  Mark shuddered at the thought of doing that. He wanted his pain to end, but he didn't want to go that route, no matter how closely he felt driven to it. He slide into bed and pulled the covers high, even covering his entire face, feeling as though maybe, just maybe, if he stayed there under the soft, inviting cover canopy, that no one would ever find him, and he would never have to again face the world or take the chance of being hurt by another person. He fought hard to not break down and cry. He could feel tears forming, pushing, and aching to be released. A good cry might even make him feel a little better, but it was the last thing that he wanted or could allow.

  Chapter 2

  A new day dawned, much as it always did. It was Sunday, and before long, the church bells would ring. Mark woke up feeling a little better, feeling a little more relief. He didn't know if he would go to church or not. Part of him desperately wanted to, but he didn't think that he could face Shylah or T.L.

  The First Church of Christ was what some might call progressive. The congregation was split pretty evenly between white and black parishioners. Most churches in the area were predominantly black or predominantly white, but the First Church of Christ was different, one of the reasons that Mark loved it so much. It wasn't the church that he grew up attending, but it definitely felt like home. It was warm and inviting, and so were most of the people that attended it.

  A mixed church with a black preacher didn't spell out much welcome to many among the local white population, but Mark didn't care. In fact, some, on occasion, gave the parishioners of the church a great deal of trouble for their attending, many of the black members asked why they would attend a church with "so many white folk" or the white members asked why they would attend a church full of a different and much more derogatorily named group of persons.

  After nearly an hour of serious debate within himself, Mark decided that it would be best to make his way out of the house and to the church. If he stuck around home, he would likely have to speak to his father, become angry, and even think long and protracted thoughts about Shylah. Seeing her probably would not make matters any better, but oh well.

  When Mark got out of his truck in the church parking lot, there was T.L. Mark did not know if his friend was waiting for him or if he had just not wanted to go inside yet.

  "Wh
at up, fool," asked T.L. "You feelin' better? The way you left my house, I thought I might not see you again for a good while."

  "Nope. You know I wouldn't stay away, man."

  "Well, you know, given the whole mess with Shylah, I didn't know. So, we good?"

  "Yep. Yep. Ain't no thang," Mark replied, a big smile on his face. He knew that no matter what happened or did not happen, he could never turn his back on his best friend.

  "Let's get our butts inside and find us some seats!" T.L. seemed rather chipper when he said this. Mark, however, was dreading seeing the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

  Little did either Mark or T.L. know, but Shylah had put a considerable amount of thought into everything. She secluded herself in her room and weighed out every possibility that she could conceive and had come to the conclusion that giving Mark the chance that he so desperately sought might be alright, might not be the disaster that she feared. She didn't particularly hold tremendous feelings for the man, but she figured that they would come later. She knew that she really liked Mark in a lot of ways, could trust him thoroughly, and that her family was crazy about him. All in all, she couldn't ask for a better man.

  When Mark entered the church, he instantly locked eyes on Shylah, though, facing forward in a pew at the middle of the chapel, she could not see Mark. Mark felt the same overwhelming feelings of anxiety and fear as he walked slowly down the aisle. He always sat with the Kings, or, sometimes, just he and T.L.

  "Hey, T.L.?"

  "Yeah?

  "Can we sit away from your family?"

  "Ok? But why? Shylah?"

  "Yeah."

  "Alright. Whatever, man. But you know, at some point, you're gonna have to talk to her again. You can't exactly write her off. Even if you don't ever get her, she's gonna be a part of your life, unless you're plannin' on dumpin' me as your friend."

  "Hell... I mean heck no! You know me, T.L. We go back too far, man. You're my brother from another mother." Mark laughed a little, which only caused T.L. to laugh, too. The two were as close as close could be and sometimes seemed to almost be one and the same, cut from the same cloth, molded from the same clay.