P. S. I Love You

by Barbara Conklin

  “How nice, how comfortable and inviting,” I told Paul, and then I saw him wave to a lady behind the counter. He waited until she was finished with her customer and then he slipped behind the counter and touched her hand, drawing her over to me.

  “Mom, this is Mariah Johnson. Mariah, my mother.”

  He must have told her about me, I thought. Otherwise, he would have followed my name with an explanation, like “the girl over at the Abbotts’.” Mrs. Strobe smiled dutifully at me, her mouth somewhat stiff. She was so much older than I thought she would be. In her fifties, I would guess.

  I extended my hand, but she took it reluctantly and dropped it quickly. I could feel a hot blush dotting my cheeks. Paul ignored my discomfort and his mother’s bad manners and turned to her. “Would you care if I showed Mariah around?”

  Mrs. Strobe turned and greeted a customer by her first name, and then turned back to me. She was addressing Paul, but she was looking straight at me. “Of course you may, Paul but please don’t forget your doctor’s appointment this afternoon. He wants to take some more blood for the tests before Monday.”

  Paul’s hand flew to his forehead and he cupped it over his eyes. “Oh, God! I did forget.” And then he turned to me. “I wanted to spend the whole day with you, but we’ll have to be heading home right after lunch. Mariah, I’m sorry.”

  And I knew he was, but his mother, that was another story. I could tell she was very pleased that Paul had to break our date. Why couldn’t she be pleasant, I wondered.

  Paul then introduced me to his father. Mr. Strobe had gray hair, heavy dark-rimmed glasses, and a nice smile. He put his hands over mine and held them warmly for a moment.

  “Paul has told us about your family,” Mr. Strobe said, his dark brown eyes shining behind the glasses. His nose was like Paul’s, as was his smile. I liked his father and I got the definite feeling he liked me, too.

  After the formalities were over, Paul took me to the stockroom and explained the intricate system of inventory, stocking, special sales, and promotions.

  “We own a bookstore in Laguna Beach, too,” he said and I stepped away from Paul in delightful surprise.

  “You do? Which one?”

  “The Book Notch. Near the ocean.”

  I smiled. I’d spent countless hours there. “Yes, that’s why we go there in the summer. It gives my parents a chance to check over the management and keep on top of the operation and still enjoy the ocean.”

  I was helping him stick tiny price stickers on the corners of a stack of Betty Crocker cookbooks. “Why did your folks let one tiny operation spoil your whole summer, Paul? In fact, you could have had it done in some hospital near Laguna and then — ”

  “Because the doctor they have so much faith in practices here,” Paul explained. “Also when I questioned it some time ago, Dad said he’s always wanted to spend the summer here in Palm Springs to actually see what goes on with the summer tourists. He makes friends of all of his customers and he says he has missed out on not knowing some of the summer people.”

  My question had been a nosy one, one I should not have asked, but the answer had been unsatisfying to me. I had a strange and uneasy feeling that there was more to it all than I knew. Yet, at the same time, I knew Paul wasn’t lying to me.

  We finished pricing the cookbooks and moved on to a series of books on car repairs. Paul handed me a fat book on Mustangs and it slipped from my hand. We both reached down

  for it and bumped heads, our laughter mingling with the pain of it. And then, suddenly Paul reached out and held my face in both of his hands. At first his lips on mine felt like the touch of a feather. Then we were both drawing away from each other with the surprise of it all, and then coming together again, the kiss this time no longer questioning, but sure of itself. Our bodies did not touch. Our arms did not reach out and encircle each other. Only our lips met for a split second and then broke away.

  The book on Mustangs still lay on the floor, and Paul bent down and picked it up. My body trembled still from the kiss, and when I looked at Paul stacking the book among the others, I saw his hand shake, too. Neither of us said another word until all the books were in order.

  “I know a great place up the street that makes terrific sandwiches,” Paul offered. “What do you think, Mariah?” He seemed to want to change the mood.

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, my voice shaking slightly with the newness of my first kiss. I turned to go and realized my knees felt like they had turned to water. I hoped Paul hadn’t noticed.

  We waved goodbye to the Strobes as we left the busy book shop. Paul led me by the hand to his car and all the while I could feel his mother’s eyes on me. Mingled with a feeling that made me want to skip down the street was a feeling that something was wrong.

  Instead of stopping for lunch, though, Paul abruptly headed the car in the direction of Skipalot Drive.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Thought I’d better take you home.”

  “Oh,” I said, slightly uneasy. Then looking out the window, I noticed a group of girls outside a restaurant, the one Paul probably meant. Now it made sense. One of those girls must be Jean and Paul doesn’t want her to see me. Maybe I’m winning out over her. A feeling of smug satisfaction came over me.

  We were almost home when Paul mentioned his mother. “She doesn’t have to work in the store like she does,” he said, “but she likes to keep busy and she loves books and people.”

  I’m people, I thought. Why doesn’t she like me? But I didn’t mention it to Paul. I didn’t think he’d want to talk about it now.

  He drove around to the Abbotts’ back gate and jumped out, swiftly running around to my side of the car to open my door. Paul evidently had been taught all the nice things, the proper things when with the opposite sex. He did them all with ease. I wondered what his mother would think if she knew he knew how to kiss with ease.

  We stopped at the gazebo. “It’s dry now,” Paul said, putting his hand out to lead me up the two steps. It seemed we were the couple in my daydream. Paul slipped his arm around my shoulder and he and I just sat there for the longest time, quietly enjoying the moment. I thought of Jean. Was he comparing our kiss to those he had shared with her?

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied. “Paul, how long will you be in the hospital?”

  “Just a few days — two at the very most,” he answered. “Then there will be tests. I’ll have several after the operation, if it’s like last time.” We sat closer together, my hair touching his. I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. If I turned my face just slightly, my lips would meet his again. How foolish I had been to worry so about a first kiss. So many times I'd sat and wondered how it would be. Would I do it right? How would I know exactly how? With Paul it had been so natural, his mouth had fit perfectly on mine. For a fraction of a second I had feared he would laugh at the trembling of my lips, but then I had been delighted that his trembled too.

  I turned my face and Paul kissed me again. A long, long lasting kiss and then we sat together in the afternoon sun in that beautiful gazebo enjoying the closeness and pleasure of just being together.

  Suddenly Paul jumped up and looked at his watch. “What’s wrong with me? I almost forgot again!” Turning to me, he said, “Mariah, I’ve got to run.”

  He was out of the gazebo in a flash. “See you later,” he called to me, and I watched as he disappeared out the back gate. His kiss was still warm on my lips.

  Chapter 12

  The morning Paul entered the hospital looked the same as every summer morning in Palm Springs. The birds got up early after a restless night to start their chorus, and the sun popped out of the fluffy white clouds looking like a round gold coin that had just been cleaned with polish.

  From the west wing of the house I could peer out of one of the upstairs windows and see Paul getting into his father’s copper-colored Mark V. I could see a good part of his house, too.

 
; It was a one-story, strictly modern house that rambled all over the place, but the most fantastic thing about it was the pool. It was perfectly round, which is no big thing, but right out in the middle of it, stood a round slab and on it a table with four wrought iron chairs. To get to the slab, you had to swim or use a wooden footbridge, like the kind that you see in Japanese gardens.

  I watched Mrs. Strobe come out of the house then. If she just looked up, she would catch me spying, I thought, but luckily she did not. I thought how much his folks looked like grandparents — they were so much older than my own. Jim had filled me in on that one: “The Strobes wanted a child for so long, and they’d been told by doctors that there wouldn’t be any. And then it happened, when Mrs. Strobe was thirty-nine and her husband a year older. They were so happy you’d a-thought they were going to bust with it!”

  Mr. Strobe followed closely behind his wife. Dressed in a dark blue business suit, he looked like a banker. Mrs. Strobe was wearing a pretty blue, silky-looking dress, and her hair framed her face beautifully. Paul had told me that she had dyed it brown up until last year, when his father finally broke down and told her that he really loved gray hair on her. So now she kept it that way. She made a stunning figure beside her husband.

  Paul had explained to me on the phone the night before that the operation had been pushed up to Tuesday morning because they had scheduled more tests for him all day Monday.

  “I think I lack iron or something in my blood,” he had informed me. “No big thing.” And then he had added that he would be home on Wednesday afternoon — if everything went well. I hoped he was right about it being “no big thing.”

  My mother entered the bedroom. “There you are, Mariah.” She joined me at the window. “Well, there they go,” she said, her shoulder touching mine.

  “Mom, Paul said he’d be home Wednesday afternoon if everything went well.What do you think he meant?” I asked.

  “Lumps like that can be malignant,” she

  answered. “Cancer. Lots of times when they discover cancer, though, they can start different procedures and treatments that will stop it from spreading to the rest of the body.”

  That’s why they didn’t want to wait, I thought, and then I turned my face from the view of the car slowly pulling away from the house. “Mom, do you think — do you think Paul could have cancer?” My voice was so soft a whisper that my mouth barely moved when I formed the words.

  “Not necessarily. Some people seem to be prone to have little lumps or tumors, Mariah. Remember your Great-Aunt Helen? She must have had ten removed from all parts of her body and none, absolutely none, were malignant. Maybe Paul’s like her. He looks like a very healthy young man, even though I’d say he’s too thin. I doubt that there is any real trouble. The Strobes have an awful lot of money, and people like that can spend plenty on tests and more tests. Remember, Paul is their only child.”

  “And so, it will all be okay,” I said, leaving the window, heading for my own bedroom. “I mean, if it is something, the Strobes have plenty of money to fix him up.” My thoughts wouldn't go further.

  My mother gave me a strange look, opened up her mouth to say something, but then just gave me a peck on the cheek. “Hurry cleaning up your room, Mariah. I need you to help me polish the silverware this morning — and there’s plenty of it.”

  We left the bedroom. Plenty of money, I had

  said to my mother. What if plenty of money wasn’t enough? What if all the money in the whole world wouldn’t be able to help Paul? I wondered if he were as scared as I was.

  I walked into Mr. Abbott’s library and scanning the titles I finally found what I was looking for. Turning the pages of the medical encyclopedia, I stopped when I got to the section on cancer. I hadn’t realized there were so many different kinds. I breathed a little easier after I read the section that said that in many cases cancer could be cured completely. If the worst was true and what Paul had was cancer, the doctors would be able to give him drugs and eliminate it. The treatment could be painful though, and I prayed Paul wouldn’t have to go through anything like that.

  The rest of the day was spent helping my mother in the kitchen. We polished all of the Abbotts’ silver together, but I might have been on another planet for all the conversation we didn’thave. I polished the forks. I hated to do forks, especially since you had to make sure you got inside of all the tines. I got the funny feeling that my mother had purposely given me them — to keep my mind off of Paul.

  “I’d like to visit him,” I said, placing the last fork in its dark maroon velvet sack.

  “You can’t,” my mother said. “They just don’t want anyone around.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, surprised.

  “I talked with Mrs. Strobe on the phone. She called here that day you were all at the Indian reservation. She was upset that Paul had gone when she had specifically asked him not to.”

  “I didn’t know that. He hadn’t mentioned it,” I said, my feeling of surprise turning to annoyance. Mrs. Strobe treated Paul like a small child!

  My mother finished packing the little maroon sacks in the huge wooden box that held the entire set of silver. “I can’t figure the woman out,” she exclaimed. “She’s never met me, yet I get the feeling that she doesn’t like me. Just listening to her voice. She told me — or I should say announced — that Paul was scheduled for this operation and that she had wanted him to get lots of rest beforehand. I told her that if we’d known about that, we would have certainly kept you all home.”

  “But what did she say about the hospital?”

  “It’s funny. I didn’t even mention it. She came right out with it herself. She said that if we were thinking of visiting her son, we should think twice. First of all, the time would be spent with numerous blood tests and so forth. And then following the operation she didn’t think he would be quite up to it. She did say perhaps Paul could receive visitors after he came home.”

  I smiled. Receive visitors. “Sounds like you have to have a name card to get past the butler.” Secretly I was glad to have an ally.

  “Don’t be nasty,” my mother said. “The woman is obviously very upset about her son entering the hospital. Paul is their only child, and they’re almost fanatical in overprotecting him.”

  That Thursday I received a letter from Elaine. I read it several times, just to fill in time until Paul came home.

  Dear Mariah,

  I love your house. We all do — even the boys. My mom wants me to add, she is being very careful that they behave and do not hurt anything in your lovely home. At first I couldn’t sleep because of the waves and all, but now they seem to lull me to sleep.

  Our whole family goes down to the beach every day where we found the most interesting tide pools not too far from your house. You must know the spots. The boys love the pools and poke around them for hours. We found several starfish washed up with the seaweed and the boys brought one in the house and hid it in the closet. I think they planned to take it back home and put it on their bedroom wall, but things didn’t turn out. It took my mom several days to find out what the horrible smell was. Anyhow, it is all okay now because she sprayed everything with Lysol.

  We’re going to cook hot dogs down on the beach tonight, so I better go now. Before I do, I must tell you that I did start to read some of those books. I especially liked the one about the girl who is trying to find out about her husband’s family secret and she is up in the attic and her sister-in-law walks in and tries to kill her. Don’t tell me what happens.

  Always,

  Elaine Gretel

  P.S. Paul Strobe sounds great. Are you telling me everything?

  I sat on the window seat and watched the sun set and then the darkness settle in around the lacy woodwork on the ivory gazebo. All I could think of was Paul. Once in a while the name “Jean” reared its ugly head, and I pushed it, or tried to push it, out of my thoughts. Maybe Jean was visiting him in the hospital. Maybe Jean was rich, too, and that’s why
Mrs. Strobe didn’t like me running around with Paul. Wouldn’t she want only the very best for her rich son?

  When I brushed my teeth that night, I said to the girl in the mirror, through toothpaste and all, “Disgusting! She can’t be thinking that — that’s so narrow-minded!”

  The girl with the foamy mouth laughed back at me. “Oh, yeah?” she said, and I groaned and scrubbed even harder.

  Later that night, I picked up my pen and started the letter I owed Elaine.

  How are you and my house so far? Did you get to Laguna and see all the neat shops? Do you surf yourself, or do you just watch them like I do? If you like to fish, you might drive over to the pier in Huntington Beach. That city also has the greatest library around, in my opinion. Also don’t miss visiting the Queen Mary in Long Beach.

  I sound like a travel agency or a television commercial. I ought to get a commission.

  And then I ended the letter with:

  On top of my white chest of drawers you will find a jewelry box my father made for me when I was three. Inside is an Easter egg that Kim blew out last year and then painted it blue and dotted it with tiny, silver stars. It looks just like the sky here, just before dark.

  Well, anyhow, the blue — that’s the exact, I mean the exact color of Paul’s eyes. I mean it. Now isn’t that something?