Hemingway's Girl (18 page)

He didn’t want to think too much about that, though, because having her here felt
so good. Gavin could tell John approved of Mariella, and that meant a lot to him.
He basked in the sound of her voice as it came in through the open door.

“So we’re on the beach with the girls,” she said, “and a man starts yelling from about
fifty feet out in the water. He’s drowning and he can’t swim back.”

“And Mariella marches into the water like she’s gonna save him,” called Gavin from
the kitchen.

“I could have done it,” said Mariella. “The sea and I have an understanding.”

“Is that so,” said Gavin, walking to the door.

“We speak each other’s language.”

“That may be true,” said Gavin, “but I reminded her that she had the girls to take
care of, so luckily she came to her senses.”

“So, did you let him drown?” asked John.

“No, we found a rope. I swam out and Mariella and her sisters helped pull us in.”

“No shit,” said John. “That guy was lucky you all were there.”

“He was lucky Gavin was there,” said Mariella. “I’ll never go to the beach without
him again.”

Gavin smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen. He heard Mariella come in behind
him. She started cleaning the shrimp that were lying in a bowl in the sink. Gavin
stood next to her, slicing potatoes. He felt the air shiver between them.

“I’m really glad you came over,” said Gavin as he threw a potato peel at Mutt.

“I’m really sorry about earlier,” she said, “with my mother.”

“I understand why she would be upset.”

“I guess I do, too,” said Mariella. “She did find us rolling around on the blanket.”

They looked at each other and laughed as guitar music started from the other room.
Gavin couldn’t stand it any longer and
leaned in to kiss Mariella. Her hands were covered in raw shrimp, so she held them
away from her body. Gavin ran his hands down Mariella’s sides and rested them just
above her hips. She responded to him like she’d been waiting for his kiss all afternoon.

He tickled her waist and she jumped away from him, laughing, and the music stopped.
John yelled, “Less kissing, more cooking. I’m starving.”

Mariella opened her mouth in surprise. “How did he do that?” she said.

“My other senses are stronger since I lost my legs,” called John.

“I don’t think it works that way,” said Gavin, throwing the potatoes into the stew
simmering on the stove.

Gavin insisted on washing the dishes and left Mariella to talk to John, who’d clearly
become a little drunk. Mariella watched him run his hands down what was left of his
legs and out past the stumps. It was as if he were trying to draw what was left of
them down to fill the empty space below his knees. He still took up a surprising amount
of space, even without half of his legs. It was easy to see he had been a large man.
He had a great expanse of shoulders, a thick neck, and arms that were still well toned.
He, too, had the Argonne date tattoo.

“Forgive me for saying this,” said John, “but you’re too smart to clean houses for
a living and too pretty to wear a maid’s uniform.”

“Thanks, I think,” she said. “It’s a means to an end.”

“What end?”

She hesitated. She’d already voiced it to Hemingway. To say it to John, a virtual
stranger, was serious and somehow more frightening. Papa understood her connection
to the water. John did not. She swallowed a large gulp of beer.

“The water. My own boating business. Charter fishing, sunset cruises—you know, tourist
diversions.”

“I can see that,” he said to her relief. “You saving for a boat?”

“Yes, and at this rate, I’ll be about fifty before I’ve got enough cash.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Did you know that Gavin wants to do the same thing?”

She did not know that, and for some reason it shook her. How could her dream belong
to someone else? How was Gavin connected to the water? Her independence surged and
she bristled.

“What about his uncle’s business?”

She heard Gavin turn on the water to rinse the dishes.

“A means to an end,” said John.

“Well, he’ll just have to find another dock, because Key West is mine.”

He laughed and finished his beer, adding it to the mess of bottles cluttering the
table in front of them.

“There’s room enough for both of you,” said John. “You could partner.” He winked.

“We’ll see,” she said. “He’ll have to prove himself to me before I even consider it.”

John’s face grew pale and serious. He closed his eyes and she worried he’d pass out,
but then he opened them.

“You couldn’t get a better partner,” he said. “Gavin saved my life.”

The water turned off in the kitchen, and John leaned closer to Mariella and spoke
in a low voice.

“He wouldn’t want me talking about it to you, but Gavin was almost blown up dragging
me and our friend Jordan out of enemy fire. Jordan didn’t make it. He bled out. All
I can remember from that day is watching my legs get farther away from me as Gavin
pulled me through Jordan’s blood all the way to a hole by a tree. It was a dark red
line over the charred grass. Like a dividing line between us and them.”

John’s voice trailed off, and Mariella saw tears form in his eyes. Seeing him so moved
put a lump in her throat and made her feel sick. She couldn’t imagine Gavin and John
anywhere but here in this small blue place, eating stew and smoking cigarettes. She
understood that they’d had a whole lifetime before this one. She felt small and young—especially
when she realized that Gavin and John had been around her age, or younger, when they
went through the war.

“Jesus, Mariella, I’m sorry,” said John as he put a hand over hers. She hadn’t realized
that she’d been clenching her fists. “I don’t know why I had to tell you that.”

His face was close to hers. He had the same old-looking eyes that Gavin had. She blinked
back her own tears, and couldn’t speak, so she reached for his hand. Gavin appeared
in the doorway.

“Christ, John, I leave you alone with her for one minute and you’ve already stolen
my girl.”

Mariella and John laughed and wiped their eyes.

“Would you like me to scoot off so you two can continue?” asked Gavin.

“No, this girl’s killing me,” said John. “You all had better get outta here. You’re
gonna be late.”

Mariella hugged John, then stood and joined Gavin. As she and Gavin stepped out of
the house and walked away, John started playing his guitar. The lonely sounds followed
them until they turned up the street.

Gavin wished John hadn’t gotten drunk on his first meeting with Mariella. He suspected
he’d told the Argonne story, and Gavin wasn’t ready for that to be shared just yet.

“What did he say to upset you?” asked Gavin.

“He didn’t want me to tell you,” said Mariella.

“Was it about the war?”

“Of course.”

Gavin sighed and looked away. He worried she’d never want to come back to the house.

“I wish he didn’t tell you,” said Gavin.

“Why?”

“Because it upset you.”

“I want to know.”

“Why?” asked Gavin.

“The same reason you want to know about me. You want a clear picture.”

“There are some things best kept secret.”

“You can’t believe that,” said Mariella.

Gavin stopped and waited for a line of chicks following a hen to move out of his path.
He resumed walking.

“You’re right,” he said. “I just want to protect you from that.”

Mariella dropped Gavin’s hand. “I don’t need your protection.”

He knew that he had angered her and should have known better. Her mother treated her
the same way. She walked a little ahead of him. They were almost at the Hemingway
house. He jogged to catch her and grabbed her by the arm.

“Hey, wait up,” he said as she turned to him. “I’m sorry. You don’t need protecting.”

She looked at him with mistrust in her eyes. “I only need honesty,” she said.

“That’s fair. But I need time.”

“Time?”

“Time to tell you things at my own pace. I’ll tell you everything, but it’s not going
to be over shrimp stew with John around, when we have to leave in five minutes. A
piece of me died that day. It was a whole other lifetime. It’s not something I can
just give away.”

Mariella looked down, and he could see that she felt ashamed.
He didn’t want that. He lifted her chin so she looked him in the eye. Her eyes were
dark. He kissed her and the tension dissolved.

“Hey, this is a public street.” Papa pulled up next to them in his car with Toby at
the wheel. Mariella jumped away from Gavin. Papa smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “Get
in, daughter. I’ll get you away from this riffraff.”

Gavin saw Mariella look from the car to him. She was immobilized.

The Hemingway boys came running up and climbed into the car, saving her from having
to choose. Ada was huffing along behind them. Her hair had escaped its pins, and her
portly chest rose and fell heavily.

“We want a ride!” cried Patrick.

They piled into the car, and Ada started back to the house on foot. Papa looked at
Gavin. “Mind yourselves, kids,” he said. Gavin clenched his jaw at Papa’s condescending
tone. Toby drove them toward the house, and Papa never took his eyes off them.

Gavin decided that he didn’t want to be around Papa that night. He wasn’t in the mood
to be talked down to, and he thought Mariella’s indecision over whether to stay with
him or go with Hemingway showed him all he needed to know.

“You know what?” said Gavin. “I think I’ll leave you to the party tonight.”

Mariella started to protest, but he cut her off.

“I’ll catch you later,” he said, and walked away. He kept listening for her feet on
the sidewalk behind him, hoping she’d come after him, but she let him go—just like
that. When he got to the corner and looked back, she was gone.

When Mariella got to the house, Papa was nowhere in sight. She didn’t have time to
worry about Gavin or Papa, though, since
Isabelle dropped an apron over her head and pushed her toward the bisque.

“Don’t let that stick. Keep stirring!”

Mariella looked into the dining room over her shoulder and watched Pauline give Ada
money and instructions to keep the boys in town until eight o’clock and then bring
them back and put them straight to bed.

“And no drinking for you until you get home,” Pauline added.

Ada made a gruff noise and pushed the boys out the door.

Pauline went to the window and watched them walk away. Mariella thought Pauline looked
lovely with the evening light on her slim form, a drink poised in her hand. Her silhouette
was like a fashion spread in
Vogue
, where Mariella knew Pauline used to work before Papa and the boys. Pauline turned
and looked at Mariella. A smile touched her lips but not her eyes. She looked back
out the window for a moment and then turned and walked out to the foyer.

Mariella turned back to her bisque, trying to imagine what had drawn Papa to Pauline.
Was it her graceful form in contrast to his first, athletic wife? Her haughty worldliness?
Pauline was open to no one except him. She met everyone with cool regard except him.
Her whole being lit up when he was around.