Hemingway's Girl by Erika Robuck

Hell, she felt like she belonged with them.
    But something nagged at her beneath the warmth of new friendships.
    The heat of Papa’s leg against hers.
    The way he’d called her his girl.
    The way he’d gotten jealous when she talked to the boxer.
    And the shame she felt for wishing he’d given in to the temptation of kissing her
     on the mouth before he left.
    She pushed open the door, stepped into the darkness of the house, and slipped on a
     shoe lying on the floor. She was annoyed that her mother hadn’t tidied the house and
     hadn’t thought to leave on a light. Mariella cursed and caught herself on the wall,
     and suddenly saw Eva sitting in her chair with only the light from the moon on her
     face. The shadows on her cheekbones and in her deep-set eyes made her look skeletal.
    “What do you have to say for yourself?” said Eva in slow, deliberate English.
    Mariella knew that Eva must have seen her and Hemingway through the window, and thought
     Mariella was drunk because she stumbled into the house. She knew her mother was imagining
     all sorts of horrible things. She also knew, however, that the smell of alcohol on
     her breath, the odor of stale cigarettes on her shirt, the wad of cash in her pocket,
     and the scent of the hussy’s perfume, which clung stubbornly to her pants where the
     dress had touched her, wouldn’t help her case.
    She tried to keep her temper.
    “Kinda hard to walk with stuff all over the floor,” said Mariella.
    She began to walk down the hallway to her room when she heard her mother mutter, “Your
papa
would be so disappointed.”
    Mariella felt an urge swell in her to strike Eva. She had never wanted to hurt anyone
     as badly as she did her mother at that moment. She clenched her fists and strode across
     the room, kicking toys and junk out of her path, forgetting the way she smelled, wanting
     only to hurt Eva.
    She grabbed the money from her pocket and threw it at her mother.
    “Take it,” spat Mariella. She surprised even herself with her anger, but she couldn’t
     stop. “Do you not want a roof over your head? Shall we stop calling the doctor? Stop
     eating? Stop smoking?”
    Eva stood and pushed her face into Mariella’s.
    “¿Cómo pudiste?”
    “How could I
what
?”
    “¡Se trata de dinero sucio!”
Eva began to sob.
    “Dirty money?” She grabbed her mother by the shoulders. “What do you think? Do you
     think I sold myself to him? Do you think I’m a prostitute?”
    Eva shook her head and put her hands over her ears.
    “Well, guess what?” shouted Mariella.
    Eva backed away and fell into her money-littered chair, still covering her ears. Mariella
     pulled Eva’s hands away so she could hear.
    Lulu’s sudden cry from the back room caused them both to turn their heads. The child
     cried for a moment, breaking the spell of their anger, then stopped. Mariella let
     go of her mother’s hands and backed away.
    “Do you really think I’d sell my body?”
    Eva sniffled but wouldn’t look at Mariella.
    “Really?” said Mariella.
    Eva curled her legs up under her and covered her face with her hands.
    Mariella felt her rage boil, leaving a sharp, metallic taste like blood in the back
     of her throat.
    “If you believe that about me, it serves you right to suffer for it.”



C HAPTER F IVE
    Lower Matecumbe Key
Veterans’ work camps, Overseas Highway project
    The mosquito beater wasn’t fanning hard enough. Gavin slapped the bugs that had found
     an open area at his neck and turned to the man behind him.
    “What the hell are you doing?” he said.
    The skinny, pockmarked vet shrugged. “Sorry, Captain. I’m daydreaming about my wife
     up north.”
    “Save your daydreaming for night, Bonefish,” said Gavin, “or I’ll make sure you see
     her sooner than you’d planned.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Bonefish fanned away the mosquitoes with a cabbage tree branch, and Gavin couldn’t
     decide what was more annoying: the bugs or the slap of the leaves on his back.