Hemingway's Girl (25 page)

Mariella couldn’t fully embrace the joy in the household. She still hadn’t told her
mother she was leaving, and avoided her as much as possible. The Hemingways acted
under the assumption that she was going, and she didn’t do anything to dissuade them.

Pauline had asked Mariella to come over on Sunday after church to wash Papa’s clothes
and help her pack him up for the trip. He’d be taking the
Pilar
on fishing trips to Bimini and back with the Dos Passoses and his friend Mike Strater
until June, when they’d all set up camp there and vacation for the summer months.
Reports of spectacular tuna fishing and mounting frustration over aggressive tourists
in Key West made Papa anxious to leave.

When Mariella arrived, she found that Pauline and the boys
were going to the later mass to leave her to the chores. This pleased her, because
the children would have gotten in the way. Also, in spite of the moment she’d shared
with Pauline over her hair, her employer had returned to her haughty, condescending
ways and seemed embarrassed that she’d allowed herself to show her vulnerability.

Mariella rolled her eyes at the boys as they ran all over the house pretending to
shoot each other. They climbed over the dining room table, hammered up and down the
stairs, were slapped and punished by Ada, and had started the game over again by the
time Pauline was able to round them all up and drag them out the door.

In all the madness, Papa was hooting and laughing with John and Katy in the living
room, oblivious to the chaos going on around him. Pauline left in a huff without saying
good-bye to the guests—clearly angry that Papa wasn’t going with her. She nearly ran
into a tall, handsome man on her way out the door.

“Hey, Pauline!” He turned back and stepped into the doorway. “Anybody home?” he called.
Papa ran into the hallway and grabbed the man in a full embrace. Mariella was walking
down the stairs carrying a basket to fetch the laundry that had been hanging outside,
and slipped on a toy gun that was lying on the third step. She dropped the basket
and caught herself before she landed on the floor.

“Whoa! Easy there!” said Papa as he stepped over to help. Mariella felt her face burn
with embarrassment as Papa introduced her to the strapping man who had just walked
in the door.

“Mariella, this is my best friend from Paris, Mike. He’s a hell of a boxer. He might
even be able to beat your boxer.”

Mariella glared at Hemingway, annoyed that he tried to belittle Gavin in front of
her every chance he got.

“Mike, this is our gorgeous housekeeper, Mariella. She’s a feisty one and she’s all
mine, so keep your hands off.”

Mike smiled at Mariella. “Watch out for this one, Mariella,” he said. The men laughed
and went into the family room. Mariella was irritated that Papa felt the need to claim
her like a piece of property, but she was growing used to it. She wondered whether
she took him too seriously.

Mariella walked through the group assembled in the living room to go to the side yard.
They were packed and ready for the fishing they’d planned that day. Katy carried a
cooler, John carried a video camera, Mike carried tackle and bait, and Papa had a
.22-caliber pistol.

Katy rolled her eyes.

“That’s cheating, Papa,” she said.

Hemingway slapped her on the backside and told her to mind her own business. He turned
back to Mariella, winked at her, and then they were all out the door.

The evening shadows seeped into the room. Mariella flicked on the light in the master
bedroom and walked over to the bed. Her hands were raw from washing, and her back
ached. She stuffed the last of Papa’s clothes into the bag. He’d requested only fishing
clothes, which meant the bag was full of clean, dry khaki pants, shorts, his lucky
striped shirt, and some linen collared shirts. All had fish bloodstains and rips,
would be filthy after an hour on the island, and could probably crawl home at the
end of the trip, but it was nice to at least start out with them laundered. As she
zipped the bag shut she heard the front door slam open and yelling downstairs.

She raced to the top of the stairs and gasped as she saw Mike and John carrying Papa
into the living room with his legs wrapped in bloodstained bandages, singing drunken
nonsense at the top of his lungs.

Pauline and the boys ran in from the kitchen, and Mariella ran down the stairs. They
met and entered the living room as the men heaved Papa onto the couch. He groaned
and touched the bandages.

“What happened?” shouted Pauline. “Oh, God, are you okay?”

“Funny story,” said Papa with slurred words.

“He was trying to shoot a shark he had stuck on the gaff,” said Mike. “It jerked and
the gun went off.”

“Bullets hit the railing and then his leg,” said John.

Pauline covered her mouth, “My God! He could have been killed. Anyone could have been
killed.”

“’S not deep!” said Papa. “Stop your worryin’.”

The boys crowded around Papa, fascinated by his injury. He was a legend even to them.

Mariella looked around the room, acutely aware of the absence in it. “Where’s Katy?”
she asked.

Mike looked at John, who looked away.

“Mad, mad, mad,” said Papa.

“She won’t speak to him,” said Mike. “After she lectured him about nearly killing
himself and other people, she barely said two words the whole way home.”

“She’s at the bungalow,” said John.

“You’ll have to call her when you’re sober,” said Pauline.

The room was quiet; then it filled with Papa’s snores.

“I’ll come back to check on him tomorrow,” said Mike.

“I’ll talk to Katy,” said John.

Once they left, Pauline put her hands on her face and exhaled. Ada came into the room
and took the boys upstairs to get them ready for bed.

“Now he’ll be down again,” said Pauline.

Mariella had just thought the same thing. His moods changed like the weather, and
when he was down, he threatened to bring them all down with him.

“Go get a towel to put under his legs, and a blanket,” said Pauline. “He’ll sleep
down here tonight, and I don’t want him bleeding on the furniture.”

Mariella got the towel and blanket upstairs, and when she returned, Pauline was smoking
on the porch. Papa continued to snore, and Mariella covered him. He looked boyish
while he slept, and she said a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t been killed
on the boat.

“You can go now,” called Pauline from the porch.

Mariella didn’t like Pauline’s tone. It sounded accusatory. It was as if Pauline somehow
blamed Mariella for his injury. As if Pauline seemed to think Mariella was amused
by Papa’s daring behavior, which further encouraged it.

She supposed it wasn’t far from the truth.

Eager to get out of the line of Pauline’s fire, Mariella took off her apron, hung
it in the kitchen closet as quickly as possible, and left.

Mariella knew she couldn’t avoid the talk with her mother any longer. She pushed her
dinner away and cleared her throat. “Something we have to talk about.”

All eyes were on her.

“The Hemingways need me to go with them to Bimini for the summer. They won’t need
me in their house back here, since they’ll all be gone, and if I want to get paid
for those months, I’ll need to go with them.”

Estelle looked from Mariella to her mother. Lulu spoke first. “Can we go?”

“Why didn’t you discuss this with me sooner?” asked Eva.

“I’m discussing it now,” said Mariella.

“It doesn’t sound like a discussion. It sounds like you’ve made
up your mind.” Eva pointed to the door. “Estelle, take Lulu outside to play.”

“I’m not finished!” said Lulu.

“¡Fuera!”
said Eva.

Estelle stood and carried the two plates out to the front porch, with her little sister
complaining behind her.

“So you want my blessing to send you off to some half-deserted island with Hemingway
and his rich male friends?” said Eva.

“Pauline and the kids are going, too. And no, I’m not asking for your blessing. I’m
telling you that you are going to have to care for the girls while I’m gone.”

Eva slammed the table and the dishes jumped.

“As long as you live with me, you have to answer to me. I don’t care how old you are.”

“My income keeps us here,” shouted Mariella. “We won’t have a house if I lose my job.
What do you do to contribute to the rent?”

Eva started crying. “I’m in mourning,
por el amor de Dios
!”

“And I’m not?”

Eva stood from the table, and the chair scraped the floor and fell over backward.
She ran to her room and slammed the door. Mariella put her hands on the table and
hung her head.

The door opened and Estelle and Lulu walked in. She heard the clink of the dishes
as Estelle started to wash them. Mariella picked up the rest of the plates and brought
them over to the sink. Estelle placed her hand on Mariella’s arm. Mariella looked
at her younger sister, whose face was knotted with worry. Estelle’s eyes pleaded with
her.

“She won’t listen,” said Mariella.

Estelle looked at her a moment longer and then turned back to the dishes. Mariella
sighed and kissed her sister on the cheek. She turned and walked down the hall to
her mother’s room, not knowing what she’d say. She felt an invisible resistance pressing
her back, but she fought it. At her mother’s door, she stood outside
holding the handle. Lulu appeared in the hallway and shooed her forward with her hands.

The room was dark, and she could see her mother’s form on the bed with her back to
the door. The sound of Eva’s crying defused Mariella’s anger, and she walked over
to the bed and sat down.

“I’m sorry,” said Mariella.

Silence.

“I understand that you’re worried about me,” she continued. “I wish I could be two
places at once to help you with the girls, but I have to go with the Hemingways. I
promise I’ll be okay.”

“You can’t make that promise.”

“If I don’t go and I lose that job, I won’t be able to get one anywhere else. No one
can get a job right now. It was a gift that Mr. Thompson was able to get me in at
the Hemingway house to begin with.”

Silence.

“It’s safer than other ways of making money.”

Eva turned on the bed and sat up next to Mariella.

“You just have so much ahead of you,” said Eva. “I’m so worried you’ll ruin it for
yourself.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“But he’s a rich, powerful man. I’m worried he’ll take advantage of you.”

“He’s married,” said Mariella, “and his wife will be there on the island. Besides,
I have a boyfriend.”

“The soldier?”

“Yes.”

Eva rolled her eyes and put her face in her hands.

“Stop,” said Mariella. “You need to trust me. I don’t want to sneak around. I’m not
a child, and I shouldn’t have to. I want to tell you these things. I want friendship
from you, not judgment. The time for that has passed. If our relationship is going
to work, it has to change.”

Eva was quiet for a moment, but then reached for Mariella’s hand. Mariella reached
for her and they hugged. Mariella felt gratitude for Estelle’s silently encouraging
her to go to Eva. It was suddenly clear that she should have done it a long time ago.
Sneaking around and telling half-truths only perpetuated her childishness in her mother’s
eyes.

Mariella still didn’t fully trust herself with Papa, but that was almost too much
to admit, even to herself. Going with him and his family felt like a dare, but she
wanted to take it.

“I trust you,” said Eva.

It felt as if a weight that she’d been carrying for a long time lifted from her shoulders.
She hated that she had taken this long to talk openly with her mother.

Mariella and Eva stood and went back out to the kitchen with their arms around each
other, and the girls smiled broadly when they came out. They hugged in the kitchen
until they were crying. Then they started laughing, and the girls looked at them as
if they were crazy, until they started laughing, too.