In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 7 - This Boy

Marisol sat sideways on the floral chintz easy chair, her legs dangling over the arm, one foot swinging in time as Paul's pure, husky voice crooned from the HiFi:

"as I write this letter, ooohhh
send my love to you
you know I want you to remember that I'll always, yeahhh,
be in love with you"

That voice. Since their last date, they'd talked on the phone every night, never running out of things to say to each other. She was accustomed to his accent and found it so beautifully melodic that she never wanted him to stop talking. He seemed equally interested in hearing her describe her life in America, a place he thought of as exotic and fascinating. His positive outlook on life was infectious, like a tonic.

Marisol closed the book on her lap and stretched. She was already more content here in England than she'd been in months. Her grandmother's companionship and Paul's attention had proved to be exactly what she'd needed.

Since Margo had returned to London with the twins, Marisol and her grandmother had settled into a cozy routine of baking, marketing, and visiting friends. They would experiment with different recipes for dinner and later drink tea while reading novels or watching The Saint or Coronation Street on the small black and white television in the sitting room.

She looked up as her grandmother came in with the post, lowering the volume on the HiFi before perching on the arm of the chair next to Marisol. "This just came for you, pet. At least I think it's meant for you."

Marisol examined the neat block printing on the small parcel addressed to "Mary Soul Hemingway" and chuckled to herself. "I don't know why he does that."

She tore off the brown paper wrapping and examined the book in her hands. It was a small green hardcover with deckle-edged pages, a first edition copy of Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. She knew vaguely of the author, a French pilot who disappeared while flying over North Africa during the War, best known for writing The Little Prince, which Papa Hemingway had owned and appreciated. 

She turned a few pages and smiled, noticing he spelled her name correctly in the inscription.

Marisol, I thought of you when I saw this quote:
"For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return."
For the girl with her eyes turned to the sky- I hope you will enjoy the journey and the book.
So happy you're in my Universe,
xxx Paul xxx

"Ohhhhh..." Marisol didn't realize she was sighing aloud until her grandmother looked up from a letter and peered over her shoulder.

"My, what a lot of kisses."

Marisol hugged the book to her chest and bit her bottom lip to keep a silly grin at bay.

"He's not backward at coming forward, is he? That boy could charm the knickers off a nun." Grandma pushed herself up from the chair. "I think I'll put the kettle on. Care to join me?"

They'd just finished a cup of tea when the phone rang. Marisol collected the cups and saucers and rinsed them in the sink, idly listening to her grandmother's side of the conversation.

"Yes, dear, we've had a lovely week.... no rain to speak of... we went to the flea market over in Haywards Heath yesterday... yes, here she is."

Marisol straightened and turned away from the sink. "Who is it?"

"He's certainly full of the fun of the fair, isn't he? That one has a voice you could pour on pancakes. He could sell a cage to a lion, that one." Her grandmother shook her head as she handed her the phone.