The Sisters Hemingway Read online

  “No,” Hadley replied absently, still thinking about the stupid thumbs-up emoji she’d gotten from Mark. “You think the number’s still the same?”

  Martha shrugged. “Why do you think Aunt Bea kept a phone that she never used?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Are you sure everything is okay?” Martha asked. “You seem . . . preoccupied.”

  For a moment, Hadley considered telling her sister the truth. But even if she wanted to tell her, she didn’t know what she’d say. Instead, she said, “I’m fine. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that all of this is ours.”

  “What are we going to do with it?”

  “We could sell it. I figure that’s what we’ll have to do,” Hadley replied.

  Martha was quiet for a moment and then said, “Aunt Bea wouldn’t want us to do that, you know?”

  “I know,” Hadley said. “But Aunt Bea had to know that we wouldn’t want to live here. Hell, she didn’t even want us to come back for a visit.”

  “We could fix it up and rent it out,” Martha offered. “I know the place needs some work, but surely we could do enough to make it more livable. And we could ask Brody to help.”

  “No,” Hadley replied with more force than she intended.

  “No, what?” Pfeiffer asked, stepping out onto the porch with her sisters.

  Hadley shot Martha a look before she said, “We were just talking about what to do with the house.”

  “I guess we could sell it,” Pfeiffer replied, echoing Hadley.

  “It’s been in the family for more than a hundred years,” Martha said. “If Aunt Bea wanted us to sell it, she wouldn’t have left it to us.”

  “Let’s just wait until we meet with Mr. Gibson tomorrow,” Hadley replied. “We don’t even know what we’ve got yet.”

  “I’ve got heartburn,” Pfeiffer said.

  “Well, maybe you should stop being so salty,” Martha replied, a small grin appearing on her face.

  Pfeiffer burst out laughing, and for a moment, Hadley caught a glimpse of how it used to be, when they’d all lived together. When they were the Hemingway sisters with their names carved into a pair of old rocking chairs on the porch.

  “Do you two think the kitchen stove works?” Hadley asked, shoving her phone inside her pocket. “I thought maybe I’d cook us some dinner.”

  “With what food?” Martha wanted to know. “I don’t think anything in the pantry is edible.”

  “I could run in to the supermarket,” Hadley replied.

  “It takes nearly half an hour to get into town. You won’t be running anywhere,” Pfeiffer said. “But I won’t argue with you if you want to cook. I’m already hungry again.”

  “Of course you are,” Martha said. “You’re always hungry.”

  “So are you,” Pfeiffer replied, looking pointedly at Martha. “Don’t pretend like you’re not.”

  Martha rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree. “Will you see if they have any veggie burgers?” she asked.

  Hadley nodded. “Sure. Can I borrow your car?”

  “Let me grab the keys,” Martha replied.

  Hadley felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she pulled it out hopefully, frowning when she saw a text not from Mark, but from a friend she’d been planning a ladies’ luncheon with, letting her know they were going to have to change the venue. Before she placed the phone back in her pocket, she scrolled through the call list and saw a New York number she didn’t recognize. It must be Henry Brothers, she thought, but she made a mental note to call the number back later just to check.

  “What is it?” Pfeiffer asked. “Mark not thrilled about you staying here for a few days?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t care,” Hadley replied before she had time to think about her response.

  Pfeiffer raised an eyebrow.

  “I mean, he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself,” Hadley finished. “As you reminded me so tactfully earlier today.”

  Just then, Martha emerged from the house with the car keys. “Here you go,” she said, handing them to Hadley. “Will you check to see if they have sparkling water?”

  “At Joe’s Grocery and Go?” Hadley asked, raising her eyebrow.

  “You could go somewhere else,” Martha replied.

  “Joe’s is closest.”

  “The tap water is brown,” Martha said.

  “I’ll find you something, I promise,” Hadley said.

  “As long as it’s not brown, I’ll be happy,” Martha replied. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to drink whiskey.”

  “Whiskey is brown,” Hadley said.

  “But water shouldn’t be.”

  Hadley rolled her eyes and turned on her heel to make her way to Martha’s car. She had to admit that she was excited to drive the sleek, new Tesla. Her own car, despite the fact that she and Mark had no children, was a BMW station wagon. It was nice, but it was still a station wagon, and most of the time she had a hired driver. She’d wanted to drive herself to Cold River, but Mark insisted she take a plane, and he’d hire someone to pick her up at the airport. She wondered fleetingly if that was because he hadn’t wanted her to have the freedom of her own vehicle—to be able to drive anywhere she wanted, especially back to D.C., without notifying him first.

  Hadley climbed into the car and started it up, allowing the purr of the engine to drown out any more thoughts of Mark or his ulterior motives. For now, at least, she was in Cold River, she was home, and despite the grim circumstances for which she’d come, she was going to try to enjoy her freedom as long as it lasted.

  Chapter 11

  Hadley

  JOE’S GROCERY AND GO SAT RIGHT ON THE EDGE OF TOWN, just off the dirt road from the farm. It had been there ever since Hadley could remember. She didn’t even know who Joe was, but she figured he was a long-dead relative of the Beard family, who’d always owned the store, as there was a picture of a bespectacled man with a cigar hanging out of his mouth in the entryway, along with the first dollar the store ever earned.

  Hadley was glad that the store was still there. So much of Cold River hadn’t changed a lick since the last time she was there, and it was a comfort to her. She knew that Pfeiffer and Martha hated the slow pace when they were younger, but despite her life in D.C., the truth was that Hadley preferred the leisurely atmosphere.

  She smiled absently at the vaguely familiar faces she passed in the aisles, looking for hamburger buns, and sparkling water for Martha. She found the buns, but no sparkling water and settled instead for diet ginger ale. As she was trying to decide between Swiss and American cheese, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She turned around to see Brody standing there.

  “Hello, Hadley,” he said, a wide grin on his face.

  Too startled to think, she replied, “What are you doing here?”

  Brody laughed. “I live here.”

  “Oh,” Hadley replied. “I mean, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  Hadley stared at him. She couldn’t help it. It’d just been so long. There were little creases in the corners of his blue eyes, and his skin was tanner than she remembered, probably from working outside on his farm, but other than that, Martha was right, he did look good, and he looked exactly the same as he had nearly twenty years ago.

  “Looks like you’re gonna be in town for a few days,” Brody said, eyeing her cart and breaking the awkward silence that formed between them.

  “You were right about my aunt,” Hadley replied. “She left everything to us. My sisters and I will be here, at least until we can figure out what to do.”

  “What do you mean?” Brody asked.

  “Well, we could sell the property as is or pay someone to fix it up and sell it,” Hadley replied, rattling off the possibilities she’d already considered. “We could break up the land and sell it separate.”

  “You’re going to sell?”

  “We haven’t decided,” Hadley admitted. “But I don’t know what else we’d do w
ith the place.”

  “But it’s your house,” Brody said. “You grew up there.”

  “It hasn’t been my house since my mother died,” Hadley replied, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Hadley was about to respond that no, she didn’t know what he meant, when a skinny girl with glasses and freckles across the bridge of her nose appeared behind Brody.

  “Daaaad,” she said, her tone annoyed. “You were supposed to meet me over by the dog food.”

  Hadley glanced between Brody and the girl. “Dad?”

  “Hadley, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Lucy,” Brody said, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Lucy, this is Mrs. Hadley . . .” He stopped.

  “Lawrence,” Hadley replied, sticking out her hand to Lucy. “I’m Hadley Lawrence, but I used to be Hadley Hemingway.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lawrence,” Lucy said.

  Hadley smiled, impressed. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Lucy.”

  “So did you just move here or something?” Lucy asked.

  “No,” Hadley said, almost laughing. “I’m just here for a few days.”

  “Me too,” Lucy said.

  Hadley gave Brody a questioning look before she said, “Oh?”

  “Her mother and I divorced a few years ago,” Brody explained. “Melissa moved to Little Rock, and Lucy finds it much more appealing in the big city than she does down here.”

  “My stepdad has a pool,” Lucy whispered. “And my dad has . . . well, he has hay. And cows.”

  “You used to love the cows,” Brody replied.

  “That was years ago, Dad,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

  “So you keep reminding me.”

  Hadley saw the smile playing on Brody’s lips, but she also noticed his eyes darkening the way they always did when he was hurt. Without missing a beat, she said, “We have a pool in D.C., but we don’t use it much. I think it’s kind of a silly luxury.”

  “Your kids don’t like it?” Lucy asked, incredulous.

  “I don’t have any children,” Hadley replied. She could feel Brody’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet them. Having children had always been something she and Mark talked about—something Hadley always said she wanted.

  “I’m never having kids,” Lucy replied, breaking the silence, her arms planted firmly across her chest.

  “She has a lot of opinions, this one,” Brody drawled, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Gee, I wonder where she gets it?” Hadley looked pointedly at Brody.

  Lucy tilted her head up at Hadley and regarded her carefully. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hadley replied. “But my husband is a United States congressman. Maybe you’ve seen me on television or something standing next to him.”

  “No, that’s not it,” Lucy said. “But I know I’ve seen you before. I swear I have.”

  Hadley thought about it. “My sister is Martha Hemingway. Maybe you’re thinking of her.”

  “Your sister is Martha Hemingway?” Lucy squealed. “My friends and I all love her.” Then, turning to her father, she said, “Daaaad! You didn’t tell me you had famous friends!”

  Brody shrugged again. “You never asked.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes again, and Hadley began to wonder if she and her father had the eye-rolling and shoulder-shrugging routine down to an art. “Is she here, too?” Lucy asked hopefully.

  “She is,” Hadley replied. “I’m sure she’d love to meet you before you go back to Little Rock.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course,” Hadley replied.

  “See, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad these next couple of weeks,” Brody said to Lucy.

  “No thanks to you,” Lucy muttered, but she was smiling.

  “Go on and get Ollie some treats,” Brody said. “I’ll be right there in a sec.”

  Lucy sighed, but didn’t protest. “Will you really tell your sister about me?” she asked Hadley.

  “I’ll tell her as soon as I get home,” Hadley replied. “And I’ll get with your dad to work out the details before either one of you leaves.”

  “Thank you!” Lucy exclaimed, and for a moment, Hadley thought the girl might actually hug her.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Lucy turned to walk away and then stopped, whipping her head around so that she could face Hadley once again. “I know where I’ve seen you,” she said.

  “Oh, really?” Hadley asked. “Where?”

  “My dad’s hunting cabin,” Lucy replied. “Your picture is on his dresser. But you were a lot younger.”

  “Go on and get those treats,” Brody said. “Hurry up, now.”

  Hadley stared at Brody, wishing she could see her face in a mirror. She didn’t know if she looked horrified or pleased, but she figured it was probably something in between. “So you have a—”

  “Hunting cabin,” Brody finished. “Yep. In Missouri, over by Bakersfield.”

  Hadley nodded. “Why Missouri?”

  Brody shrugged. “Bought it cheap.”

  “That’s the only reason?” Hadley wasn’t sure if she was still talking about the cabin, but for whatever reason, she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Who knows why I do what I do,” Brody replied. “But thanks for telling Lucy you’d introduce her to Martha. You just made her entire year.”

  “Did you really never tell her you knew Martha Hemingway?” Hadley asked.

  “Why would I tell her?” Brody asked. “It’s not like I thought I’d ever see Martha again . . . or you,” he finished.

  Hadley slid her gaze back down to her cart, the handle of which she was gripping so tightly that it was beginning to hurt. “I always meant to call you,” she said.

  “But you never did.”

  “No,” Hadley replied. “I never did.”

  “You know I had to find out you were married on television?” he asked, his eyes darkening once again. “On television. Like I was some kind of stranger.”

  Hadley swallowed. Her throat felt thick. “I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

  “Did you think I’d storm in and stop your wedding?” he asked. “That I might pull a Garth Brooks and show up in boots and ruin your black-tie affair?”

  Hadley wanted to laugh at Brody’s use of “friends in low places” to describe himself, but she could tell he was serious. Besides, it wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. The way they’d left things, the two of them, hadn’t exactly been friendly. In fact, it had been downright ugly. “Well, what about you?” she said, finally. “You went off and married Melissa Mitchell, for God’s sake.”

  “How do you know I married Melissa Mitchell?” Brody wanted to know. “I could have married any Melissa.”

  “Lucy looks just like her,” Hadley shot back. “And besides, of course you married her. She always had a thing for you.”

  “Well, we aren’t married anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hadley replied. She tried to regain her composure. She’d always hated the way she just said whatever popped into her head when she was around Brody. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, you did,” Brody said. “I guess I better go help Lucy with the dog food. I’ll be in touch about bringing her out to see Martha, okay?”

  Hadley nodded. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll see you later.”

  Brody waved at her as he pushed his cart away. Hadley stared after him, unsure what to think. She should have known she couldn’t avoid him while she was here—Cold River was far too small for that. Of course, she never really thought she’d be in Cold River again. She felt like she was eighteen and watching him leave her at the airport, the fight they’d had all the way from Cold River to Springfield as fresh in her mind now as it was then. He’d wanted her to stay, and she’d told him she couldn’t. He’d wanted to marry her, and she’d told him no. She wondered if the r
ing he’d tried to give her was the same one he’d given to Melissa. She wondered why he still had her senior photo on his dresser in his hunting cabin.

  Hadley shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about any of it. She wanted to get the food she’d come for and go back to the farm. Twenty years was a long time, and she hoped that Brody had forgotten their awful fight and everything that led up to it—especially everything that led up to it.

  She pushed her cart forward and headed in the opposite direction from Brody, and, not for the first time, wished she, too, could just forget.

  Chapter 12

  Pfeiffer

  BY THE TIME MARTHA AND PFEIFFER WERE FINISHED cleaning the kitchen, they were both dirty and sweaty. Martha’s hair was covered in so much dirt it looked like she’d been dropped headfirst into a hole, and Pfeiffer had somehow managed to ruin a perfectly good pair of Kate Spade flats.

  “I don’t know that we’ve even made a dent,” Pfeiffer said, wiping a hand across her forehead. “But I guess now we can eat and cook in here without catching some sort of fatal disease.”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” Martha replied, pulling out her ponytail and shaking her head. “It’s dingy, but not dirty.”

  “Don’t you miss being in your five-thousand-square-foot mansion in Nashville?” Pfeiffer asked. “You know, where the oven wasn’t manufactured in 1974?”

  Martha laughed, but the amusement didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t live in a mansion,” she said. “And sure, I like the stainless steel and the marble countertops in my house, but it’s no fun being in my kitchen alone. I don’t even know where all of the pots and pans are. Travis used to do most of the cooking.”

  “I’ve always stored makeup in my stove,” Pfeiffer replied. “I don’t think I’ve eaten anything in the last decade that hasn’t come from a takeout box.”

  “No point in cooking for one person.”

  Pfeiffer shrugged. She’d never minded being alone. In fact, until recently, when she’d found herself out of her job, her apartment, and her friends, she’d actually preferred it. “I guess you’re right.”