The Sisters Hemingway

by Annie England Noblin

  Martha knew that her aunt had left home at around the same age, and she always wondered if Bea saw in her that day the same desperation she’d felt when she herself left home, the very same home, as a teenager. And now, like her aunt, here she was back in Cold River, the one place she’d always said she’d never revisit.

  “I bet she was pissed about that open casket last night,” Pfeiffer said, finally breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen over them. “Can you imagine what she would have said?”

  “She wouldn’t have said anything,” Hadley replied.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Now I bet if she haunts anybody, it’ll be Anna and the rest of her friends,” Martha said, a small smile ticking up her face.

  “She can haunt me,” Pfeiffer said quietly, her hand outstretched to touch the smooth surface of the casket.

  Martha wanted to reach out and hug her sister. She remembered the way Pfeiffer hung back from the crowd, away from other people, even as a child. “Let’s go,” she said, taking her sister’s hand. “It’s time.”

  Pfeiffer nodded, stepping in front of her sisters to hurry out ahead of them.

  Martha glanced over at Hadley, who looked like she might start crying. Martha didn’t think she could stand it, so she said, “Brody looked good, huh?”

  Hadley turned away from her. “He did.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  Hadley shrugged. “I guess before I left.”

  “You didn’t keep in touch at all?”

  “I didn’t see a reason to,” Hadley replied. “I met Mark my first semester at Missouri State. He wouldn’t have liked me to keep in touch with an old boyfriend.”

  Martha wrinkled her nose. She’d never liked Mark. He was such a politician. In the entertainment industry, she’d met more than her fair share of fake people, but Mark just about took the cake. Nothing about him was genuine, most especially, Martha suspected, his affection for Hadley. “Is there anything Mark likes?” she asked.

  Hadley didn’t answer, and Martha wondered if Mark and Hadley even liked each other. Martha thought back to the day the two were married. Although the memory was fuzzy thanks to the free-flowing tequila fountain, she remembered her sister hadn’t looked very happy as Martha watched her walk down the aisle. It could have been because Pfeiffer refused to come, pretending that her new job as an editor’s assistant kept her busy, but both Martha and Hadley knew that probably wasn’t true. Martha and Pfeiffer always expected that Hadley and Brody would get married. Hadley probably expected it, too. But like so many things, the death of their mother and sister changed all that.

  “Let’s go,” Hadley said finally. “We’re going to be late.”

  THE SMELL OF food permeated the fellowship hall and wafted down the corridor. Martha could feel her stomach grumbling. She hadn’t eaten any breakfast, and the two cups of coffee she’d poured down her throat that morning were no longer doing the trick.

  “I’m starving,” she whispered to her sisters.

  “Me too,” Pfeiffer replied.

  “You should have eaten breakfast,” Hadley said. “Honestly, you two are old enough to know better.”

  “You should have let us stop at McDonald’s after the graveside,” Pfeiffer shot back.

  “Then you’d ruin your appetite for the potluck,” Hadley replied. “Now be quiet; it’s time to pray.”

  Martha bowed her head and nudged Pfeiffer to do the same. Pfeiffer sighed, but complied, and Martha couldn’t help but smile that Pfeiffer still resisted Hadley’s mothering after all these years. She supposed it was because the two were so close in age that Pfeiffer was so defiant, but that was only partly true. Pfeiffer hadn’t liked being told what to do by anyone, ever. She disliked being scolded by her older sister even more.

  From the corner of her eye, Martha could see Hadley glancing around the room.

  Brody wasn’t there, and Martha couldn’t tell if her sister looked relieved or disappointed. She’d always wondered what happened between the two of them, but Hadley stayed tight-lipped about the entire thing. Even after all these years, Martha knew if she asked what happened, she’d get the same answer, or nonanswer, that she always got.

  The prayer ended, and Martha moved hungrily to the spread in front of them, foods glossy with steam. She remembered these potlucks as a child, and she remembered how she would greedily hedge her way to the front of the line so she could load her plate before anyone else got the chance to take what she herself wanted.

  Now, however, her hunger was different. She couldn’t remember the last time her stomach felt full. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t had to worry about gaining an extra five pounds and some ridiculous Internet troll making fun of her supposed weight gain while she ran around sweating her ass off onstage. What she looked like was important.

  At the funeral, she’d glanced around and noticed all the older women sitting in the pews. Most of them were visions of southern elegance—smartly dressed in appropriate funeral attire, their lipstick subdued to a nude or pink color for the occasion, instead of the signature Mary Kay red that women of a certain age were wont to wear. She wondered, fleetingly, if any of them ever looked in the mirror and mourned their youth. If they remembered the day that their hair became too gray to cover or if they noticed each new line forming on their faces. Martha herself had started getting Botox treatments when she was twenty-five, the night after an interviewer on the red carpet of an awards show had described her as a “country-music veteran” and an “inspiration to younger, aspiring artists.”

  “Hurry up,” Pfeiffer said behind her. “I’m starving, and you’re holding up the line.”

  “Sorry,” Martha mumbled, taking one of the paper plates offered to her by an older lady she sort of recognized. She hurried past the fried chicken and corn casserole and opted for a wilting salad while jealously watching Pfeiffer load up on carbs and help herself to a huge glass of sweet tea.

  “Is that all you’re going to eat?” Pfeiffer asked, following her to a table toward the back of the fellowship hall. “All this great food, and you’re going to eat a salad?”

  “It’s all I want,” Martha replied, trying not to salivate at the delicious smell that wafted toward her from Pfeiffer’s plate.

  “A chicken leg isn’t gonna hurt.”

  “I don’t eat meat,” Martha said. “I haven’t eaten meat for nearly ten years.”

  Hadley’s lunch looked similar to Martha’s, except that she had a small portion of meat on her plate. Martha knew that Hadley’s choices weren’t due to metabolism, but because she believed that ladies didn’t like to appear hungry in public. The thought made Martha want to grab an entire chicken with her teeth.

  As she sat there, envisioning chewing something other than lettuce, a man in a suit approached them. Martha looked up at him, her fork poised at her mouth.

  “Excuse me, ladies?”

  Hadley swallowed her iced tea and said, “Yes?”

  “My name is Luke Gibson. I’m the attorney for Ms. Beatrice James’s estate,” the man said. He gave them a broad smile, showing off a brilliant set of white teeth. “May I sit down?”

  Hadley motioned for him to sit next to her. “By all means.”

  “You don’t look like the Luke Gibson I remember,” Pfeiffer said, her mouth full of baked beans. “You should be like ninety years old by now.”

  Luke cleared his throat. “You’re thinking of my grandfather. I’ve taken over his practice,” he said.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Gibson,” Hadley said, shooting a sidelong look at Pfeiffer. “How is your grandfather?”

  “Dead, actually.”

  Hadley’s mouth formed a silent O at the same time Pfeiffer snorted beans through her nose. Ignoring Pfeiffer, Hadley said, “Oh, Mr. Gibson. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  Luke’s mouth turned up in a small smile, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I’m not. The old man was a bastard. He never said mu
ch, but what he did say wasn’t very nice.”

  “Our aunt didn’t speak . . . ever,” Pfeiffer managed to say in between wiping her mouth. “That’s probably why the two of them got along.”

  A smile twitched on Luke’s face before he said, “I know now isn’t the appropriate time, but I need to meet with you three to discuss your aunt’s estate.”

  “Why?” Pfeiffer wanted to know. “Surely she didn’t leave anything to us.”

  “She left it all to you.”

  The sisters shared a glance, and Martha caught Hadley’s polite smile faltering.

  “What do you mean, she left it all?” Martha asked. “All of what?”

  “Everything,” Luke said. “The house, the land, and all of her worldly possessions. I can’t say there’s much money to be had, not anymore, but whatever she died with is yours now.”

  “She really thought we’d want it?” Hadley asked, more to herself than anyone else.

  Luke shrugged. “You are her only family left on this earth. It makes sense.”

  “We haven’t been back in years,” Hadley replied, and then, her face full of guilt, she said, “Not even to see her.”

  “She didn’t want us back,” Pfeiffer replied quickly. “It wasn’t like we didn’t try.”

  Martha bowed her head in an attempt to keep from looking at the faces around the table. She knew that both of her sisters had tried to come home and visit their aunt, but she, for her part, hadn’t.

  “Well, we can discuss everything later this week. What day would be suitable for you all?” Luke stood, smoothing out an imaginary crease in his suit. “I’m in the office nine to five every day of the week.”

  “We’re leaving this afternoon,” Martha said.

  “It’ll be easier if we can work this out in person,” Luke replied. “Discuss it among yourselves, and let me know. Here’s my card.” He placed a rectangular card on the table in front of them and moved off.

  Hadley, Pfeiffer, and Martha stared after him.

  “What do we do now?” Martha wanted to know. “We’re all supposed to leave this afternoon.”

  “We could still leave,” Hadley replied. “He said it would be tough to sort it out electronically, but not impossible.”

  “I’m staying,” Pfeiffer said, putting down her fork. “What’s so urgent that we can’t stay an extra day?”

  “Uh, because we all have jobs and lives?” Hadley retorted.

  “You have a job?” Pfeiffer replied. “Where?”

  Hadley’s face reddened. “I have responsibilities in D.C.”

  “That’s not the same thing as a job.”

  “It’s close enough.”

  “No,” Pfeiffer said, “it’s not. And I’m sure that your husband, the illustrious congressman, can handle things by himself for a week or two while we get this all sorted out.”

  This time, Hadley didn’t even attempt to hide her annoyance. She glowered over at Pfeiffer. “I’m sure he can.”

  “What about you, Martha?”

  Martha glanced at her two sisters. The last thing she wanted to do was run interference between the two of them for any amount of the foreseeable future. But when she thought about returning home to her empty house, when she thought about trying to write alone, she felt tears pricking at her eyes and had to swallow to make them go away. “Fine,” she said. “I guess I can stay for a couple of extra days.”

  “Pfeiffer,” Hadley said, setting her gaze squarely on her sister. “Are you sure Henry Brothers won’t mind if you take more time off?”

  “Of course they won’t mind.”

  “Don’t you need to call them and ask?”

  Now it was Pfeiffer’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I’ll call them later,” she said.

  Hadley fished her phone from her purse and handed it to Pfeiffer. “Why don’t you call now?”

  Pfeiffer took the phone and shoved her chair away from the table. Everyone turned around to stare at her as the force of her movement knocked the chair onto the concrete floor of the fellowship hall. Ignoring them, she stalked outside with Hadley’s phone.

  “Why did you do that?” Martha asked.

  Hadley shrugged. “I wanted to see what she’d do.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever known Pfeiffer to go more than five minutes without checking into the office?” Hadley asked. “She hasn’t mentioned it once since she got here. She doesn’t have her laptop. She doesn’t have her briefcase full of paperwork. She doesn’t even have a phone with her.”

  “You’re right,” Martha said. She sat back in her chair and eyed what was left of the food on Pfeiffer’s plate. “What do you think is going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Hadley replied, pushing the plate closer to Martha so that her sister could discreetly grab a piece of corn bread. “But I can guarantee you that whatever it is, she doesn’t want us to know about it.”

  “Then maybe we should leave it alone,” Martha replied, tearing off a piece of a roll and popping it into her mouth. It tasted so good; she fought the urge to moan with pleasure.

  “Not a chance,” Hadley replied, crossing her arms across her chest. “Not a chance.”

  Chapter 10

  Hadley

  BACK AT THE HOUSE, HADLEY SAT ON THE FRONT PORCH IN one of the ancient rocking chairs. She’d been afraid it might collapse as she sat down on it, but aside from the groan the chair let out when she began to rock back and forth, it was surprisingly sturdy.

  The chairs had been sitting on that front porch for as long as Hadley could remember. In fact, they’d been there for longer than Hadley or any of her sisters had been alive. Their mother told them they’d been a wedding present from Mr. Crowley when she got married to their father, Matthew. Each chair had their parents’ names and wedding date carved into the wood. She remembered when she’d been about four or five, she’d taken one of her father’s pocketknives out of her parents’ bedroom and carved her own name next to theirs. Afterward, fearing she’d be in trouble, she’d hidden in the woods behind the house for two hours until her mother, who was frantic and terrified, found her.

  “What on earth are you doing out here?” her mother asked, panic written all over her face. “You know you’re not supposed to be out here alone, and it’s starting to get dark.”

  Hadley burst into tears and told her the whole story, pleading with her not to call the police and have her arrested for vandalism.

  Her mother, trying not to laugh, asked her where she’d even learned that word, and Hadley told her that a television detective used it when he arrested a teenage boy for spray-painting the side of a building.

  “Honey,” her mother said, stroking Hadley’s hair, “nobody is going to have you arrested. But why did you do it?”

  “I wanted my name next to yours and Daddy’s,” Hadley said, wiping her runny nose on her sleeve.

  After that, each of the Hemingway sisters carved her own name into the rocking chairs, just as soon as she was old enough to wield a pocketknife. Hadley stood up and crouched down beside the chair, running her fingers over the wood to find the names. They were all there—Rachael and Matthew Hemingway first, and then Hadley, Pfeiffer, Martha, and Mary. She stopped when she got to Mary’s name, pressing her fingertips over it and closing her eyes, trying to remember her sister’s face.

  “Hadley?”

  Hadley jerked her head up, falling over onto her backside. Pfeiffer was standing over her with her hands on her hips. “You scared the life out of me,” Hadley said, struggling to stand up.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  “Nothing,” Hadley said. “I was just getting ready to call Mark.”

  “Has he called at all since you got here yesterday?” Pfeiffer asked.

  Hadley narrowed her eyes at Pfeiffer. “He doesn’t need to call,” she replied. “He knows where I am.”

  “I figured he would at least call to make sure you were safe,” Pfeiffer continued.

  Hadley pulled her
phone out of her pocket, somewhat disappointed to see that she actually had service. “So,” she said, “what did your boss at the publisher say when you told her you’d need another few days?”

  “She said it was fine,” Pfeiffer replied, her tone breezy.

  “Really?” Hadley asked. “Because the last time I asked you to take a few days off for a vacation in Vermont last year, you told me that you simply couldn’t.”

  “If you’d been dead,” Pfeiffer replied, “I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded.”

  Hadley opened her mouth to reply, but Martha’s voice wafted out from the kitchen. “Pfeiffer,” she called. “Come here!”

  Hadley watched her sister go back inside, and then she walked toward the end of the porch and dialed Mark. The call went to voice mail, and she tried again, and then again. Finally, she pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Frustrated, she typed in a text message.

  Need to stay in CR for a few days.

  Almost immediately Mark responded with a thumbs-up emoji, and Hadley had to resist the urge to throw her phone across the porch. He’d obviously seen her missed calls and chosen not to answer. He couldn’t even muster the energy to text her back a single word. She wondered where he was and whom he was with, but she didn’t want to think too hard about it. The years of her marriage to Mark had taught her that much, at least. Their marriage was always more of a business contract than a holy union, and that meant that Hadley was on a need-to-know basis. And most of the time Mark thought she didn’t need to know.

  “Hadley?” Martha appeared on the porch, her brow furrowed.

  Hadley shoved her phone into her pocket and forced a smile. “Hey,” she said.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “Still no word from Mark?”

  “I just got a text,” Hadley replied. She felt her smile falter. “He’s okay with me staying a few extra days.”

  “Pfeiffer just got off the phone with that lawyer. We’ll go in tomorrow morning to discuss the estate,” Martha said. “Did you know the landline still works?”