P. S. I Love You

by Barbara Conklin

  sleep? In the Abbotts’ garden they talked among themselves all night.

  Suddenly the bushes swayed and parted and Paul Strobe stood before us. Trying to catch his breath, he said to all of us, “I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted to buy a few things, and the store was jammed.”

  He handed my mother a box of chocolates and a huge bag of M & M’s to Kim. In his other hand he carried a bag and he handed that one to me. “It’s a book,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “I picked it up in Dad’s bookstore. It’s all about Palm Springs and I think you’ll really enjoy it.”

  Slowly I pulled it out of the bag. I opened it carefully and saw it contained the complete history of the city, and a list of things for the present and then a chapter on the future of the town. There were at least twenty pages of paintings of the desert and the Indians. It was beautiful. But more importantly, if he gave me a book, that must mean he doesn’t hate me! My heart felt as if a ton of bricks had been lifted off of it.

  “It tells all about the Indians, their reservations, how Palm Springs was formed. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure,” Paul told me.

  “Thank you,” I said, cheerfully. “I’ll look at it before I go to bed.”

  “Paul should show you the canyons,” Old Jim said, sipping at his coffee. “Oh, but I forgot, it’s summer and they’re closed to the public.”

  Paul stood before me; he hadn’t moved an

  inch since he had presented his gift to me. “I’ll show her anyway,” he said to Old Jim. And then to me, “I have a secret entrance; my friend Joe showed me. But then, I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Later.I savored the sweet sound of that word. He wanted to take me to the canyons, to talk to me — later. I looked up into his face, his blue eyes twinkling with friendliness. I blushed when he answered my starry-eyed stare with a quick wink.

  “They’re on fire!” My mother was yelling, pointing at the hot dogs revolving on the spit. “Let’s get them off!” She ran over to remove them and Jim followed to help. Kim had disappeared into the oleanders, and I knew she was stealing some of the M & M’s before dinner, ignoring my mother’s warning that she not open the bag until she’d eaten.

  Paul and I sat down at the far end of the picnic bench, far enough away from the others so they wouldn’t hear. I took a deep breath and looked straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to him. “I’m sorry I bad-mouthed rich people in front of you. I had no way of knowing.”

  He put up his hand. “No, I should have come right out with it. I should be apologizing. That’s why I brought the book to you — it’s a peace offering.”

  “But if I had known — ”

  “It’s okay, Mariah. Remember what I said about that guy who lives in that house? He’s so nice he wants to show you that all rich people aren’t snobs.” He tweaked my nose playfully.

  I laughed, hoping the others wouldn't notice. “Still, I was wrong,” I repeated.

  “Look, Mariah, I’m not rich,” he said seriously. “My great-grandfather came to Palm Springs and knocked himself out on the land to make a good living. Later on he bought parcels of the land and became rich. Then his son, my grandfather, worked right along with him. Then my father inherited it all and bought a book shop and sold properties — and there you are. I’m just my father’s son. So far I haven’t made a dime of that wealth, but I’m going to work hard and be something my folks will be proud of.”

  Here I had worried all that time about apologizing to Paul and it hadn't been hard at all. I smiled at him. Under the picnic table, he found and squeezed my hand.

  My mother and Jim came over to the table with the charred hot dogs just as Kim conveniently stepped out of the oleanders. But before they all reached the table, Paul whispered to me, “You have a beautiful smile, Mariah. A beautiful smile.…”

  Chapter 9

  I lay awake for hours that night touching my mouth, my face, getting up several times and looking in the hand mirror on the chest of drawers. It was like a miracle. In one short day, I had turned pretty. It wasn’t just my imagination either, because the mirror proved it. Just the night before I’d been practicing my smile, and it had been just as rigid as it had always been. But Paul had said my smile was beautiful — and sure enough, now it was.

  As I tossed and turned, I thought of Paul, and I wondered if he thought about me at all. Then just before I drifted off to sleep, I thought of Elaine, the girl in my bed, in my own house.

  Was she sleeping or did she toss and turn like me, listening to the night noises in a strange place? Would the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks below keep her awake? Would the two cats next door whine all night and bother her? Had she met someone, too?

  “Maybe I'll write to her.” I sat up in bed and said out loud. “Why not?” I yawned and fell back on the pillows. First thing, after breakfast, I’d dash off a few lines. I fell asleep at last.

  It was the very next day that I found the letter from my father. It happened early in the morning, right after breakfast. My mother had intended to help us weed a geranium patch near the pool. “Would you run in and get my orange scarf?” she asked me. “The sun makes my hair dry.”

  I should wear one, too, I thought. That was one of her secrets for beautiful hair. I ran to her bedroom, wishing I could drag the air conditioner outside with me.

  The scarf was in the top drawer of the chest, right near the bed, but when I entered the room my eyes strayed over to the bed. There on the velvet patchwork bedspread, I saw the pieces of paper, and instantly recognized the handwriting. My father’s.

  I knew the letter wasn’t for me, but I couldn’t stop reading. I’ll just scan it, the better part of my soul said. But the other part won, and I sank down on the bed and read it from beginning to end.

  He wanted to return to us, he said. He wanted to be a good father and husband. He said he had been a terrible fool to leave us and he begged my mother to let him come back. He pleaded so hard, I felt the tears spring to my eyes. “I’ve asked so many, many times,” he wrote. “Why can’t you forgive me?”

  My eyes darted up to the date on the letter — January 8. The letter was an old one! Way back in January he was asking to come back! And all of this time my mother was telling me that he didn’t want to! Why?

  My eyes stung with hot tears as I placed the letter back on the bed exactly as I had found it. I wouldn’t mention it, of course, but my heart ached so painfully, I hoped it would never show in my face.

  Pulling the orange scarf out of the drawer, I headed back to my mother, my heart feeling like one of the patio bricks.

  sf were so busy, it was well into the next week before I finally got a chance to write to Elaine. Almost all of the daylight hours were spent either on the gazebo or weeding the flower beds. Since Jim could not devote his time to the garden, Kim and I had to. The weeds were hideous, and the sun too bright. Kim and I worked in our bathing suits so that whenever we got too hot, we’d take a quick plunge in the pool. We also had to wear T-shirts to protect our backs from getting broiled.

  At lunchtime my mother would call us and we’d eat on the picnic bench. Most of the time Paul joined us, although he devoted at least three hours of each day to helping his parents in the book shop. We never got to spend any time alone, however, and I wondered if he’d ever show me Palm Springs as he promised. I also wondered what he did at night.

  The gazebo was coming along nicely. Jim had stacked up his hand-carved railings against another pile of wood, and his latticework was almost completed.

  Finally I was able to help when it came to the painting. Jim, Paul, and I carefully applied

  the ivory paint on the structure, Jim standing back once in a while and saying, “It’s good. We made ourselves a pretty good gazebo!”

  Paul stood back, brush in hand, his face sweating in the heat. His smile was broad and his blue eyes sparkled with the satisfaction of a job well done. “I love it,” he shouted. “Yeah, we did all right!”

 
They had good reason for being proud. The little clearing, boxes of nails, bricks for the foundation under the wooden platform, and the paint had produced a most beautiful round sun porch. The hand-carved railings and cornice and latticework were interwoven like lace, and the cedar shingles covered a carousel-type roof. When I stood back and surveyed it all, a lump suddenly stuck in my throat.

  I could almost see a lady with a parasol, way back in the Victorian days, running through the flowers, tiptoeing up the two steps to the platform. She swung around, seated herself on the cushions on the bench seats, and in seconds, a man followed her up the steps. Together they sat there, sipping afternoon tea, their heads pressed close, discussing their future marriage. They would be married right there, the ceremony on the gazebo.

  Paul put his hand in front of my eyes and waving it back and forth, he said, “Mariah, where are you?”

  “What?” I asked, coming slowly out of my daydream.

  “What do you think of it?” he asked. “You seemed so deep in thought.”

  “I love it, too,” I told him. “Mrs. Abbott will be crazy about it!”

  Paul threw himself down on the grass, and I joined him. “Now that that project is over,” he said, “how would you like to see the Indian reservations, the canyons. They’re closed to the public for the summer, but I know a way in.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I blurted out. Just then my mother appeared in the clearing. “It’s fantastic!” she said. “It looks like it’s out of a picture book!”

  Kim was right behind her. “Wow!” she exclaimed, moving toward the steps.

  “Whoa!” Jim cried out. “It’ll be a while before the paint is dry. So don’t any of you even think of touching it!”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone get near it,” my mother promised.

  I got up off of the grass. “Mom, Paul’s asked me to visit the reservations and canyons with him.”

  “That’s great,” my mother said, smiling.

  “Only just one thing.…”

  I held my breath. “Yes-s?”

  “You’ll take Kim with you.”

  “But — ”

  “No arguing,” she said, her face serious now. “Kim’s bored to death. Besides, I want to take the entrance exams at the college as soon as I get back so that I can line up a few night classes this year. I’ll have some time to study, not having her underfoot.”

  “We’ll be glad to take her,” Paul said. “Anyhow, my friend Joe Chino will be going with us, too. He knows some caves I’m not even sure of, and he’s very well informed. Sometimes in the winter he conducts tours for groups.”

  “It all sounds beautiful,” my mother said. “I’m sure Kim and Mariah will love it. I’ll make a big picnic lunch for you so you can tramp around all day.”

  Kim clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “Good, good! Make chicken and chocolate cake and bananas.”

  I wouldn’t be alone with Paul after all, but maybe that was good. I had to admit I really wasn’t ready to be alone with him — not just yet. I was still worried about holding a long conversation with him, still a little concerned because I’d never been with a boy alone before.

  “We’ll go tomorrow morning if it’s okay with you,” Paul said to me. “I’ll call Joe tonight. He has to get permission from his grandfather anyway so that we won’t be trespassing.”

  “Is his grandfather an Indian?” I asked.

  “He sure is,” Paul said. “And he’s one of the most important in this area.”

  “That makes me feel better,” my mother said. “I don’t want you kids going anywhere you don’t belong.”

  That night I wrote about it to Elaine. I tried to describe the house and I tried to describe Paul. I wrote on and on about the Abbotts’ beautiful home, but when I came to Paul, I could not find the words. I felt puzzled but quickly went on to another subject.

  I told her about the books I had stashed away in my closet and gave her permission to

  read them. I confided that I would like to write like that someday. I signed it, “See ya, Mariah Johnson,” and placed a stamp on the flowered envelope. All I had to do was put it in the box out on Skipalot Road and the letter carrier would pick it up.

  I was doing just that the next morning when Paul drove up in his mother’s station wagon. He quickly explained that his own car was not big enough for all of us and the lunch too, and anyhow we would be traveling over dirt roads.

  I’d noticed a Mark V in their driveway and I mentioned it to him. “That’s my father’s baby,” he grinned. “I have a 280-ZX you’ll love,” he added, “but it’s not for this trip.”

  I jumped in beside him and we drove down a side road that led to the back of the Abbott residence. He stopped the car right at the back gate, and we got out to help load the lunch and drinks.

  My mother and Kim were coming down the brick path. “It’s all here,” she said. “Fried chicken, melon slices, apples, bananas, cheese cubes, potato chips, chocolate cake, and a thermos full of cold lemonade.”

  Jim put down his paintbrush and helped her with the goodies. “You could get lost for a week in them canyons and still not run out of food,” he said, laughing.

  Kim crawled into the back of the car with the lunch. The sun shone so bright, it halfblinded me when I looked back at the house

  and waved goodbye to Mom and Jim. As Paul drove slowly down the road, I caught myself staring at his handsome profile and quickly looked away.

  Chapter 10

  Paul was in high spirits. I guess showing the reservations to us was like me always dragging my relatives down to see the tide pools and watch the sandcastle contest we had each year. It was like when my grandfather had come to visit from back East and I had dragged him down to the beach at five in the morning just to watch the surfers slide in and out and over the huge, crashing waves. I wished now that I could show Paul that. I mentioned it to him as we headed for Joe Chino’s house.

  “Oh, I know all about that. I surf myself,” Paul said. “Every summer Dad and Mom and I head for Laguna Beach.”

  “You’re kidding!” I exclaimed. “That’s where I live.”

  “Small world, huh?” Paul said, grinning. He reached over and grabbed my hand and the touch nearly overwhelmed me. “Yeah,” Paul continued. “We rent a house there, near Surf and Sand Hotel. Dad lets his assistants run the shop and we all take off for the summer. I guess I’ve spent every summer of my life there, except for this one.”

  “But why not this one?” I asked. Here Paul had been just a few miles down the coast from

  where I lived, and we had never once bumped into each other!

  Paul didn’t have time to answer me because we were approaching Joe Chino’s house. A tiny house; it couldn’t have been more than two rooms. A very fat lady with a green towel wrapped around her head waved to us from the front porch.

  She was clearly Indian, and she looked like she had just stepped out of a painting in the book Paul had given me. She waved again and gave us a warm smile. “He will be out in a minute,” she hollered.

  Out bounded a boy much shorter than Paul, his skin quite dark, but not as dark as the fat lady’s. He carried a small khaki backpack over matching khaki shorts and shirt.

  Joe climbed into the back seat with Kim after the proper introductions and he answered the many questions Kim started asking. We had gone about two miles when suddenly Paul turned onto a rough, bumpy dirt road.

  “Now this isn’t the one the tourists use,” Paul pointed out as we rattled along. There were so many holes in the road, his voice shook with each vibration of the car. “The other one is a toll road at the south end of Palm Canyon Drive. You have to pay to get in, but it’s really worth it because you can spend the whole day here.”

  “Can you camp overnight?” Kim asked.

  “No,” Joe answered. “There are four Indian-owned canyons surrounding Palm Springs — Andreas, Palm, Tahquitz, and Murray. Tahquitz and Palm Canyons were once sacred Indian
burial grounds. Now people from all over the world come here and climb on the rocks where Indians made their homes.”

  Paul drove the station wagon under a cluster of palm trees which seemed permanently hemmed in by huge prickly cacti. “We can’t go any further in the car. This is the secret entrance, Kim.”

  Joe laughed. “You make it sound mysterious, Paul. No, but there are good reasons why they just can’t let the tourists in during the hot summer — fires and such. Anyway, not very many people would enjoy it. You’ve got to admit, it's pretty hot right now.”

  Joe parted the prickly bushes with a stick he’d picked up. In this area, the barbed wire fence had been torn or knocked down, leaving just enough space for us to crawl through. You’d have to know it was there because you’d never be able to see it on your own, even from the dirt road.

  Joe led us past a huge towering slab of rock, and there was space for only one at a time to pass through. On the other side of the rock, Joe parted giant ferns and held them back for Kim and I gasped as we stepped into the green, huge forest.

  “This is called Andreas Canyon,” Joe told us, smiling with pride.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” I gushed. Paul stopped beside each tree, bush and bit of foliage, naming them all. “Sycamore, alder, wild grapes, mesquite, moss, tamarisk.…”

  The sun peeked through the lush surroundings, making unusual feathery patterns on the spongy ground. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Just seconds ago we had been in a desert, the sun beating down on us without mercy. Now we were in the middle of some kind of paradise. I just couldn’t believe it!

  From somewhere off in the distance I could hear the splashings of a waterfall. I looked over at Paul who was right beside me. He knew my exact thoughts.

  “I’ll show you the waterfall — the water is icy cold. You’ll love it.”