for the relationship
he assumed she had with the writer, and didn’t know why.
“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” he said.
“I’ll walk out with you,” she said. “I’m done here, anyway.”
His curiosity overcame his negative feelings for a moment.
“What are you doing at the boat graveyard?” he asked.
“Looking for an old boat I knew. Looking for a boat I could fix.”
“
You
know how to fix boats?”
“Yes—is that so surprising?”
“Kind of.”
“Typical.”
Her familiarity relaxed him, and he smiled.
When she reached the old blue bicycle leaning against the chain-link fence, she stopped
and pulled it toward her.
“Nice seeing you again,” she said. “You fighting anytime soon?”
“Not for a couple of weeks.”
“Well, maybe next time.”
She swung her leg over and pedaled away. He adjusted the heavy bag to his other shoulder
while he watched her ride down the road, hoping he’d see her again in spite of whatever
she had with the writer.
Once she’d covered about a hundred yards, Mariella looked over her shoulder. The boxer
still stood there, watching her. She turned back toward Key West and felt the pressure
of his eyes on her. She felt vaguely annoyed that he didn’t think she could fix a
boat, and downright aggravated that he assumed she was Hemingway’s lover. She’d seen
it all over his face.
Why did everyone judge her for spending time with Hemingway? Was it so unusual for
a thirty-five-year-old man and an almost twenty-year-old woman to be friends?
Yes.
She knew it was strange, especially because she was his maid. Especially because he
was married. And especially because she could feel the electricity between them whenever
he was around. She wondered whether others felt it, too.
Part of her wanted to pull away from Papa and not incite gossip. She didn’t want to
interfere with another woman’s husband. She knew he was too old for her, and she certainly
meant nothing to him beyond amusement. But another part of her, the part she didn’t
want to acknowledge, continued to assert itself and didn’t care what others thought.
In the meantime, Mariella was thrilled with the bike. She’d seen it collecting rust
in the Hemingways’ cellar when she was fetching wine for Pauline, and asked whether
she could borrow it. Pauline told her it wasn’t in good working order because the
chain kept coming off, but with a little help from Toby, the Hemingways’ handyman,
it was up and running in no time.
It took Mariella an afternoon of falling and cursing to teach herself to ride it,
but she learned quickly, knowing that the sooner she could ride, the sooner she could
get over to Stock Island to see whether her father’s boat was salvageable.
As it turned out, it wasn’t in the first boat graveyard she found, or the second.
The third was clear up on No Name Key, and Mariella couldn’t go all that way and get
back to town beforedark. She was disappointed, but she’d just have to go some other time.
Mariella felt a tug in her heart when she saw her little sisters on the porch. Lulu
sat on the step below Estelle, while Estelle brushed out her knotty hair. Lulu jumped
up when Mariella returned, and ran to greet her.
Mariella leaned the bicycle against a tree and hugged her youngest sister, alarmed
by her warmth. Mariella put her hands on her little sister’s face and saw the flush
in her cheeks.
“How do you feel?” asked Mariella, uncertain whether Lulu was warm from the sun or
the beginnings of a fever. Lulu’s bouts of fever and stomach pain had plagued her
most of her young life, but had seemed to get worse within the last few months. The
doctor had always treated the symptoms, but he had never been able to come up with
a diagnosis.
Lulu pulled away and rolled her eyes with a smile.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Mariella checked Lulu’s eyes to see whether they looked glassy.
“Are you sure?
he assumed she had with the writer, and didn’t know why.
“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” he said.
“I’ll walk out with you,” she said. “I’m done here, anyway.”
His curiosity overcame his negative feelings for a moment.
“What are you doing at the boat graveyard?” he asked.
“Looking for an old boat I knew. Looking for a boat I could fix.”
“
You
know how to fix boats?”
“Yes—is that so surprising?”
“Kind of.”
“Typical.”
Her familiarity relaxed him, and he smiled.
When she reached the old blue bicycle leaning against the chain-link fence, she stopped
and pulled it toward her.
“Nice seeing you again,” she said. “You fighting anytime soon?”
“Not for a couple of weeks.”
“Well, maybe next time.”
She swung her leg over and pedaled away. He adjusted the heavy bag to his other shoulder
while he watched her ride down the road, hoping he’d see her again in spite of whatever
she had with the writer.
Once she’d covered about a hundred yards, Mariella looked over her shoulder. The boxer
still stood there, watching her. She turned back toward Key West and felt the pressure
of his eyes on her. She felt vaguely annoyed that he didn’t think she could fix a
boat, and downright aggravated that he assumed she was Hemingway’s lover. She’d seen
it all over his face.
Why did everyone judge her for spending time with Hemingway? Was it so unusual for
a thirty-five-year-old man and an almost twenty-year-old woman to be friends?
Yes.
She knew it was strange, especially because she was his maid. Especially because he
was married. And especially because she could feel the electricity between them whenever
he was around. She wondered whether others felt it, too.
Part of her wanted to pull away from Papa and not incite gossip. She didn’t want to
interfere with another woman’s husband. She knew he was too old for her, and she certainly
meant nothing to him beyond amusement. But another part of her, the part she didn’t
want to acknowledge, continued to assert itself and didn’t care what others thought.
In the meantime, Mariella was thrilled with the bike. She’d seen it collecting rust
in the Hemingways’ cellar when she was fetching wine for Pauline, and asked whether
she could borrow it. Pauline told her it wasn’t in good working order because the
chain kept coming off, but with a little help from Toby, the Hemingways’ handyman,
it was up and running in no time.
It took Mariella an afternoon of falling and cursing to teach herself to ride it,
but she learned quickly, knowing that the sooner she could ride, the sooner she could
get over to Stock Island to see whether her father’s boat was salvageable.
As it turned out, it wasn’t in the first boat graveyard she found, or the second.
The third was clear up on No Name Key, and Mariella couldn’t go all that way and get
back to town beforedark. She was disappointed, but she’d just have to go some other time.
Mariella felt a tug in her heart when she saw her little sisters on the porch. Lulu
sat on the step below Estelle, while Estelle brushed out her knotty hair. Lulu jumped
up when Mariella returned, and ran to greet her.
Mariella leaned the bicycle against a tree and hugged her youngest sister, alarmed
by her warmth. Mariella put her hands on her little sister’s face and saw the flush
in her cheeks.
“How do you feel?” asked Mariella, uncertain whether Lulu was warm from the sun or
the beginnings of a fever. Lulu’s bouts of fever and stomach pain had plagued her
most of her young life, but had seemed to get worse within the last few months. The
doctor had always treated the symptoms, but he had never been able to come up with
a diagnosis.
Lulu pulled away and rolled her eyes with a smile.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Mariella checked Lulu’s eyes to see whether they looked glassy.
“Are you sure?
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