The Sisters Hemingway

by Annie England Noblin

  “I don’t care about the voters,” Hadley said.

  Mark nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit coat. “I know. You never have. That was always part of our problem. Well, that and the fact that you’ve always been in love with someone else.”

  Hadley felt her face grow warm. “Don’t act like I didn’t try,” she said. “I tried. But you were too busy with your campaigns and your donors and other women to care about me.”

  “We had a deal,” Mark said to her, taking a step closer to where she was standing. “We had a contract.”

  “Marriage is a contract, you’re right about that,” Hadley said. “But I wasn’t a business deal. Marriage isn’t a business deal.”

  “Do you think I didn’t know that you didn’t love me?” Mark asked. “You never loved me any more than I loved you. But we had an understanding, didn’t we? I knew you would never do anything to make me look bad, and you knew I’d provide you with a life away from”—he took his hands out of his pockets and waved them around the room—“all of this.”

  “I don’t want that life anymore,” Hadley said, turning away from him. “Our deal was simple. Because I wanted simple fifteen years ago. I wanted, and you wanted, a simple arrangement. But nothing about my life right now is simple.”

  “You’d rather live in a falling-down farmhouse with someone who doesn’t even make enough money in a month to pay for those Gucci sandals on your feet?”

  “I don’t know,” Hadley replied, shrugging. “But I know I don’t want to live with you anymore. Not another second of another day.”

  “I don’t care what you do once I’m elected,” Mark said. “But you’ll live to regret anything you might do before then.”

  Hadley narrowed her eyes at him. “Go back to Washington, Mark.”

  “Not without you.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  Mark grabbed her arm, wrenching her closer to him. “Go get your suitcase. Go pack your clothes. Go get in the goddamn car.”

  Before Hadley had time to react, she heard a commotion from the kitchen, followed by a growl. Lafayette squared herself between Mark and Hadley, the low sound emanating from her throat causing Mark to let go of Hadley’s arm.

  “What the . . . ?” Mark jumped back, away from Hadley, kicking his feet at the dog.

  Lafayette backed her way toward the door, and Hadley, regaining her sense, followed suit. Together they scurried down the steps of the farmhouse and out into the yard just as the first fat raindrops began to fall.

  Chapter 28

  Pfeiffer

  BY THE TIME PFEIFFER AND MARTHA GOT TO MAMA’S, IT was raining. It amazed Pfeiffer that such a dump could attract so many people on a Friday night. She had a feeling it had to do with the fact that it was easy to hide at Mama’s. The parking lot was a general one, and nobody could really tell which cars were parked by patrons headed into the bar and which cars were parked by customers going inside the various other shops around the square. By the time it was late enough in the evening to leave the bar, anybody who might care was already at home, fast asleep with their Bible.

  Pfeiffer couldn’t help but grin to see that Mama was still behind the counter, just as surly as ever. Mama took one look at her and Martha across the room and nodded, setting two beers out onto the bar.

  Martha hoisted the guitar case up nervously. “I don’t think I want to do this,” she said.

  “You’ll be fine,” Pfeiffer replied. “Look, Mama put out beer for us, just like she used to.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Martha said. “How did she know we were here?”

  “I was wonderin’ when you two was gonna show up,” Mama said when the two women sat themselves down on the barstools.

  “It’s been a while,” Pfeiffer said.

  “Heard y’all been havin’ some trouble out at that farm,” Mama replied.

  “Where did you hear it?” Pfeiffer wanted to know.

  Mama shrugged her meaty shoulders. “Around.”

  Pfeiffer and Martha shared a look. If Mama knew, that meant everybody knew.

  “You gonna play tonight?” Mama asked Martha, motioning to the guitar. “Got a few slots left.”

  “I thought I might,” Martha said. “But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Honey, you’re the most famous person in here,” Mama said. “Hell, you’re the most famous person in the whole town. You got yer start here. Don’t tell me yer afraid of a few locals.”

  It was true; Martha had gotten her start at Mama’s bar. She’d been allowed to play even though she was technically too young to go inside, because she was just that good. She and Pfeiffer weren’t allowed to drink in the bar itself, but Mama always let the two girls have a beer before Martha got up to play. Had their mother still been alive, neither of the sisters would have dared to go near Mama’s, let alone inside. But the truth was that Mama herself kept them safe when it felt like nobody else could. Mama always made sure they got home, didn’t have too much to drink, and Pfeiffer once witnessed her break a man’s arm for grabbing Martha’s ass after she’d finished playing a set.

  Mama, and her bar, got a thank-you in every single one of Martha’s albums, and only Pfeiffer, Martha, and Mama knew why.

  “Thanks, Mama,” Martha said. She pushed her beer over to Pfeiffer. “Can I just get a Diet Coke?”

  Mama raised a bushy eyebrow but didn’t say anything as she turned around to fill a glass for Martha. “Been a lot goin’ on at that farm a yours,” she said. “Been hearin’ about it all night.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Martha replied, feeling every eye in the place on her back.

  “Don’t you worry none,” Mama continued. “Ain’t nobody gonna mention that to ya. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Martha shot Mama the most grateful smile she could muster. “You’re the best, Mama,” she said.

  “Do you see anybody you know?” Pfeiffer asked her sister. “It’s so dark in here I can hardly see anything.”

  “Not yet,” Martha said, scanning the room. After a moment, she waved at someone. “I think that’s Ava Dawn over there.”

  Sure enough, Ava Dawn came bounding over to them, her curls bouncing through the smoky air. “Hey, y’all!” she called. “Oh my God, Martha, are you gonna play?”

  Martha tried to smile, but found it came out as more of a grimace. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Come sit with us!” Ava Dawn squealed. “Please! It would be such an honor.”

  Martha looked to Pfeiffer, who only shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll be right over.”

  Pfeiffer waved at Mama, who nodded and grunted, “I’ll put you on the list, Martha.”

  The two women followed Ava Dawn over to a table near the front of the makeshift stage, where a man with dark eyes and a slick, black beard was sitting. He looked rather uncomfortable, and merely nodded at them as they sat down.

  “Martha, Pfeiffer, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Haiden,” Ava Dawn said. “Haiden, this is Martha Hemingway . . . you know, the country singer!”

  Haiden smiled at both of the sisters. “It’s nice to meet you both,” he said. “I apologize if I seem a bit stiff—it’s my first time in a bar.”

  “In this bar?” Martha asked. “Yeah, I can see how that might be a shock to the system.”

  “No,” Ava Dawn said. And then leaning closer to them, she continued, “In any bar.”

  “What?” Pfeiffer asked. “You’ve never been to a bar before?”

  Haiden shook his head. “I used to be . . . a man of the lord.”

  Ava Dawn slapped his chest and said, “You’re still a man of the lord. Don’t say things like that.”

  “I know plenty of men of the lord who can be seen inside Mama’s bar on the weekends,” Pfeiffer said. “You don’t have to worry that you’ve lost your God credentials over this.”

  “He used to be the pastor down at Second Coming,” Ava Dawn said. “But he met me last year while he was still married, and . . . well,
the Baptists don’t take too kindly to that.”

  “No,” Pfeiffer said after a long pause, “I don’t imagine they do.”

  “But now he works over at the tractor dealership, and he’s such a good salesman that they’re thinkin’ about promotin’ him to assistant manager!” Ava Dawn beamed. “The town has mostly forgiven him, but that don’t mean I didn’t have to threaten a couple of old biddies in the Walmart checkout before it was all said and done.”

  Pfeiffer and Martha exchanged a look, and Pfeiffer had to close her eyes briefly so that she wouldn’t laugh. “Well, I’m glad it seems to be working out for you,” she said.

  The music onstage stopped, and a man wearing a faded Cardinals baseball cap stepped up to the stage. He wasn’t tall, but his chest was broad, his white T-shirt stretching across his chest in a way that made Pfeiffer’s blood flow just a degree or so warmer beneath her skin. “Listen up,” he said. “We’ve got a few more musicians for you tonight, but this one about to get up here is a regular. Please put your hands together for Mandy Wilbanks!”

  A woman with a guitar stepped up to the stage and sat down on the chair in front of the microphone. “Thank you,” she said. “Y’all know I appreciate it.”

  At the sound of her voice, Martha jerked her attention away from Ava Dawn and Haiden. “Oh my God,” she said, elbowing Pfeiffer. “That’s Amanda!”

  “I know,” Pfeiffer said. “I didn’t recognize her at first. That’s her married name, isn’t it? Wilbanks?”

  Martha nodded. “I didn’t know she was still singing.”

  “Me either,” Pfeiffer said.

  “She doesn’t write her own stuff much anymore,” Ava Dawn whispered. “But the covers she does are lovely.”

  Onstage, Amanda dove into a melancholy rendition of “Stay” by Sugarland, and the audience was quiet for the first time since Pfeiffer and Martha arrived. Her voice was powerful but soft, and the crowd stayed quiet until the song was over and she started up with a more lively tune, allowing a few people to push the tables in the middle aside to dance.

  “She has great presence,” Martha said. “I’m really impressed. I haven’t seen her sing since we were kids.”

  Pfeiffer agreed. “I just assumed she didn’t play anymore.”

  “Lucy said she didn’t,” Martha replied. “And Brody agreed. They must not know she does this.”

  “I wonder why she hasn’t told them,” Pfeiffer said. “She’s really good.”

  “I bet it’s because she thinks it would get back to her parents,” Martha said. “I doubt she wants them to know.”

  “Why would they care?” Pfeiffer wanted to know. “She’s running the practice. Isn’t that enough for them?”

  “Oh, her mom wouldn’t care,” Martha replied, “but her dad thinks this kind of thing is frivolous.”

  “She’s a grown woman,” Pfeiffer said. “More than a grown woman! She’s in her thirties.”

  “You don’t know her dad,” Martha replied, her mouth tight. “He’s very demanding. And he never liked Hadley or me very much. He always thought we were wild.”

  “I guess you kind of were,” Pfeiffer agreed. “We all were.”

  “You know Brody and Hadley were going to run off after graduation, right?” Martha asked.

  “What?” Pfeiffer tore her eyes from the stage to look at her sister. “How did you know that?”

  “Amanda told me. She overheard them talking about it, and then so did I, once. If we found out about it, I’m willing to bet that Brody and Amanda’s dad did, too,” Martha said. “I’ve always wondered if that’s the reason they broke up.”

  “She wouldn’t tell us even if we asked,” Pfeiffer mumbled. “She won’t ever talk about it.”

  “Talk about what?”

  Pfeiffer looked up to see the man in the Cardinals baseball cap staring down at her. He was smiling at her as if he knew her, his blue eyes dancing all around her face. “Uh, do I know you?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me without the dress shirt,” he said. He sat down and took off his cap. “It’s Luke. Luke Gibson.”

  Pfeiffer’s eyes widened. “Oh, hi!” she said. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t . . . well, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Most of my clients think I live in my office,” he replied. “So I try not to take it personally when they don’t recognize me out in public.”

  “Hi,” Martha said, giving Luke a smile. “I think what Pfeiffer means is that she didn’t expect to see a fancy Cold River lawyer at Mama’s bar.”

  “Oh, and she fits in so well?” Luke asked.

  “Hey!” Pfeiffer said. “I practically grew up here.”

  “Well, Cold River looks good on you,” he replied. “I’m glad you decided to trade Kate Spade for some denim.”

  Pfeiffer raised her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I know Kate Spade when I see it,” Luke replied. “I have two sisters in St. Louis who live for her stuff.”

  “Impressive,” Pfeiffer replied.

  “What are you drinking?” Luke asked, turning her beer around so he could see the label. “Let me get you another.”

  “Oh,” Pfeiffer said, “that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

  “She means she’d love another drink,” Martha interrupted. “And I’ll take another Diet Coke.”

  Luke nodded and stood up, reaching across the table to acknowledge Ava Dawn and shake Haiden’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Martha asked once he was gone. “He clearly likes you.”

  “He was just being nice.”

  “Are you really that stupid?” Martha replied. “Or has it just been that long since someone flirted with you?”

  Truthfully, Pfeiffer couldn’t remember the last time anyone flirted with her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out on a date. It wasn’t that she was uninterested, but her work kept her so busy that she didn’t have time for that kind of thing. At least, that’s what she told herself. Now she really had no excuse, and she knew it.

  “Cute, ain’t he?” Ava Dawn whispered. “I swear women in town make up reasons to sue their relatives just so they can hire him.”

  “Seems like an expensive way to meet someone,” Pfeiffer replied, but she couldn’t help but smile. Luke Gibson was cute. There was no getting around that.

  “Mama says to get ready,” Luke said to Martha when he returned a few minutes later with the beer and Diet Coke. Mandy’s on her last song.”

  Martha gave Pfeiffer a nervous glance. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  “What do you mean you’re not ready?” Pfeiffer asked. “You’re a pro.”

  “I haven’t played a song live in over a year,” Martha said. “And it’s been longer than that since I’ve played a new song. This was a mistake. Let’s just go home.”

  “No way,” Pfeiffer replied. “Get up, take your guitar, and go get ready. You’re doing this.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Pfeiffer stood up and pulled her sister along with her. “Besides, if you make me go home now, I guess I’ll never know if the cute lawyer is flirting with me.”

  Martha sighed. “Fine, but if you don’t get a date out of this, I’m going to tell him you think he’s the sexiest man alive while you’re standing right there.”

  “Just go.”

  Martha nodded and turned to walk over to the stage. Pfeiffer sat back down and took a swig of her beer, relieved. She’d heard Martha working on her new song for the last couple of days, and it was good. She’d meant to tell her, but she’d never done well with compliments, not even with her own sisters. She made a mental note to work on that. If she’d said something before now, maybe Martha wouldn’t be so nervous.

  “Your sister is afraid of the stage?” Luke asked. “Seems odd seeing as how she’s sold millions of records.”

  “She’s been going through a tough time,” Pfeiffer replied. “I’m sure you and everybody else on God’s gree
n earth have read about it, which only makes it worse.”

  “Divorce is a messy business,” Luke said.

  “Isn’t it your business?” Pfeiffer asked.

  Luke nodded. “It is, but when it’s your own divorce, it’s not quite as easy to stay neutral.”

  “So you’ve been divorced?” Pfeiffer asked, and then immediately kicked herself. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay,” Luke replied. “It was a while ago—just before I moved here. She didn’t want to move to Cold River, and I didn’t really want her to want to move to Cold River.”

  “Sounds like it worked out all right, then,” Pfeiffer observed.

  “In the end.”

  “I’ve never been married,” Pfeiffer said, wondering why she couldn’t seem to shut up.

  “Never even been close?”

  Pfeiffer shook her head. “Nope.”

  “And you’re not seeing anyone in . . . where is it that you live?”

  “New York City,” Pfeiffer replied. “And no.”

  “Good to know.”

  Before Pfeiffer could ask him what he meant, Amanda’s set ended and the crowd erupted in applause. Luke stood up and said, “I’ll be back. I’ve got to go introduce the town superstar.”

  Everyone turned their attention to the stage when they saw Martha step up. The room hushed, with the exception of a few whistles and shouts of her name. She gave the crowd a shy smile. “Thanks for letting me jump in last minute,” she said. “I have to admit I’m kind of nervous to be up here tonight. It’s been a while since I was in front of a crowd.”

  There were more shouts and whoops and a few people moved even more tables so they could stand in front of the stage.

  “Most of you know that the last year of my life has been a little turbulent,” Martha continued. “I got divorced and lost my record label, and it’s been nearly six months since I’ve had a drink.” She held up her glass of Diet Coke. “Lord knows I’d love to have a little whiskey to add to this right now.”

  Martha strummed on her guitar for a moment before she said, “But I don’t want to sing about any of that right now. Maybe I’ll be ready to do it soon, but for now, I want to sing a song about my mama. It’s new, and I’ve never played it for anybody before. Would y’all mind to give it a listen?”