Hemingway's Girl (17 page)

“You’re still living
en mi casa
, so I’m still in charge,” said Eva.

“
Your
house? My job keeps us in this house!”

“How can you say these things to me?” said Eva as she began to cry. “When all I do
is try to love you.”

“Jesus, now the holy martyr speech,” said Mariella. “Please spare me.”

Eva gasped again and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. Mariella felt
a stab of guilt for her last line. She knew it was hateful, and now she’d have to
apologize. Her blood was boiling, though, so she couldn’t yet.

She went to Eva’s chair, pulled a cigarette from the pack, and lit it. Mariella sank
into the chair and looked out the window, then laughed bitterly at the irony of assuming
her mother’s position in the house. She inhaled and stared across the street at the
old man’s house and the house next to it. A garden separated the two, and large pink
roses of every shade crept over the latticework. Birds and butterflies slipped in
and out of the bushes, and a statue of the Blessed Virgin rested in the middle of
it all. Her arms were open and she looked out at the world—her marble face a mixture
of tranquillity and acceptance.

Tranquil and accepting—Mariella thought she was neither.

As her nerves calmed, Mariella realized why her mother enjoyed the view. She put out
her cigarette and rubbed her face in her hands. When she looked up, Lulu was before
her, yawning.

“Sleepy?” asked Mariella.

Lulu nodded.

Mariella stood and carried Lulu to her room. Estelle was sitting on her bed lining
up her dolls. She didn’t turn when Mariella came in, which made her feel even guiltier
for the fight with Eva. That was the last thing she needed to do around Estelle.

Mariella put Lulu in bed and crawled in beside her. She rubbed the child’s hair while
stewing over her mother’s anger. Punctuating her own frustration, however, was her
guilt. Maybe she should have told her mother about Gavin before they left. And Eva
did find him on
top
of her while the girls played on the beach. But Mariella suppressed those thoughts.
Eva would have found fault with them even if they’d just been sitting together on
the blanket. She was sure of it.

Once Lulu was sleeping soundly, Mariella motioned for Estelle to get into the bed
and she got out. Estelle crawled in and wrapped herself around her little sister.
Mariella covered the window with a sheet to block out the light and crept out the
door.

After putting on her work dress and freshening up, Mariella walked to her mother’s
door and raised her hand to knock. She thought she heard her mother crying. Mariella
knew she should go to Eva and make it better, but stubbornness fixed her in her place.
If Mariella went to Eva now, she would be condoning her interference.

She cleared her throat. “The girls are napping,” she said through the door.

No response.

“I have to go to work at the Hemingways’ this evening. They’re having a party.”

She heard sniffling on the other side.

“There’s beans and rice for dinner.”

She stood there a moment more, trying to decide whether to open the door. Ultimately,
she knew her anger outweighed her compassion at the moment, and she didn’t want another
fight, so she turned and left the house.

The sun was high and hot, but Mariella had a chill from her sunburn. It made her think
of the beach with Gavin. She pushed her fight with her mother out of her head and
started for Olivia Street, where Gavin said his friend lived.

She waved to the old man on his porch smoking cigars and took in the scent. He nodded.
She smelled fish frying nearby and heard a dog barking in the distance. When she got
to Olivia Street she looked for the pale blue cottage Gavin told her he stayed in
with his friend. She heard classical guitar music on the breeze. It was the suite
her mother liked, and it filled her with a sudden and deep melancholy.

The blue house was just where he said it was. The lawn around the house was trim and
tidy, the white fence had a fresh coat of paint, and the flower garden around the
perimeter of the yard was well cared for. The roof looked new. Mariella noticed the
contrast of the cottage to the surrounding homes in various levels of poverty and
disrepair—peeling grayed paint, overgrown vegetation, vines breaking through cinder
blocks, cracked windows, dirty children idle around the edges of the street. And then
this house—warm and well tended, gleaming on the street as a reminder of good times
past and, hopefully, what was to come.

The guitar music was coming from the house. Mariella stopped
to hear the piece finish when a hammer started pounding loudly and regularly. She
thought its operator was hitting it in time to the music.

An old brown mutt came around the edge of the house and broke into a gallop when it
saw her. Its tail was wagging and its mouth was open like a smile. She crouched down
to meet it. The dog ran faster, and before Mariella could stand to brace herself for
the impact, she was on her back getting licked. She laughed, pushed the dog off her,
and stood up to brush off her clothes.

“Mariella?” She looked up and saw Gavin appear at the edge of the roof. He had a hammer
in his hand and a tool belt around his waist. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Mariella
admired the view.

“Are you earning your keep?” she asked.

“You could say so,” he said. “Hold on; I’ll be right down.”

He disappeared down the back of the roof and was out in the front yard with her in
a moment.

“I see you met Mutt.”

“He’s friendly.”

Gavin reached for Mariella’s hand.

“Come on in,” he said. “Meet my friend. He’ll love you.”

Mariella felt butterflies in her stomach. She didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t
know whether she should be going into a house with two men she barely knew, and thought
her mother was justified in worrying about her.

They stepped onto the white covered porch with well-trimmed vines hanging over its
edges. The music from inside stopped briefly and then started again. The heaviness
of the last piece ended and was replaced with a light melody.

Inside, the house was painted blue. It was a shade of blue Mariella had never seen
before on walls, but she thought it was beautiful. It reminded her of the ocean and
Mary’s robes on the statue at church. There were watercolor paintings on the walls
of beaches and boats and places in town she knew. Mutt followed them in the
door and thumped over to a man sitting on a conch-colored couch with a sheet over
his legs. He looked a little older than Gavin, with creased eyes and brown hair graying
along the temples. He continued picking the guitar as they walked into the room. He
smiled at her and nodded for her to sit on the chair nearest to him, as if he had
been expecting her. She noticed a wheelchair next to him, and then looked back at
the sheet and noticed it covered two stumps.

The music stopped.

“Mariella,” said the man. He took his hand from the guitar and reached for Mariella’s.
She shook it and was surprised at its strength. “John Bates Jr.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, John Bates Jr.,” said Mariella.

“How’s Lulu feeling today?” asked John. Mariella smiled. He knew all about her.

“She’s doing better. She’s always been a sickly kid, though. Thanks for asking.”

John gestured to the couch next to him and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the end
table. He offered one to Mariella and lit hers for her. Gavin disappeared down the
hallway.

“So you’re the reason Gavin’s been spending so much time down here?” asked Mariella.

“No. I believe
you
have something to do with that,” he said, to Mariella’s pleasure.

Gavin returned wearing black pants and pulling a white T-shirt over his head. “Uh,
I’ll go get us something to drink,” he said, and walked into the kitchen.

“I can manage fine without him,” said John. “He’s a real pain in the ass with all
his hammering and fixing.”

“Kiss my ass, you cripple,” yelled Gavin from the kitchen.

Mariella winced and shot a look at John. He was smiling.

“You’d better watch out,” John said, “or I’ll start telling her what a lovesick puppy
dog you are over her.”

Mariella looked down at her hands, trying to suppress a smile.
The dog pawed over to her from the kitchen and put his face on her lap. His beard
was wet with water. She ran her hand over his back, and Gavin walked in with three
beers.

“Please excuse him, Mariella,” said Gavin. “John’s brain was injured in the shelling.
Just tell me when you want me to tape his mouth shut.”

“I’d like to hear more of what he has to say,” she said.

Before John could reply, there was a commotion on the street. Gavin and John exchanged
glances, and Gavin got up and walked out the door. Mutt followed.

“Stay here,” he said on the way out.

Mariella watched him leave, but then got up to go to the window and see what was happening.
There was a small crowd of men yelling at one another. She recognized two of them
from around town, and the other three were vets who had clearly been drinking. A pretty
girl with bleached-blond hair stood off to the side looking at the ground while the
locals pushed the vets. They were all shouting and cursing at one another, but Mariella
could make out only bits of what they were saying.

From what she could guess, one of the vets had insulted the sister of one of the locals.
The girl smiled to herself. Mariella could tell she was enjoying the commotion. A
vet punched a local in the face and a brawl erupted. Gavin, who had been walking toward
the gang, broke into a run. He yelled something at Mutt that made him stop and sit
by the street, but the dog looked like he badly wanted to join him.

Mariella put her beer down and clutched the windowsill, worried that Gavin would end
up with another scar on his face.

“What’s going on?” asked John. “Wait—drunken vets?”

“Yes. It sounds like one of them was getting fresh with the sister of a local and
her brother didn’t appreciate it.”

“And so it goes, again and again.”

Mariella looked back out the window and saw Gavin separating
the group and calming them down. He pushed the drunks down onto the curb and used
his hand to keep the locals away from them. Mariella saw the girl openly admiring
Gavin, and clenched her own fists.

Gavin and the girl’s brother shouted back and forth a bit, but then, gradually, the
arguing stopped. He shook hands with Gavin, shouted something nasty to the vets sitting
on the side of the road, and walked down the street, pulling his sister by the arm.
She looked back over her shoulder at Gavin and winked, and Mariella had to fight the
urge to go punch the girl herself. Gavin turned back to the vets, slapped one of them
on the head, and walked back toward the house with the dog following him.

The sun came out from behind the clouds and lit him up. He saw Mariella in the window
and smiled out of the side of his mouth. John started playing the guitar again, and
Mariella took a long drink of her beer, feeling warm and completely at ease.

Gavin could barely breathe.

Having a woman in the house, a woman as beautiful, alive, and interesting as Mariella,
overwhelmed him. It was the feeling soldiers often experienced after having been surrounded
by male company for long periods. A woman was like a drug. Her softness, her smell,
her lightness—it was magnetic, hypnotic. It balanced the atmosphere. He ached to touch
her.

Gavin excused himself to the kitchen and tried to contain his agitation so he could
finish supper and they could get to the Hemingways’ on time. He still didn’t know
whether he’d be able to help out, but he was interested to go and see her interaction
with the writer. Whenever Hemingway’s name came up, Mariella’s attitude was so casual
it felt forced. Gavin thought he’d be able to tell a lot by watching them together.