P. S. I Love You

by Barbara Conklin

  Chapter 18

  Paul had finally been allowed to get out of bed, but the first thing the Strobes did was to drag him off to the hospital for some more tests. This time they took him to a hospital in Los Angeles.

  I watched them leave from the upstairs windows early that August morning. Later on in the day, when I went up to get my journal, I saw them return. They had been gone eleven hours.

  Paul called me that night. “I really don’t feel up to it tonight,” he said, and his voice sounded far away. “But I’ll beat you in backgammon tomorrow night, okay? You’d never believe all the junk they did to me today!”

  We talked a little while and then he said goodnight. I put the backgammon set away and got out TV Guide.

  “Damn!” I said out loud to the television set. My mother came into the room.

  “Please, Mariah,” she said, “you must have a bigger vocabulary than that.”

  “It’s just that I’m feeling sorry for Paul,” I told her. “I’m sure there’s really nothing wrong with him, but his mother keeps telling him that he’s sick. Pretty soon he might begin to believe that.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “He’s too bright a boy for that. And anyhow, Mariah.…” She came over close to me and sat on the footstool by my chair. “Anyhow, I think Paul is sick, verysick.”

  I looked down at her, startled. “Why, what makes you — ”

  “He’s losing weight rapidly,” she said, picking up her knitting. She’d been working on a baby sweater for one of the pregnant teachers at the school.

  “He’s just looking bad,” she said. “I think maybe he’s anemic; you know, maybe he’s lacking in iron.”

  “But maybe it’s the same thing Pete Baker had,” I suggested, trying desperately to find an answer. “Remember they said he was just growing too fast. It’s something that a lot of guys get when they are growing too fast.”

  “Maybe,” she said, pulling the instruction booklet out of her bag. “Anyway, I’d suggest you postpone any hiking trips or things that could cause Paul to have a relapse. If he suggests anything strenuous, you say you’d just rather stay home and play backgammon or cards or something.”

  “I will,” I promised. “But the summer is flying by and — ”

  “I know,” my mother said, smiling now. “And I’m truly glad that you aren’t still angry with me for dragging you here.”

  I'd completely forgotten that I’d been so

  upset. It was hard to believe it now. I went up to my room that night and looked out at the darkness and then down at the gazebo. Paul just had to get well soon. I sat down with my journal and I wrote just one line that night. “Please, God, let Paul get well — soon.…”

  Chapter 19

  About ten-thirty the next morning my mother knocked on my bedroom door. I’d overslept. She was planning on taking another shopping trip into town and I was supposed to be ready to go with her.

  “Okay,” I shouted. “I’m up!” At the same time I was jumping out of bed, she was pushing the door open.

  “Mariah.” There was a look of fear in her eyes. “Mariah, get dressed and come right downstairs! The Strobes are here!”

  The Strobes? What could they want?

  My mother went over to the closet and grabbed one of my tops and jeans. “Here, put these on,” she commanded. “Hurry!”

  “What’s up?” I asked, running my fingers through my tangled hair.

  “Just hurry,” she commanded again and then she was out of the room, heading for the stairs.

  She’d chosen a pretty top with sailboats on it and I wondered if I looked good enough for the Strobes as I quickly ran a brush through my hair. Were they here to scold me in front of my mother because Paul and I had tramped around so long that day when we went up on

  the tram? Were they blaming that trip for his bout with the flu?

  I looked in the mirror. My eyes still looked sleepy. I wet my finger with my tongue and tried to smooth out my eyebrows. Oh, well, I’d have to go down and face whatever it was.

  I could hear Kim down in the living room talking to Mrs. Strobe. She was asking how Paul was. “We all miss him so much,” she was saying.

  When I entered the living room all the talk stopped. Mr. Strobe quickly came over to me. “Mariah, Paul’s gone. We can’t locate him. He took his moped — it’s gone from the garage.”

  “You mean he stayed out somewhere all night?” I backed up and sat down in one of the chairs. My fingers dug down deeply into the blue velvet arms. “Why would Paul do that?”

  And then I looked over at Mrs. Strobe. She looked like she’d been crying for hours. “Oh, Martin,” she said, sobbing. “Please tell them. Maybe they will be able to help.” Mom asked Kim to run an errand and finally we were alone.

  She was crying very hard then and even Mr. Strobe’s consoling of her didn’t help. “Please, Betty, please,” he whispered gently, putting his arm around her.

  I turned to my mother. She had gone a chalk-white. I turned from her to Mrs. Strobe who was trying to stop herself.

  Mr. Strobe walked over to where I sat. “Paul is very upset, Mariah. You see, he must have gone into my study — maybe to get a book to read before he went to sleep. Anyhow, I had the papers on my desk — the ones from Dr. Ritter.” That was Paul’s Palm Springs doctor.

  He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and then he continued. “You see, Mariah, the papers were the doctor’s forecast of Paul’s condition.”

  “Condition?” I said, trying to find my voice. “What condition?”

  Mr. Strobe coughed and then cleared his throat. “Paul’s last tumor was malignant, Mariah. During the operation they found that the cancer had spread through his body. It was bad, so bad, they terminated any future plans to operate. They did what they could.”

  “And Paul was never told?” I said, feeling sick to my stomach.

  “We thought in time…we were trying to find a way,” Mr. Strobe said. “We both told the doctor that we wanted to do it our way.”

  Mrs. Strobe was crying again and this time my mother went over to her and sat next to her, gently touching her arm.

  “And this paper you think he saw,” I said in a whisper, “it said it just like that — in plain language — that there was something they wouldn’t be able to fix?” The significance of those words was only now beginning to hit me. How could this be happening?

  Mr. Strobe merely nodded his head.

  “But the doctor is old — Paul told me,” I said hysterically. “He’s old. Maybe he doesn’t know everything, the new things. Why, Paul told me — ”

  Mr. Strobe knelt in front of me, his eyes misting over, his hands shaking, reaching out

  for mine. “The hospital in Los Angeles confirmed it. No, by no means, Mariah, will we stop here. There are great doctors all over the country — great hospitals we must look into. But right now… do you know where Paul could possibly be? Do you have any ideas at all? We’ve searched everywhere. We didn’t call the police yet, but now — ”

  Frantically I looked up at my mother and then straight back at Mr. Strobe who was still kneeling in front of me. I could see it as clear as day. I could see Paul with his head bowed into his hands. I could see his tears falling from his eyes. He was sitting on a rock — his rock.

  “I’ll take you there,” I told Paul’s father.

  Together we ran through the back gardens and then we crossed over the hidden path into the Strobes’ garage. We didn’t say another word as he helped me into his car. I showed him where to drive. How different this morning was from the happy one with Joe and Kim and Paul. Yet it was a beautiful sunny morning and this was the very same road.

  I could almost hear the echoes of our laughter, like ghosts laughing. How strange that a morning could look the same, but that the people could be so different inside of themselves.

  I showed Mr. Strobe where to stop. I wasn’t sure if I could remember the exact spot. I’d been there only once. But I had to! I had to! I forced my
brain to remember!

  “I’ll have to hike through the brush,” I told him. “I know the way.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he said firmly, getting out of the car.

  “No,” I told him, just as firmly. “You can’t come with me. Just sit here and wait in the car. I’ll be okay. I don’t know why, but I’ve got to go alone.” An inner force I was never aware of before was propelling me forward, guiding my every action.

  Mr. Strobe squeezed my hand. “Mariah, please find my son, please.”

  Chapter 20

  The birds had heard the rumble of the car and had stopped their singing. They would begin again as soon as there was silence. I held my breath and hoped that I could remember where the rock was. I closed my eyes and squeezed them tightly. I wished desperately for the scene to fill the blackness behind my shaking lids. When I forced them open, I knew my wish had been granted.

  Pushing back the thick branches of the trees and the high weeds, I finally came upon the little brook. I crossed over it and in just a few minutes I was in an area where the sun could break through. It shone down on the ground in lacy patterns, just like I’d remembered. When I looked around to the right I saw it shine down on the rock, Paul’s rock, and there at the top of the slab, I saw a boy with his head bowed in his hands. Paul.

  “Paul!” I cried out and my voice echoed somewhere far back in the canyon. A wild, startled look crossed Paul’s face as he raised his head and saw me.

  “Mariah.” He struggled to a standing position. “Mariah! What are you doing here? Get out! For God’s sake, go away!”

  “Paul!” I cried out again, running toward the rock. “Your parents, they’re worried sick!”

  “Get back!” Paul yelled at me. “Don’t come any closer!” He stooped to pick up something, a rock that he grasped in his right hand. “Don’t come near me or I’ll—I’ll throw this at you! So help me, I will!”

  Immediately I stopped in my tracks. “No, Paul. No, you can’t mean it. You wouldn’t do it.” I tried to speak as calmly as possible.

  “Just turn around and go back.” He was pleading now, his arm slowly lowering the stone. “I warn you, go back! Don’t come near me!”

  I stood perfectly still, but my insides were shaking in fear. Fear, not for myself, but for Paul. And then I knew I had to move closer. Boldly I started toward the rock, and Paul raised the stone again. Deliberately I placed my feet in the little ledge that would lead me to the top of his rock. I saw him standing there above me, his hand still raised, his face stained with dirt and tears.

  A few agonizing seconds later his hand slowly lowered and the stone fell harmlessly to the ground. He leaned over and with that same hand, he reached out and pulled me up to where he stood. Shuddering as if an icy wind had ripped through his body, he spoke my name again, “Mariah,” but this time, softly, as he folded me into his arms.

  “Mariah, Mariah.” he breathed into my hair. “I just can’t bear to have you see me cry.…”

  “It’s okay,” I whispered back. “I know they say that a boy shouldn’t cry, but I think it’s okay if a man does.”

  The tears came freely then for both of us as we sat on Paul’s rock. He told me how he’d felt when he had found the doctor’s report. In blind anger he’d run to the garage and jumped on his moped. He’d torn through the night and finally had found himself at the reservation.

  Hiding his moped in the brush, he had trudged through the weeds toward his rock. Throughout the night he’d called out to God, swearing bitter things at Him, trying to reason with Him, asking why his life had to be cut short. Why Paul Strobe?

  “You see, I have so many things I have to do,” he told me, the tears drying on his face. “I have to build buildings. I want to have my name on them. I want to teach someday. And then, even more important — I’ve been learning each day — even more important, there’s you.…”

  His fingers slowly untangled my hair. “Paul, your father said there are other doctors, good doctors who can do more, good hospitals. He said there’s still so much hope. And I read some things about cancer. They’re coming up with new treatments all the time.”

  “I’m not going to give up,” Paul said, leaning against me. “When I first came here last night, I felt awful. I wanted to bash my head up against this rock and get it all over with. But as the night went on, I realized how dumb that was, how stupid I was acting. It would only have hurt my parents — and I could never hurt them. I was just pulling myself together, but then you came — and the panic in me started all over again.”

  When he said parents, I remembered Mr. Strobe. “Oh, Paul, your father’s waiting in the car; your parents are frantic. We have to let them know you’re okay.”

  “In a few minutes,” he said.

  Although we said nothing then, the silence between us was as full of meaning and feeling as if we were holding a long conversation, a talk of our love, our devotion to each other. In the silence I could feel we were exchanging vows to be in love forever.

  Finally I had to break the magic spell. “Paul, your father…”

  Together we slid down the rock. Paul stopped by the little brook and knelt beside it. It was almost dry in the summer months, but there was enough water trickling through it to wash his face. He combed back his hair with his fingers and then took my hand.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  Together we left our magic wilderness for the last time.

  Chapter 21

  It’s hard to tell when summer is over in Palm Springs. The signs are subtle — the absence of the high school and college kids for instance. The big families, too, are gone from the motels and the owners heave a sigh of relief.

  The shops that have been closed for the summer are opened, dusted out, and the new signs go in the window, Open. See Our New Fall and Winter Line of Fashions, or Come In and Browse — Please No Bare Feet or Food.

  The really very rich people come in the month of November, right after Thanksgiving, Paul told me. We were leaving.

  I said goodbye to Paul in his hospital room where he was undergoing a brand new treatment. Soon he would be moved to a hospital in Houston, Texas, where he would undergo more tests and more treatments. He said he felt like a guinea pig, but that someone had to do it so that someday we could lick cancer completely. He had lost so much weight and his color scared me.

  “I’ll find some way to visit you in the new hospital, Paul,” I promised that last day in

  Palm Springs. “Mom said she’ll get the money together so I can take the bus. It’s the cheapest way.”

  Paul bent over and kissed the tips of my fingers. “One thing I want you to do. I want you to write me a story, okay? And send it to me as soon as you’ve finished. I want to be your critic!”

  I smiled at him. “Okay,” I promised.

  Kim was saying her goodbyes. “Next time I’ll beat you at backgammon,” she told him.

  “Next time we play for real money.” Paul laughed and his laugh sounded so hollow to me. I looked up at my mother and she avoided my eyes. She had been standing off to one side, looking out the hospital window, keeping a safe distance. She knew Paul and I wanted to say a private goodbye.

  “When Mariah sends me her manuscript, you can send me one of your drawings,” Paul said to Kim.

  “I will,” Kim said, but her voice shook.

  Mr. and Mrs. Strobe came in then and since visitors were limited in Paul’s room, we had to leave. They shook our hands and told us to have a safe trip home. We already had our bags and things packed in the car. We’d said goodbye to Old Jim who was watching the house until the Abbotts arrived in another day or so.

  Paul took one look at his parents and then grabbed his mother and whispered something in her ear. She turned to me and said, “Mariah, wait a minute. Paul wants to talk with you.”

  I watched as everyone left the room and

  then I went over to Paul’s bed. He looked shorter, all laid out like that, and his legs looked like ski
nny poles under the sheets.

  He put out his long thin arms and encircled me into them. Gingerly I lowered myself to his chest and held him tight. We kissed and then I pulled away, turning my head toward the window. I had not intended to let him see me cry, but the tears jumped right out of my eyes and spilled down.

  He held me straight out from him and said, “Mariah, we’ve both cried enough for now. From now on we’ll spend the rest of our time laughing and living every minute we have left.” He was my old Paul again.

  “You understand about my mother,” he said, wiping away my tears with the sheet. “She never hated you and over the past few weeks she’s learned to love you as my father has. She wanted so badly to see me get well, so much that she thought rest could do it. She always thought in the back of her mind that if only I had enough rest, the doctors could be proved wrong.”

  “I know,” I told him. “My mother told me that she felt your mother was doing what every good mother would do.”

  “Okay,” Paul said. “I wanted to get that straight. Now there’s a good possibility that if things go right with the new treatments, there’s a chance I might be coming back home sooner than you thought.”

  I forced a smile. “Yes, Paul.” In my heart I knew only a miracle would bring him back home, but I was glad he hadn’t given up hope.

  “I’ll write to you,” he promised. “I’ll let you know how things are going. I want you to visit me, of course, but please don’t come without telling me. I mean, I want to have my hair combed at least — and I don’t want you to catch me with a pretty nurse!”

  “About the letters you will write me,” I told him, “If it gets to be too much of an effort, the hospitals have nurses’ aides who can write them for you.”

  “What do you think, I’m an invalid or something?” he said, and we both laughed so hard that the Strobes looked in through the half-open door to see what was going on.