Hemingway's Girl (20 page)

Mariella tossed and turned all night, and when morning came, she dressed eagerly for
church, where she hoped to apologize to Gavin. She was ashamed of herself for her
hesitation the evening before. Seeing Papa and his crowd at what she thought was their
worst last night had shaken Papa’s hold on her a bit. She wanted to show Gavin that
he meant a lot to her.

Her disappointment was acute when Gavin didn’t show up. She held out hope until the
readings were over, but once the homily started she knew he wouldn’t come. She didn’t
know whether it was because he was upset with her or because he had to get back to
work, but either way, it would be a long time before she’d see him again.

When she got home, ten cans of lavender paint waited on the porch. They’d been delivered
earlier in the week as part of the government’s dole out to spruce up the town in
hopes of making Key West a great tourist destination. She put on her work clothes,
found some old paintbrushes in her father’s toolbox, and started on the front of the
house. Lulu and Estelle thought they wanted to help, so she let them paint the low
siding they could reach, until they realized that slapping on smelly paint in stifling
heat wasn’t a great way to spend the afternoon.

She was soon left alone, clearing dust off the siding and sanding
away rough spots before running the brush, thick with lavender paint, over her house.
In spite of the heat and the smell, she found the action of painting therapeutic and
was pleased with her progress by sunset. She’d finished the front of the tiny house
and thought it would almost look charming to tourists from afar. Good thing they couldn’t
see inside.

As Mariella hammered the lid onto one of the cans, Eva stepped outside and looked
over the work Mariella had completed. Eva walked out to the lawn and looked at it
from afar, inhaling her cigarette and letting the smoke drift out of her mouth.

“Do you know this is almost the exact shade of
mi abuela
’s house in Cuba?”

Mariella stood and looked out at Eva. She could see her mother’s eyes glistening in
the disappearing light. She stepped off the porch and stood next to her, eager for
her mother to elaborate on her family and her past.

“
Abuela
was a strong woman,” said Eva, almost to herself. “She raised six children without
a husband. He died of a heart attack at a very young age.”

“What a terrible coincidence,” said Mariella, thinking of her father.

Eva looked at her and blinked as if she didn’t understand what Mariella meant. Then
her face grew dark.
“Sí
.”

“Do you ever wish to go back?” asked Mariella.

Eva looked pained at the question.

“Even if I wanted to, my family would never accept me back. I abandoned them.”

“Are they so cold?”

“I made the choice,” said Eva. “I need to deal with the consequences.”

“You should write to them. They must miss you.”

Eva shook her head. “I’m dead to them.” She walked back into the house and closed
the door. Mariella was surprised how much
Eva had shared with her. Her mother had never opened up so much. In spite of the weight
of her words, it lifted Mariella to have a civil conversation with her mother.

Her frustration over Gavin continued, however, and once she finished dinner with the
girls she asked her mother whether she’d mind if she went out to visit a friend. Eva
looked Mariella over and must have determined she wasn’t meeting a man while dressed
in her lavender-splattered work clothes. She said she didn’t mind.

Mariella got to John’s house just as the night fully arrived. The house wasn’t as
cheerful in the shadows as it was during the day, and only a small light burned from
the front room. She worried that John might want to be left alone and thought of leaving
before she knocked, but Mutt saw her through the screen. He heaved himself up and
thumped his tail on the ground in greeting. John called, “Who’s there?”

There was no going back now.

“It’s me—Mariella.” She heard a rustling sound inside and a grunt. Then he appeared
in the doorway in his wheelchair. He looked tired, but Mariella was relieved to see
him smiling, clearly happy to see her.

“I’m sorry, but Gavin took the morning ferry back up to Matecumbe,” said John. “I’m
afraid he won’t be back for at least a week.”

“I can visit you, too, right?” she asked.

His smile widened, and Mariella warmed. John must not get many visitors. He seemed
at a loss for what to say.

“Unless you’d rather I go,” said Mariella.

“No, no, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Come on in. I’ll grab some beer.”

He wheeled over to the kitchen while she opened the door, and he returned with four
beers on his lap.

“Let’s sit on the porch,” he said. “It’s a nice night.”

Mariella helped John get settled and filled Mutt’s water bowl
at the hose. When she got back up to the porch, John had a beer opened for her. She
thanked him and took a long drink. Mutt nudged her, so she kicked off her shoes and
stroked his back with her feet.

“What happened last night?” asked John. “Gavin obviously didn’t help at the party,
and he was a moody son of a bitch when he got home.”

Mariella felt a stab of remorse. She should have gone after him. “I was given a choice
and I couldn’t make a decision,” she said.

“Between Gavin and Hemingway?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“But I’m employed by Papa, so I obviously had to follow him.”

“Obviously,” said John. She didn’t miss his sarcasm.

“What would you have me do?” she asked as she lit a cigarette. “In case you didn’t
notice, times are tough right now.”

“The thing is,” he said, “you know as well as I do, and I’m sure as well as Gavin
does, that there was more to that choice than your job.”

She looked at his profile in the shadows, inhaled her cigarette, and blew the smoke
at him.

“Don’t be angry at me for making you face facts,” he said. “Give me one of those.”

She passed him a cigarette.

“Do you know that I bought these cigarettes with my own money?” she said. “Didn’t
steal ’em.”

John looked at her and smiled. “Is that something to celebrate?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been known to steal things.”

“Cigarettes?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Beer?”

“Yes.”

“Husbands?”

She punched him in the arm. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Just curious?” he asked.

“No.”

“Gonna start?”

She inhaled again and turned away.

“Good thing you’re Catholic,” he said.

“Good thing,” she said.

Mutt sighed heavily and readjusted his position under Mariella’s bare feet. She changed
the subject.

“Do you get out much?” she asked.

“Sure I do,” he said. “I have a place at the dock where I like to sit and paint. I
go to Sloppy’s sometimes. We have a friend in town who takes us out fishing. Why do
you ask?”

“Just making sure.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t sit here drinking and smoking all day by myself.”

He put out another cigarette.

“Back to you,” he said. “How much do you need to start your business?”

“By my calculations, at least nine hundred to a thousand to do it right.”

John whistled through his teeth.

“I know,” she said.

“And what’s your experience on the water?”

Mariella told John about her father, their joint dream, and his death. It was easy
to talk in the dark, and John didn’t say a word. He chain-smoked and listened, shaking
his head when she finished.

“You’ve gotta find that boat,” said John.

“I’ve looked up on Stock Island in a few places, but I haven’t had much luck yet.
It’s hard to get away.”

“How about the marinas in town?”

“They don’t have space for junk boats.”

“Maybe Gavin could check the yards on the way up to Matecumbe sometime.”

“I’m afraid he’s too angry with me to care.”

John laughed. “No. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be angry.”

“If he weren’t so judgmental, he wouldn’t have to be angry.”

“If you didn’t give him cause to be judgmental, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

Mariella didn’t have an answer.

“You know what I see?” said John. “I see you and Gavin running a boat business together.
Married. Five or six kids.”

“Slow down, there, Sergeant.”

“Tourists lined up on the dock, waiting on your sunset cruise—the finest off Key West.
The best booze, the best eats, the best views, the prettiest captain.”

“Now you’re talking,” she said.

“Can you see it?” he asked.

The smile left her face. She tried but she couldn’t. All she could see was the half-empty
tin under her bed. Gavin’s face, red with resentment over Hemingway’s treatment of
him. Her father’s boat crashing into the rocks.

A dog barked in the distance, and Mutt raised his head for a moment. Then he slumped
back down, too lazy to respond.

It wasn’t easy to talk anymore, thought Mariella. Shadows or not.

“I’m gonna get going,” she said. “It’s getting late and I have to be at work bright
and early tomorrow. It’s silver-polishing day!”

John rolled his eyes.

“I shouldn’t joke,” said Mariella. “These rich people with their silver are keeping
a roof over my head.”

“Amen,” said John.

She wheeled him into the house and helped him onto the
couch. He seemed embarrassed by the contact, and Mariella thought how little he must
get touched. At home Lulu hung off her neck, Estelle leaned on her, and even her mother
hugged her at church during the sign of peace. Hemingway stroked her like a pet. Gavin
kissed her and held her hand. John was alone day in and day out, with only a buddy
on the weekends. She felt a wave of pity for him but tried to hide it.

“Will you be okay?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Christ, you’re as bad as Gavin. I manage without you guys all
week long.”

She kissed his cheek and started to leave, but John called to her to stop.

“You never answered my question,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Can you see it?”

He looked as desperate as she felt about her future. He must have wanted something
good to happen to someone to prove to him that good existed. She knew he wanted it
to work out well for her.

“I can see it,” she lied.

The Hemingway house was unnaturally quiet.

No one was downstairs, the door to the Hemingways’ room was closed, and the boys were
playing marbles in silence on the lower porch. It was a stark contrast to the noisy,
angry days of the previous week, with Papa raging through the house about Scribners,
and
Cosmo
, and his editor, Max Perkins, and being undervalued. But today’s silence was more
unsettling than the yelling of the previous days, so Mariella went to Isabelle.

“What’s going on?”

“Sara Murphy had to rush home to New York,” said Isabelle,
running the soapy cloth over the breakfast dishes. Mariella stepped in and took the
towel from Isabelle to give her scalded hands a break. Isabelle picked up a cloth
and switched to drying. “Her son’s mighty sick.”

“I heard her mention him at the party,” said Mariella. “She left early to call home.”

“He’s bad,” said Isabelle.

“Is this the one who’s had tuberculosis?” asked Mariella.

“No, the older. He’s got the measles or meningitis, or something like it.”

Mariella shook her head. She passed a plate to Isabelle and started washing the next
dish. The water was almost too hot to stand. She understood why Isabelle’s hands looked
like tree bark.

“Where’s Papa?” asked Mariella.

“Bowels acting up again. Not right since he caught dysentery on that African safari.”

Mariella heard Pauline come down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her forehead was
tense and her eyes dark.

“Why must everything go wrong at once?” she said to everyone and no one.

“Can I make you some tea, Mrs. Pauline?” asked Isabelle.

“No, thank you,” said Pauline. “Mariella, will you shake out the cushions on the patio
furniture? I’d like to sit outside and wait for Sara’s call. Then go ahead and water
the houseplants.”

Mariella nodded, rinsed the last plate, and handed it to Isabelle. She wiped her hands
on her apron and crossed the living room to the porch.

The palms rustled and Mariella felt a chill rise on her arms. It was cool for the
Keys. She untied the cushions and beat them over the lawn, and then arranged them
and tied them back down so Pauline could sit by the phone. Pauline had her book in
her hands but she didn’t open it. She just stared at the boys and their marbles while
she chewed her nails.

Mariella went in to get the watering can and returned to soak the plants on the porch.
Patrick crawled into Pauline’s lap and she stroked his hair. Gregory came over to
Mariella and tugged on her uniform.