Hemingway's Girl (24 page)

As she tagged him, she was thrilled to see how his face lit up
when he recognized her. He jumped up, took her in his arms, and kissed her. All the
cheering and yelling on the field got deadly quiet until Gavin pulled off her hat,
and her long black hair spilled down her back. A roar of catcalls and applause began,
and he led her off the field. He waved to his team to show them that he was leaving.
Then she jumped on his back and he carried her over to his truck.

On the ride through camp to the beach near Gavin’s place, he kept staring at her with
a look of complete shock and pleasure.

“You have to watch the road a little, too,” she said with a smile.

“I don’t want to take my eyes off you,” he said.

When they stopped, he came around to her door and opened it for her. He led her around
a clump of mangroves to a shack built of plywood. It sat on the sand next to three
other shacks and wasn’t much bigger than a large outhouse. He could see her shock
at his modest living arrangements.

“I know,” he said. “It’s not much, but it has a great view.”

She looked out at the water stretching for miles in each direction and agreed.

“Come on,” he said. He held her hand and led her along the beach to a mess hall. In
its back room was a gym. It had several punching bags, some weights, and a crude ring.
It was dark and hot in the room, and thus empty.

“I practice at night,” he said. “That keeps me away from the bugs outside, and it
isn’t so hot. It’s like an oven in here in the daytime.”

They stood and stared at each other for a moment. He felt his heart pounding and still
couldn’t believe she’d come up here to him. She looked a little nervous and out of
her element. He pulled her into him.

“So we’ll be left alone in here,” he said.

He leaned in and kissed her as though he’d missed her. She sank into him and wrapped
her arms around his neck. Voices in the mess hall caused her to jump back. He laughed
and walked her over to the ring. They sat down on the edge.

“You seem a little shy today,” he said. “Not at all in character for you.”

“I’m just thinking through some things I talked about with John.”

“Oh, great,” said Gavin. “Do I have him to contend with, too?”

“No,” she said. “We talked about you.”

“Good, keep it that way.”

He followed her gaze to the hanging bags and boxing gloves.

“I wish I’d sneaked up on you boxing,” she said. “I like to watch you do that.”

“We can arrange that another time,” he said.

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her neck. She closed her eyes and put her head
back.

“It’s nice with just the two of us,” he said into her collarbone.

“No distractions,” she said. “We should do this more often.”

“Yeah, but you have to watch yourself around here. There’re a lot of men. A lot of
fights. A lot of drunkenness.”

“That’s not so different from Key West.”

“But here it’s men without women,” he said, “and it’s early in the day. It gets much
worse at night.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

He smiled. He leaned in to kiss her again, but they were interrupted by Bonefish.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ve got a telegram, Gavin. It’s your mom.”

Gavin looked at Mariella, gently moved her off his lap, and hurried out of the mess
hall and over to the post office with her following.

When they got there he ran his hands through his hair as he read the telegram, and
started pacing around the room.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My uncle says I need to come quick,” said Gavin. “She’s not well.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “After all you did to come here.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It was perfect. Go to your mother.”

Gavin walked over to Mariella, took her face in his hands, and pressed his forehead
to hers.

“Thank you for coming here,” he said. He kissed her, but she quickly pulled away.

“Go,” she said, surprised to find a lump in her throat. “Go,” she said a little louder.
She turned him around and smacked him on the behind. He smiled over his shoulder,
rushed back at her with a kiss, and then left.

When Mariella returned to Key West, she saw her father’s friend Mark Bishop out unusually
late, arguing with Nicolas. When they saw her coming toward them, Mark grabbed his
fish cart and dragged it toward his boat. Nicolas shook his head sadly.

“¿Qué está mal?”
asked Mariella.

“He’s trying to sell me fish I don’t need. I’m overflowing. I know he needs the money,
but I do, too.”

“Did he just get in from the gulf?”

“Sí
.”

“This late?”

“
Sí
. Second time out today. Very sad. Too many fishermen, not enough market for them.”

Mariella watched Mark stop at the end of the pier and begin hurling the fish back
into the water.

“I can’t watch,” said Nicolas.

“Go,” said Mariella. “I’ll talk to him.”

Nicolas shook his head again and turned back to his restaurant.

Mariella walked out to Mark. When he turned back to grab a handful of fish, she took
his hands.

“Stop,” she said. “Let me help you find another restaurant.”

Mark’s chest was heaving. He looked much older than his forty years. She thought she
saw tears in his eyes and understood his pain.

“I’ve been to every one,” he said. “Same story.”

“They’re on ice. Why don’t we ferry them up the Keys and see if you have any luck?”

“It doesn’t matter, Mari. It’s no use.”

“Can I buy some off you? I have to feed my girls tonight.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got mouths to feed and you’re offering to give me money,”
he said. “No, but thank you. You take what you need. I’ll take this as a sign.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked down at the fish and shook his head again, as if struggling to put into
words what he was trying to say.

“I’m leaving.”

“What? For where?”

“Going north. I hear there are jobs in Baltimore, Philly, New York. I gotta do something,
’cause this isn’t working.”

“But this is what you love,” said Mariella. “You’ve been here most of your life. It’s
going to get better. If tourism picks up, the restaurants will need a bigger supply—”

He cut her off. “I’ve been going off of that since well before Hal died. It’s not
getting better. I’ve got to get out of here.”

Mariella’s mind raced. She couldn’t stand the thought of Mark giving up. He had that
same terrible expression her father had had before he died. She couldn’t bear to look
at him, and she didn’t
know what to say. Maybe he was right. Maybe it would never get better. He must have
seen the panic in her face, because he smiled sadly and reached for her hand.

“I’m sorry you had to see me having a fit,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I just
have myself to take care of. I’ll be all right.”

He gave her the fish but refused to take her money. She started for home feeling as
low as she had in a long time. She turned back to glance at Mark once more. He stood
with his shoulders slumped, facing the water, a dark form against the shimmering surface.

Mariella felt exposed and raw.

She sat on a blanket at the edge of the water on the beach where Gavin had asked her
to meet him, having arrived early to be with the water and herself. She held his telegram
telling of his mother’s death. It had stirred up all of her feelings about her father,
and she was trying hard not to cry so that she could be strong for him. It wasn’t
working, so she just wiped her eyes and hoped it was dark enough by the time he arrived
that he wouldn’t see.

Just before the sun sank into the sea, Mariella saw him walking toward her on the
beach. He was covered in shadows, but she knew it was him. She stood and tried to
walk to meet him, but her feet started running, and then he was running, and then
they met and held on to each other for a long time.

When they let go, Mariella cupped his face in her hands. Even in the evening’s shadows
she could see the darkness under his eyes. She kissed him on each cheek and then found
his mouth. He held her for a while, and then they walked over to the blanket to sit.

“When did it happen?” asked Mariella.

“A few nights ago, I was sitting up with her at the hospital because she couldn’t
sleep. She wanted me to read to her, and all I could find in the waiting room was
A Farewell to Arms
.” He laughed
with contempt. “I was so tired I started slurring words. She told me to stop and said
she’d see me in the morning. I kissed her, went to my uncle’s, fell asleep, and the
next morning when I got back, she was gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Mariella.

“I know it’s for the best. She was getting frantic as she grew weaker. She hated relying
on my uncle and his wife for everything and didn’t want to burden me. I just wish
I would have moved in with her sooner so I could have cared more for her. I wish she
could have met you.”

It made Mariella feel good to hear him say that, and she felt the same about him with
her father.

“I also found out my uncle’s partner has no intention of leaving the business,” continued
Gavin. “I’ve been saving up for nothing.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

He was quiet for a moment and then spoke. “You know what? I’m not.”

She looked at him with a question in her eyes. But it dawned on her as soon as he
said it.

“My ties to the mainland are cut,” he said.

“So I get to keep you?”

“Yes. At least on the weekends I don’t have to work.”

She leaned in closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He kissed her forehead
and looked back out toward the water.

Mariella wiped her eyes again. Her father, his parents, his friend from the war—they
couldn’t escape the loss. It seemed that always, after the joyful times, the pain
was there waiting to reassert itself. It exhausted her, but still she held on to him.

The air of the Hemingway house quivered with unspent energy and expectation. The building
excitement over the summer trip to Bimini island in the Bahamas was a welcome change.
Visitors came and went even more than usual. Patrick and Gregory were restless and
made trouble. Pauline was impatient with them and the staff, but glad that Papa was
singing songs again, instead of being a miserable patient, barking orders from his
bed. He was euphoric at the thought of a summer in a remote paradise with friends
and fish.