Chapter 17: I got them mean hospital blues,

It's been a month since I've talked to Paul in the hospital. Actually, since I've talked to him at all. He didn't come to visit me again that day, or the next. He didn't show up at my door to welcome me back. He didn't give me kisses and tell me everything will be okay. He didn't write me a letter explaining what's going on. He didn't call me to assure me he still loves me. He hasn't come to the Harrison's house to work on chords for their next single. He didn't even bother to tell me their song went straight up to number one in Britain and the United States. The United States!

I think you can tell how George reacted the night they found out.

George jumps over me and sits down on the couch, watching the television intently. Watching the Beatles.

I can't take my eyes off Paul's face though. I just want to know what's going on with him. I turn to George.

"Hey George, what's up with Paul?"

He rolls his eyes.

"You've asked me that a million times. I don't know. Why are you so obsessed?"

I shrug. "You don't have a clue."

He faces me. "What do you mean, I don't have a clue? You think that Paul didn't tell us?"

My face goes white. "He did?"

He looks back at the T.V.

"Yeah, he did. I didn't tell Mum and Dad though. I know you wouldn't approve. Neither would they."

I look down at my feet. "Do you know why he's ignoring me though?"

"No, I don't. He's probably thinking some more. You know him, he's a big thinker."

"Yeah, I guess so." George looks at the carpet.

"I guess so too."

The phone rings later that day, and Mrs. Harrison picks it up.

"Hello?" I can hear her tiny voice faintly.

"Mmhm! She's right over here. I'll go get her. One minute, honey."

She sets the phone down on the table with a thud.

Her face appears in the doorway of the sunroom where George and I sit, in the middle of a guitar lesson. (He's teaching me how)

"Paul's on the phone, sweetie. He wants to talk to you."

I look over at George, and he winks.

I walk to the phone as casually as I can, and pick it up gently.

"Hello?"

"Hey Stella."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"The Queen." Paul says, mocking a girly tone.

"I haven't heard from you in a while, Paul. What's going on?"

"I'm really sorry, Stella. I've been really busy, and majorly lost in thought about this whole thing. I think it might be best if we talk face to face."

"Oh, alright." I say, suddenly worried.

"And I almost forgot, the investigators found out where your parents are!"

"They did? That's great!"

"Yeah, it is! So I'll take you there, and we'll talk on the way. Sound good?"

"Mmhm."

"Okay, I'll be there any second. Bye."

"Bye."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

I set down the phone, praying that he's not going to talk about anything bad.

He knocks on the door, and I walk outside, calling to Mrs. Harrison that I'm leaving and will be back soon. She smiles to me and gives me a big hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Not like her.

I turn back to Paul, and he has a weird expression on his face that he quickly turns to a smile when he sees me look.

"Shall we get going, malady?"

I giggle and slip on my shoes, stepping off the porch.

Mrs. Harrison waves and beams at me as we leave.

I take Paul's hand, and we walk down the driveway and to Paul's car sitting on the curb. He opens the door for me on the passenger's side, and helps me in.

He slides into the driver's seat and starts the engine.

The car moves down the road smoothly, drawing a lot of attention to the expensive item in the working-class town.

I wave at a group of little girls pointing to Paul excitedly.

"You must get sick of that, don't you?" I ask, watching the girls get smaller and smaller. He shrugs.

"You get used to it. It's not so bad after awhile."

I look outside my window again. "So where are we going exactly?"

He looks at me, a crazy look in his eye.

"Dublin."

I put my hand over my mouth.

"Paul, we can't go all the way to Dublin! That's a whole different country!" I say, looking him in the eye. He turns back to the road.

"Don't worry, we've got it covered. I've got a passport, and so do you," he puts a little booklet on my thigh. I pick it up and flip through it, looking up at him.

"Are you insane? You just pick me up one day and decide that we're going to go to Dublin?"

He glances at me.

"Pretty much!"

My jaw drops. "Paul, I can't afford this!"

"Ah, but I can!"

I grab his arm. "We have to turn around, I'm not prepared for this kind of thing!"

All he does it laugh. "Don't worry, Stella. I've got it all under control. We're going to drive to the airport, get on a plane, and then set off for Dublin. I told Mrs. Harrison that I was taking you, so they know. They packed you a suitcase with everything you'll need," he gives me a reassuring smile. "I haven't seen you so worked up in a while."

I take a deep breath and put my hands in my lap.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just not every day you get to go to Ireland," I finger the passport. "So my parents live in Dublin?"

Paul breaks at a stop sign, and then continues. "Yeah, pretty much!"

I think about this a second.

"And they couldn't just come over to Liverpool to visit?"

Paul gets quiet.

"No, they don't really travel, and they were afraid when all these people in suits were saying that the boy with the strange accent on the telly was trying to find you for his girlfriend, their daughter."

I can't help but smile at this.

"They've really turned into those kind of people, haven't they?"

He pats the edges of the steering wheel. "Yeah, they have…"

I haven't flown before. Actually, come to think of it, I've never left Liverpool. My first step-mom would never go anywhere, for some odd reason. Maybe she's like my parents, and doesn't like to travel anymore. Mrs. Harrison is a bit of a free-spirit, and I bet she'd love to go to another place, but she doesn't have the money. Six people in a family can get to be pretty expensive. Working-class is not helpful to people.

I hold on to Paul's arm with one hand, and the other drags my suitcase behind me, clicking with each tile it passes. Paul looks to be a natural with this sort of thing, maneuvering around people, stopping for the occasional signature, and then proceeding.

I squeeze his arm and he looks down at me.

"How are you doing down there?"

I dodge an old couple coming at us fast.

"A little nervous," I say, walking to a little area with rows of black seats facing big windows.

"You've never flown before, have you?" He asks, taking a seat in front of the window. I sit down beside him and lower the bar on my suitcase.

"No, I haven't. Is it scary?" He leans back in the chair casually.

"Terrifying. My plane almost crashed a couple of times, and it rocks in the air all the way."

I punch him in the arm playfully.

"Stop messing with me, Paul... I'm serious!"

He laughs.

"It's fine. You don't even know you're flying. It feels like you're sitting in the parlor."

"Really?" I ask, putting my head on his shoulder.

"Really," he replies, putting his arm around me.

A lady comes on the loudspeaker, and we stand up.

"This is our flight; it's time to get onboard," Paul says. I pull my belongings behind me, walking behind Paul.

He hands the woman his ticket, and she glances back and forth a few times, making sure it's really Paul McCartney, the Beatle.

He takes a few steps forward and moves to the side, waiting for me.

"Give her your ticket, Stella."

I hand it to her and she checks it, rips off a piece, then hands it back, motioning for me to go.

I yank the handle of our bag, and we walk down a few flights of steps and outside.

My jaw falls open at the size of the plane before us.

I tap Paul on the shoulder. "Is that what we're riding in?" I whisper.

He nods. "Yeah, isn't she a beauty? We've got first class, so we should be clear of fans. I think."

He continues walking, and we give our luggage to a man waiting for us at the foot of the stairs. He says something about keeping it near us in case we need it, and that it won't be going with the other passenger's things.

It doesn't faze Paul, but it interests me. I'm about to say something when Paul takes my hand and leads me up the steps and into the plane.

It's warm inside, and loud in the back half of the plane.

I turn to walk towards the people, but Paul laughs and takes me into the front, where it looks much fancier than the back.

We sit down and lean back, the faint voices of the people in the back chattering.

"Have you ever ridden in there before?" I ask, motioning to the people. He turns around and shakes his head.

"No, my first time was only with the guys."

The plane jolts to a start, and I look out the little window at the ground.

We turn a corner, then another, then another, and speed up.

I feel Paul's hand and squeeze it tightly. Faster and faster we go, when suddenly we don't feel the wheels turning anymore, and my stomach gets a light feeling.

My ears pop, making it hard to hear, and Paul keeps swallowing.

"It gets rid of the feeling," He says.

I try it, and sure enough, it's gone. Only to come back again in another five seconds.

My head feels light, and I look out the window only to see blue sky and clouds. I feel Paul's warm cheek rub against mine as he looks out the window as well.

"Isn't it cool?" He says, and then he points to the ground.

I peer down and laugh to see all of the little buildings and dots for cars. Paul kisses my neck gently, and it makes my whole body warm up. I forget about the baby completely. Who really cares anyways? Paul has a plan, and he's picking the right time to tell me. Besides, nobody knows besides the boys and me. And they won't tell. Neither will I.

The plane touches down on the runway in Dublin around an hour later, and it makes me jump. Paul sees and takes my hand, giving me a reassuring smile. I grin back.

"I didn't know that it was going to bump like that…" I say, feeling my face warm up in embarrassment. He laughs.

"I know what you mean, I bet a ton of people jumped at that back there," he motions to the door behind us. I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

"When are we getting off, Paulie?" I ask, yawning.

He runs his fingers through my hair gently. "In a few… this is kind of nice though, being together like this."

I smile and snuggle up close to him. "Yeah, it is."

The door opens from behind us, and we look up at the blonde stewardess standing before us.

"Excuse me, but we're ready for passengers to leave the car now, if you two are ready."

Her teeth sparkle between her lips as she smiles, and I can tell that Paul notices this.

"Yes, that sounds great. We'll get our things now. Thank you," I say, faking a smile. She looks at Paul again and slips him a piece of paper.

Paul gives a little wave to her before she disappears into the cockpit.

Once she's gone, I smack him on the arm.

"Oww…" he rubs his arm where I hit him. "What was that for?"

I smile sweetly at him. "What did she give you?"

He unfolds the paper and hands it to me innocently. I look at it. Written delicately is a phone number, the words 'call me', then 'you're really cute… you deserve better than her'.

Paul looks at it too, and he laughs, taking the paper back. He rips it up until it's not possible to rip it again, and then closes his fist around the little bits.

He stands up and turns around to me. "One minute, I've got some business to do…" he walks through the door into the back, and I can hear screams through the door at the sight of Paul in the plane.

After a few seconds, he appears in the doorway again, the papers gone from his hands. He holds out his hand to me and helps me stand up in the aisle, and leads me outside.

"Where did you go?" I ask, walking down the steps alongside Paul.

"To the back," he says, "I gave the papers back politely."

His eyes sparkle. I throw my arms around him, and he hugs me back.

"What would I do without you?" I say, walking up the steps into the airport.

"Oh, I bet you'd get along fine. I don't see what makes me so special to everybody. I'm just a normal guy who likes to make music."

"I love how you say things like that. You're so humble. You know that you're more talented than the average person," I take a step. "And more polite, cute, and sweet," he puts an arm around me. "And you're my Liverpudlian boy who likes to make music, and is a born performer."

"And you're my Liverpudlian girl who loves me almost as much as I love you."

"I doubt that…"

"You think you love me even less than almost?"

"No! I know I love you more."

"I don't think that's possible, love."