I collapsed into the grass at the top of the hill, near the man who could only be Paul McCartney. I was so out of breath from running and from the sheer delight of seeing him that I couldn't speak.
Paul must've heard me, though. He stopped playing and looked around at me. "Oh, hello," he said, with this adorable puzzled look in his eyes. "Who are you?"
At least, I think that's what he said. His accent was so strong I couldn't be sure. It was also so beautiful that it was all I could do to actually pay attention to what he was saying and not just bask in the melodious tones. He kept looking at me, and I tried to say something in response. I think what came out was, "Eek."
Paul came a bit closer, watching me with a bit of a concerned look on his face. I loved those big melting eyes... "Who are you? Do you live round here?"
Finally, I managed to shake my head. "No... you're Paul..." I added, somewhat unnecessarily. What colour were his eyes? He was close enough that I could see them, but they kept changing the more I looked at them. One second I thought they were brown, the next they looked blue, the next they seemed more grey. "I'm Carrie," I added, more helpfully. "I came here looking... but I got lost... only...." I looked up at him adoringly, not even sure what I wanted to say.
Paul, however, bent down beside me. "You got lost?" he repeated, in his wonderful soft, warm voice. "You'd better come inside with me, then. Come on, we've got dinner on."
I was so giddy and delighted about this invitation that I couldn't reply, but I reached up to take the hand he offered me and let him lead me towards a nearby farmhouse.
Two little girls were running around the yard. I looked at them, suddenly a little wary. "Paul... who are they?"
"Me daughters," he told me. "Heather and Mary. And in there," he pointed towards a window on the house that looked into the kitchen, "The baby, Stella, and me wife Linda."
"You're married?" I tried hard not to sound disappointed, although my heart crashed onto the floor.
Paul squeezed my hand and led me towards the door; I wondered if he knew what I was thinking. "Come on; you'll like her."
So he introduced me to Linda, a pleasant blonde woman who turned out to be American like I was, making dinner and watching a small baby girl in a highchair. She was nice, and I tried hard to be pleasant to her. She had married my Paul, but I suppose I couldn't really blame her for that. Given the chance, I would have done the same thing.
I couldn't help but think, once or twice, that I was much prettier than Linda and also a better age for Paul - I was only thirteen, but he couldn't be more than twenty, could he? "How old are you?" I asked him, before I could stop myself.
"Thirty-one," he said. I was amazed.
Dinner was nice. It turned out that the McCartneys were vegetarians, and that Linda really knew how to cook meals without meat. I had to tell her so even though I was still a little mad at her for marrying Paul. The girls were very good about having an unexpected guest, and they kept offering to help me and asking me all kinds of questions. And everything Paul did was just so sweet; he didn't act sad at all, but then, it had been three years since that sad thing had happened. I even wondered, once, if maybe whatever was bothering him had already been fixed. But somehow I just didn't think so. Anyway, even if it was, I had to be sure.
After dinner, I went into Paul's living room to have a look around. Heather and Mary were both in the kitchen talking to Linda at once, Heather carrying baby Stella, but Paul followed me. I just loved being alone in the same room as him, even if Linda had gotten to him first. There were pictures of the two of them together on the living room walls, and pictures of Paul with his daughters. I didn't enjoy looking at all the reminders of Paul being unavailable. Instead my eyes landed on another picture, in a nice frame on the fireplace, and I wandered over.
It was in black-and-white, showing Paul with three other young men who I didn't recognize, although they seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe that was just because they looked so much like Paul - they all had his gorgeous haircut with long bangs, and they were all dressed in identical suits. All four were clustered together, grinning and laughing into the camera, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the next began. Looking at that photo, I felt inexplicably happy.
I felt someone standing behind me, and turned to see Paul looking over my shoulder. "Are they your brothers?" I asked him, pointing to the happy photo.
Paul's eyes followed my finger, and a strange look came into his eyes. It was sad and happy and wistful and even a little resentful, all at the same time. "As good as," he said after a pause, and he smiled. But even his smile suddenly seemed sad and wistful.
Suddenly, Paul seemed to shake off whatever memories he'd been having. "All right," he said, "I suppose you've got to stay here tonight, and we'll find wherever you're supposed to be in the morning, all right?"
I nodded. Because even though I really was where I had been planning to go all along, I now knew my journey was only beginning.
Looking at the photo and at Paul, I suddenly realized exactly who those men were in the photo with him. And I knew exactly what was making Paul so sad, and what I had to do to fix it.
Paul must've heard me, though. He stopped playing and looked around at me. "Oh, hello," he said, with this adorable puzzled look in his eyes. "Who are you?"
At least, I think that's what he said. His accent was so strong I couldn't be sure. It was also so beautiful that it was all I could do to actually pay attention to what he was saying and not just bask in the melodious tones. He kept looking at me, and I tried to say something in response. I think what came out was, "Eek."
Paul came a bit closer, watching me with a bit of a concerned look on his face. I loved those big melting eyes... "Who are you? Do you live round here?"
Finally, I managed to shake my head. "No... you're Paul..." I added, somewhat unnecessarily. What colour were his eyes? He was close enough that I could see them, but they kept changing the more I looked at them. One second I thought they were brown, the next they looked blue, the next they seemed more grey. "I'm Carrie," I added, more helpfully. "I came here looking... but I got lost... only...." I looked up at him adoringly, not even sure what I wanted to say.
Paul, however, bent down beside me. "You got lost?" he repeated, in his wonderful soft, warm voice. "You'd better come inside with me, then. Come on, we've got dinner on."
I was so giddy and delighted about this invitation that I couldn't reply, but I reached up to take the hand he offered me and let him lead me towards a nearby farmhouse.
Two little girls were running around the yard. I looked at them, suddenly a little wary. "Paul... who are they?"
"Me daughters," he told me. "Heather and Mary. And in there," he pointed towards a window on the house that looked into the kitchen, "The baby, Stella, and me wife Linda."
"You're married?" I tried hard not to sound disappointed, although my heart crashed onto the floor.
Paul squeezed my hand and led me towards the door; I wondered if he knew what I was thinking. "Come on; you'll like her."
So he introduced me to Linda, a pleasant blonde woman who turned out to be American like I was, making dinner and watching a small baby girl in a highchair. She was nice, and I tried hard to be pleasant to her. She had married my Paul, but I suppose I couldn't really blame her for that. Given the chance, I would have done the same thing.
I couldn't help but think, once or twice, that I was much prettier than Linda and also a better age for Paul - I was only thirteen, but he couldn't be more than twenty, could he? "How old are you?" I asked him, before I could stop myself.
"Thirty-one," he said. I was amazed.
Dinner was nice. It turned out that the McCartneys were vegetarians, and that Linda really knew how to cook meals without meat. I had to tell her so even though I was still a little mad at her for marrying Paul. The girls were very good about having an unexpected guest, and they kept offering to help me and asking me all kinds of questions. And everything Paul did was just so sweet; he didn't act sad at all, but then, it had been three years since that sad thing had happened. I even wondered, once, if maybe whatever was bothering him had already been fixed. But somehow I just didn't think so. Anyway, even if it was, I had to be sure.
After dinner, I went into Paul's living room to have a look around. Heather and Mary were both in the kitchen talking to Linda at once, Heather carrying baby Stella, but Paul followed me. I just loved being alone in the same room as him, even if Linda had gotten to him first. There were pictures of the two of them together on the living room walls, and pictures of Paul with his daughters. I didn't enjoy looking at all the reminders of Paul being unavailable. Instead my eyes landed on another picture, in a nice frame on the fireplace, and I wandered over.
It was in black-and-white, showing Paul with three other young men who I didn't recognize, although they seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe that was just because they looked so much like Paul - they all had his gorgeous haircut with long bangs, and they were all dressed in identical suits. All four were clustered together, grinning and laughing into the camera, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the next began. Looking at that photo, I felt inexplicably happy.
I felt someone standing behind me, and turned to see Paul looking over my shoulder. "Are they your brothers?" I asked him, pointing to the happy photo.
Paul's eyes followed my finger, and a strange look came into his eyes. It was sad and happy and wistful and even a little resentful, all at the same time. "As good as," he said after a pause, and he smiled. But even his smile suddenly seemed sad and wistful.
Suddenly, Paul seemed to shake off whatever memories he'd been having. "All right," he said, "I suppose you've got to stay here tonight, and we'll find wherever you're supposed to be in the morning, all right?"
I nodded. Because even though I really was where I had been planning to go all along, I now knew my journey was only beginning.
Looking at the photo and at Paul, I suddenly realized exactly who those men were in the photo with him. And I knew exactly what was making Paul so sad, and what I had to do to fix it.