Free Hemingway's Girl by Erika Robuck Page A

his hands. He took it, but he looked ashamed. He started
     to pass it back to Mariella, but she stopped him.
    “No, you do so much for us,” she said.
    He mumbled a thank-you, stuffed the bills in his pocket, and stepped around Mariella
     to carry Lulu to the bathroom. The child thrashed her body and wailed in shock as
     he lowered her into the ice-cold water.
    “Shh, shh. I know,” said Dr. Wilson.
    After a moment, she seemed stunned by the cold and stopped moving. He lifted Lulu,
     wrapped her in a towel, and walked her to the bed. While Eva came in to dress the
     child, Mariella slipped over to hug Estelle, who was growing increasingly frantic.
     She led her into her mother’s room, where she sat Estelle on the bed and wiped her
     tears.
    “She’s going to be okay.”
    Estelle looked down at her hands, which continued to crawl over each other. Mariella
     placed her hands over the girl’s and touched her forehead to her sister’s.
    “I know,” said Mariella. But she didn’t know. She didn’t know whether Lulu would be
     all right. She didn’t know whether her mother could take much more strain. She didn’t
     know whether Estelle was going to come through this time without lasting scars. Her
     middle sister had grown so withdrawn. The week before,Mariella had seen Estelle playing with dolls that she hadn’t touched for years.
    After Estelle calmed, Mariella led her back to the room where Lulu slept. Dr. Wilson
     talked softly to her mother in the kitchen, while she helped Estelle back to bed and
     crawled in next to her.
    Mariella’s guilt returned. If she hadn’t gone out, she could have helped earlier.
     Maybe Lulu’s fever wouldn’t have gotten so high. Maybe she could have summoned the
     doctor sooner, or could have talked Estelle through her attack of anxiety. It was
     another case of her not being there to help her family.

    Gavin circled the block and came back to stand in front of Mariella’s house. A doctor
     stepped off the porch and brushed by him.
    “Keep moving, soldier,” he said. Gavin ignored him and looked in the window. No one
     was in the front of the house, but he didn’t want them to find him and think he was
     a peeping Tom, so he lit a cigarette and continued on his way.
    He wondered how old Mariella was. She couldn’t be older than twenty, but then again,
     he looked young for thirty-three. He thought she was beautiful and spirited. He also
     had to admit to himself that he was intrigued that she might be Hemingway’s girl.
    Suddenly he tripped on a hole in the sidewalk and ran into someone.
    “Sorry,” said Gavin.
    “Been drinking, sailor?” A thin old man with small glasses and a heavy German accent
     stood before him. He carried a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a paper bag in the
     other. He smelled of formaldehyde, and something else that Gavin couldn’t identify,
     but which caused him to recoil.
    “No, sir, just clumsy.”
    “Your mind on a girl, no doubt.”
    Gavin smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. The man extended his hand.
    “Count Von Cosel.”
    The name rang a bell, but Gavin wasn’t sure why. Gavin shook his hand. He looked at
     the flowers and the bag. “For your lady?”
    Cosel grew dead serious. “Yes. Everything for my love.” He stared at Gavin until Gavin
     felt uncomfortable and excused himself. He walked down the street for a bit and then
     turned back to watch the count move away into the shadows.



C HAPTER S IX
    Mariella stood on a stepladder in the front parlor, polishing Pauline’s chandelier.
     She rubbed the soft cloth over each crystal until it sparkled. It hung over the room
     like a fat, useless diamond.
    Pauline had gone out for some lunch and shopping with Chuck Thompson’s wife, Lorine,
     and Ada had taken the boys somewhere. Mariella enjoyed the stillness, but it didn’t
     last. She soon heard Papa’s footsteps on the stairs and on the floor behind her.
    “What time do you get off?” he asked.
    “Five.” She