The Sisters Hemingway

by Annie England Noblin

  “See?” he said. “I told you it was easy!”

  “It’s amazing,” Hadley yelled. She continued to breeze around the porch, the sound of the Rollerblades and cicadas in her ears. It had been a long time since she’d felt this free, since she’d been able to think about anything else except Mark and the divorce or the farm or anything that didn’t make her feel like her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. Right now all she felt was happy. Half an hour later, when she collapsed next to Brody on the porch swing, she leaned into him, exhausted and panting.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I really needed that.”

  “Lucy does it when she gets frustrated,” Brody said. “She says it makes her feel better.”

  “It really does.”

  “It’s why I bought the house.”

  “So Lucy could Rollerblade when she got frustrated?”

  “Because after my divorce, I wanted something that made me happy every time I looked at it,” Brody said. “It’s why I kept your picture, and it’s why I bought the house.”

  Hadley turned her head so that she could look at him. “You bought a house because it made you think of me?”

  “I bought the house because I hoped maybe one day you’d come home,” Brody said. “I never gave up hope, Hadley.”

  Hadley allowed him to brush a piece of damp hair out of her eyes, and then she felt his lips on hers, the first pair of lips she’d ever felt on hers, when she’d been thirteen years old. She kissed him back, the hunger inside of her spilling over, until she felt dizzy with want. “I can’t,” she said, pulling herself away from him, gasping. “I can’t.”

  “I know,” he said. And then, more quietly, “Mark.”

  “Mark,” Hadley repeated, touching her lips. “He’s still my husband.”

  “Do you want me to take you home?” Brody asked.

  Hadley leaned down and pulled off the Rollerblades. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to go home tonight.”

  “You can have my room,” Brody replied. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “No,” he said, leading her inside. “At least I know you’ll be safe here.”

  Hadley took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “I don’t love him,” she said. She wasn’t sure if it was the Rollerblading or the whiskey or both that made her say those words, but in that moment, she had to tell him. It was the truth, and deep down, she knew it always had been.

  “I know,” he said, squeezing her hand right back. “I know.”

  Chapter 30

  Martha

  MARTHA FELT LIKE SHE’D JUST WON BEST FEMALE ARTIST at the Country Music Awards. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so good, and all she’d done was play a few songs for a relatively small crowd. But her new song had gone over well, and she and Amanda played together for the first time in years and years.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Pfeiffer talking to Luke, and she grinned. It was about time her sister met someone. She needed someone smart. She needed someone argumentative, someone like Luke, with a lawyer’s brain. When he was bending down to whisper in Pfeiffer’s ear, Martha felt like letting out a whoop. Instead, she turned around to collect her guitar and ran right into the person standing behind her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back. “I didn’t see you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Martha looked up at the man standing in front of her. She’d seen him earlier, sitting with her sister at the table, between Ava Dawn and her boyfriend. He was handsome, in a boyish sort of way, but the cocky grin on his face reminded her too much of Travis.

  “Excuse me,” he said as Martha attempted to sidestep him. “Could I get your autograph?” He handed her a slightly crumpled bar napkin.

  “Sure,” Martha replied, trying not to sound annoyed. Really, she ought to be grateful. She knew that. “Who should I make it out to?”

  “Reese,” he said.

  The shyness in his voice startled Martha. He didn’t look like he was shy. He looked like he took girls like her . . . well, the girl she used to be, home by the dozen. “Okay,” she said. “How do you spell that?”

  “R-E-E-S-E,” he said. “I own all your albums.”

  “Really?” Martha asked, squinting up at him. “Excuse me for sayin’ so, but you don’t look like my fan base.”

  “My best friend Court is a big fan,” he said. “He kept playin’ that one song, you know, the first single from your first album, and man, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Been listenin’ to ya ever since.”

  “Well, thanks,” Martha said, trying to ignore the urge to reach up and touch his rust-colored beard to see if it felt as soft as it looked. “I appreciate that.”

  “I told your sister I didn’t know who you were,” he continued. “But I knew the minute you walked in. I guess I’m used to savin’ face around town. I can be kind of . . .”

  “A jackass?” Martha replied with a straight face. “Yeah, you remind me a lot of my ex-husband.”

  “Travis Tucker?” Reese spat out, as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “That fool? I can’t stand him.”

  “Me either, currently.”

  “He can’t sing for shit. I don’t give a damn what anybody says, you’re a million times better than he is any day of the week.”

  Without realizing what she was doing, Martha took hold of Reese’s shirt and pulled him down to her, laying a kiss right smack on his mouth. His eyes widened, and when she pulled away from him, she couldn’t help but giggle at the look of astonishment on his face. “Thanks,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I needed that.”

  “Hey,” he said as she turned to leave, “I’m taking your sister and Luke Gibson to talk to my grandmama tomorrow about your aunt. Maybe you’d want to come?”

  “Maybe!” Martha called over her shoulder, too distracted by his kiss to hear much of what he’d actually said. “Good night! And thanks again! Your lips are mighty soft!”

  “DO YOU THINK everything went okay with Hadley and Mark?” Martha asked nearly an hour later as they pulled into the driveway of the farm. “I see his car is still here.”

  “I don’t know,” Pfeiffer replied. “I kind of thought we would have heard from her at some point.”

  “Me too,” Martha agreed. “But I have to admit that I was so caught up in the show, I’m just now realizing it.”

  “It was a great show,” Pfeiffer said. “Truly, it was.”

  “Thank you, Pi. That means a lot.”

  “Hey,” Pfeiffer said, squinting into the darkness. “Is that Mark sitting on the front porch?”

  “Looks like it,” Martha said. “I wonder where Hadley is.”

  “Probably inside packing her suitcase to go home,” Pfeiffer guessed. “You and I both know that’s why he came here tonight.”

  Martha got out of the car and followed Pfeiffer up to the house. “What are you doing out here, Mark?” she asked.

  “Where’s Hadley?” Mark replied. “I thought she’d be with you.”

  “Why would she be with us?” Pfeiffer wanted to know. “She was with you when we left.”

  “Well, she’s not with me now.”

  Pfeiffer ran into the house, opening the door wide, calling her sister’s name. When she was nowhere to be found, she hurried back outside to confront Mark. “What did you do to her?”

  “Me?” Mark asked, standing up. “I didn’t do anything. She left with that stupid dog. I assumed she was going to find you.”

  “You assumed she was going to walk nearly fifteen miles in the rain to find us?” Martha asked, her hands on her hips.

  “Wait, why does she have Lafayette?” Pfeiffer demanded.

  “The damn thing growled,” Mark replied. “I thought it was going to bite me.”

  Pfeiffer’s gaze went from alarm to satisfied smugness.

  “And you don’t have any idea where she went?” Martha asked, ignoring her sister. She
was glad Lafayette had been there, too, but she didn’t know if the dog had done more harm than good now that Hadley had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

  “She went off down the road,” Mark replied. “I don’t know where she went after she turned right at the end of the driveway.”

  “You didn’t go after her?” Martha asked.

  “And let that psychotic animal anywhere near me?” Mark asked. “No way. Besides, I assumed she’d come home with you.”

  “I know where she went,” Pfeiffer replied, her hands on her hips. “I know exactly where she’s gone.”

  “Where?” Martha and Mark said at the same time.

  Pfeiffer looked at Martha and raised an eyebrow. “Who do we know who lives just a few miles to the right of us?”

  “Who is it?” Mark demanded.

  “Brody,” Pfeiffer said. “He’s our closest neighbor on that side.”

  “You’re telling me Hadley’s ex-boyfriend is your neighbor?”

  “Yep.”

  Mark strode into the kitchen and grabbed his phone and keys from the table. “I’m going over there.”

  “Like hell you are,” Pfeiffer said, stepping in front of him.

  “Get out of my way, Pfeiffer,” Mark said, his jaw tight. “You look just like that damn dog, but I know good and well you won’t bite me.”

  “Try me,” Pfeiffer replied.

  “Now, I’m warning you . . .”

  “I’m telling you this for your own good,” Pfeiffer replied, unmoved. “You won’t get twenty feet from his house before he shoots you.”

  “He’s not going to shoot me.”

  “Oh yeah?” Pfeiffer countered. “You see those pictures of him with Martha? Did he look like he was joking around?”

  Martha caught the look Pfeiffer was giving her and said, “Oh yeah. You don’t want to go causing him any trouble.”

  “This is bullshit,” Mark muttered.

  “This is Cold River,” Pfeiffer replied.

  “I never should have come here,” Mark said, beginning to pace back and forth.

  “Probably not,” Pfeiffer agreed. “At least not without telling your wife.”

  “Didn’t she tell you?” Mark sneered. “We’re getting a divorce. So she won’t be my wife much longer.”

  “What?” Martha furrowed her eyebrows.

  “We’ve been separated for months,” Mark replied. “But we were waiting until after the election to finalize it. Now it looks like she’s dead set on ruining my campaign over some crush she had when she was eighteen.”

  “Not everything is about your stupid campaign,” Pfeiffer replied. “And Hadley would never do anything to ruin it. If she took off, chances are that it was your fault. And I’m guessing the same is true of your divorce.”

  Martha shook her head. She was having trouble believing what she was hearing. Of all people to get a divorce, she never figured it would be Hadley and Mark. True, she also never thought they were much in love, but she’d learned the hard way that being in love didn’t always make a marriage last.

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to be talking about blame,” Mark said to Pfeiffer, interrupting Martha’s thoughts. “Didn’t you lose your job because you couldn’t keep your trap shut?”

  Martha swiveled around to look at her sister. “You lost your job?” All of this new information was starting to make her head swim.

  Pfeiffer was too busy glaring at Mark to answer. “That’s none of your business,” she said to him.

  “Yeah, well, my relationship with Hadley is none of your business,” Mark replied. “I’m going to go see if I can find a clean hotel room in this shit hole of a town. You tell your sister I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Martha and Pfeiffer watched him walk out the door, neither one of them moving or speaking until his car had long disappeared down the gravel path. After what felt like forever, Martha said, “Did you really lose your job?”

  “Yes,” Pfeiffer replied, still staring after Mark. “I wonder how he found out.”

  “How long ago?” Martha wanted to know.

  Pfeiffer sighed. “Nine months.”

  “Nine months?” Martha exclaimed. “That’s longer than I’ve been divorced!”

  “I know,” Pfeiffer replied. “I was going to tell you. I was going to tell both of you. But there never seemed to be a good time.”

  “What have you been doing up in New York that whole time?” Martha asked.

  Pfeiffer walked over and plopped down on the couch. “Hiding in my apartment mostly,” she said. “But now I don’t even have that.”

  “What happened?”

  “I sent a stupid email,” Pfeiffer said. “It kind of went viral around the publishing world, and Henry Brothers fired me.”

  “Pfeiffer, I’m so sorry,” Martha said, sitting down next to her. “You should have called me. You could have come and stayed with me.”

  “You had your own stuff to deal with,” Pfeiffer replied. “By the time I realized that I wasn’t going to find a job, you were already in the middle of your divorce. Then you left for rehab. I didn’t want to mess that up for you, you know? I couldn’t throw my own troubles on top of you or Hadley.”

  “Hadley apparently has a few troubles of her own,” Martha replied. “I guess we all do.”

  “I had no idea about it,” Pfeiffer replied. “Did you?”

  “No,” Martha said. “No idea. Do you think she knows you lost your job? I mean, she knew something was up from the beginning; you’ve been acting so weird.”

  “I don’t think she knew,” Pfeiffer replied. “She would have said something by now. She would have called me the minute she found out and demanded I come and live with her.”

  “That’s kind of what sisters are for,” Martha replied. “We take care of each other. Well, we’re supposed to.”

  Pfeiffer looked down at her hands. “I haven’t done a very good job of that recently . . . or ever.”

  “That’s not true,” Martha said. “I saw you sticking up for Hadley tonight. And I saw how proud you were of me up onstage. You might not always say it, but I know you love us.”

  “I do love you,” Pfeiffer replied.

  “I love you, too,” Martha said. “And you can still come and live with me.”

  “I think I might stay here,” Pfeiffer replied. “I mean, it’s the only thing I own now, anyway.”

  “Really?”

  Pfeiffer shrugged. “I was thinking about getting a job and writing for a while,” she said. “I don’t know; it’s just a thought.”

  “I think it sounds like a good idea,” Martha said. “You always were a good writer. I never understood how you moved to NYC to write and ended up editing instead.”

  “Writing doesn’t pay the bills,” Pfeiffer said. “Unless you’re Stephen King or Janet Evanovich.”

  “I still think you should give it a shot,” Martha said. “Everybody said music doesn’t pay the bills, and let me tell you, it does.”

  “Well, of course it does when you’re Martha Hemingway,” Pfeiffer replied.

  “I sometimes wish I wasn’t Martha Hemingway.”

  “Don’t say that,” Pfeiffer replied. “Martha Hemingway is the most talented woman I know.”

  Martha pulled her phone out of her pocket when it began to ding. “I got a text from Brody,” she said.

  “What does it say?”

  “It says Hadley is fine,” Martha replied. “And there’s a picture of Lafayette and Brody’s dog, Ollie. Look.” Pfeiffer held up her phone to show her sister a picture of Ollie cuddled up next to Lafayette, one of Lafayette’s ears in his mouth.

  “Who do you think Hadley’s cuddled up next to?” Pfeiffer asked, a wry smile on her face.

  “I’ll give you three guesses,” Martha replied. “But as always, the first two don’t count.”

  Chapter 31

  Pfeiffer

  PFEIFFER STOOD IN FRONT OF MARTHA’S HALF-OPEN SUITCASE the next morning, trying to decide i
f she could steal some of her sister’s clothes without waking her. She didn’t want to contend with telling her that she was meeting Luke at his office to go and speak with Anna Graham, and she hoped to get out of the house before Hadley, Brody, or Mark showed up.

  Pfeiffer held up a yellow sundress, just casual enough not to be conspicuous, and turned to the dresser mirror to see how it might look.

  “Don’t wear that,” Martha croaked from underneath a mass of blankets. “It’ll make you look washed out.”

  “What are you talking about?” Pfeiffer asked, whipping around so fast she dropped the dress.

  “You can’t go meet Luke Gibson looking washed out,” Martha said. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, smearing the mascara she’d been wearing the night before. “Shit. I meant to wash my face.”

  “How do you know I’m meeting Luke?”

  “Because some smooth talker named Reese Graham told me last night,” Martha said. “He asked me for my autograph.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah,” Martha replied. “He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”

  “I guess,” Pfeiffer replied. “In that big-truck, Blake Shelton kind of way.”

  “Is there any other way?” Martha asked.

  “Maybe not for you,” Pfeiffer replied, grinning.

  “So why are you going to talk with Anna Graham?” Martha asked, switching subjects and rubbing dried mascara out of her eyes.

  “I just want to ask her a few questions about Aunt Bea,” Pfeiffer replied. “Maybe she knows something we don’t.”

  “About what?”

  “About the body we found in the garden.”

  Martha removed her hands from her eyes and stared at Pfeiffer. “You think Aunt Bea had something to do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” Pfeiffer said. “But I do know that Mom and Dad didn’t have anything to do with it, and I want to make sure the sheriff knows it.”

  “Somebody in our family has to have known about it,” Martha said.