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from hanging and folding laundry, and her hands were cracked,
     but she felt the satisfaction of a good day’s work. She pulled the last of the towels
     off the line and folded it into the basket. It had been a week since she started and
     she already felt comfortable. Once Jinny left for home and Mariella no longer felt
     scrutinized, she actually experienced pleasure in keeping up the house. Except for
     the gruff, distracted governess, the staff was kind to her. The boys were already
     growing on her, with their vitality and their sweet faces. And as for the Hemingways,
     Pauline stayed out of her way, and Papa stayed in her way. As much as Mariella hated
     to admit it to herself, she liked it.
    After her first day of work, Mariella had signed up for a library card and checked
     out
The Sun Also Rises
, figuring she’d see what Hemingway was all about. She was surprised how quickly the
     book grabbed her. She identified with Jake, the main character—a man who had no patience
     for phonies—and she wondered how much of himself Hemingway put into the book. It was
     hard to put down, but she forced herself each night so she wouldn’t be too tired for
     work.
    After she finished the novel, she found herself further intrigued by Hemingway, and
     quite sure that he’d put all of himself into it. Those people he wrote about were,
     no doubt, real people. His mixtureof love and disdain for them fascinated her, as did the complexity of a volatile man
     like his character Jake. She thought he was like Hemingway in all ways except, of
     course, his impotence. Mariella contemplated this while she carried a tower of towels
     up the stairs and into the Hemingways’ bedroom, where she ran into the very object
     of her thoughts. The towels dropped to the floor at their feet. She moved to pick
     them up, and he bent down to help.
    “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get it.”
    “Let me help you,” he said.
    They made quick work of the cleanup, and both reached for the last towel at the same
     time. His hand closed over hers and their faces were inches away. She looked at him
     when he didn’t remove his hand.
    “Your hands are raw,” he said.
    “Laundry day,” she said. She went to pull away, but he kept a firm hold on her hand
     and turned it over in his. He ran his thumb over the dry surface of her palm.
    “Pauline’s probably got some lotion you could try.”
    She pulled her hand away. “It’s fine.”
    Mariella felt his eyes on her as she picked up the last towel and folded it. She heard
     him walk out the door and down the stairs and was surprised to find that she was holding
     her breath. She caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room and saw the
     flush on her skin and knew he’d seen it, too.

    Mariella knew about the fight in Bahama Village later that night and wanted to see
     whether she could turn her wages into a small fortune. While she wondered whether
     Papa would be at the fight, she changed into her father’s old shirt and pants, and
     hung her work dress in the servants’ closet next to her apron.
    On her way out Mariella called good-bye to Isabelle, walkeddown the stone path, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, setting out for Sloppy Joe’s
     for a bite to eat and a beer. She wondered whether she’d see Hemingway there, and
     whether he’d be as friendly to her in public as he was at home.
    The previous evening, Mariella had gone to the market to make sure her mother and
     sisters had enough for dinner, and told her mother she’d be late on Friday night.
     Eva had looked as if she wanted to question Mariella, but must have thought she wouldn’t
     like the answer and cut herself off. Eva didn’t approve of gambling, and while Mariella
     felt guilty going against her mother’s wishes, she thought it was their best chance
     to pay down their mounting bills without stealing.
    The sky still held the red from the day at the top of Duval Street, but the rest of
     the street was