By Sunday morning, Arthur Caldwell had learned three things about the Bellamy sisters. First, they believed food could solve almost anything. Second, they had absolutely no understanding of the concept of personal space. And third, if they ever said, “We were just wondering,” he should immediately become suspicious. Unfortunately, Arthur was about to learn a fourth thing. They were terrible at fishing. He just didn't know it yet.
The trouble started with a pie. Not just any pie. A lemon icebox pie. Martie Bellamy's lemon icebox pie was the sort of dessert that had caused family feuds, broken diets, and at least one regrettable marriage proposal.
She made it Sunday morning because she had lemons. At least, that was what she told her sisters. "You don't make a lemon icebox pie because you have lemons," Vivian said, sitting at the kitchen table with her coffee. "You make one because you want somebody to eat it."
Martie continued stirring. "I don't know what you're talking about." Lou, who was sitting on the counter despite being sixty-eight years old, looked over. "You're making it for Art."
"I'm making it because we have lemons."
"We had lemons last Tuesday," Lou said.
"Well, I didn't feel like making a pie Tuesday."
"You didn't feel like making a pie until Art moved across the street."
Martie stopped stirring. Vivian smiled. Lou smiled. Martie pointed the wooden spoon at both of them. "Don't start."
Vivian took a slow sip of coffee. "I think it's sweet."
"I'm not doing anything."
"Nobody said you were."
"You implied it."
"I implied nothing."
"You implied everything."
Lou raised one finger. "I think you're all being very defensive for people who aren't doing anything." Martie sighed. "Fine. Maybe I am making the pie for Art." Vivian's eyes lit up. "I knew it."
"But I'm not trying to get him to like me."
"Of course not," Vivian said.
"I'm just being neighborly."
"Naturally."
"And I certainly am not trying to lure him over here."
Lou nodded solemnly. "That's good, because luring sounds illegal."
Martie gave her a look.
Lou shrugged. "I've watched enough television."
The pie went into the refrigerator. And for the next forty-five minutes, nobody mentioned Arthur Caldwell. Which, in Bellamy terms, meant they were thinking about nothing else.
At ten fifteen, Vivian walked into the kitchen wearing white capri pants, a pink blouse, pearl earrings, and enough perfume to announce her arrival three houses before she got there. Martie looked up. "No."
Vivian stopped. "No what?"
"You are not going over there dressed like that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's Sunday morning."
"So?"
"So you're dressed like you're going to a garden party."
Vivian looked down at herself. "I look nice."
"You look like you're auditioning to be somebody's second wife."
Lou leaned around the refrigerator door. "I think you look lovely."
"Thank you, Lou."
"But maybe take off the pearls."
"Why?"
"They make you look expensive."
Vivian smiled. "I am expensive."
Martie groaned. "Nobody is going anywhere until I say so." Vivian folded her arms. "Martie, honey, we're taking a pie across the street. We're not invading Poland." Lou quietly said, "That sounds like something people say right before invading Poland."
Martie ignored her. She carefully removed the pie from the refrigerator. It was beautiful. The crust was golden. The filling was pale yellow and perfectly smooth. A little whipped cream sat on top like snow.
Vivian stared at it. "That is a work of art."
"I know."
"You sure you want to give that away?"
Martie looked offended. "Of course." Lou hopped off the counter. "I'll carry it."
"No."
"I have steady hands."
"You dropped the Thanksgiving dressing."
"It slipped."
"You dropped the birthday cake."
"The table moved."
"The table did not move."
Lou considered this. "Well, something moved."
Martie took the pie herself. "Nobody is touching this."
The three sisters stepped onto the porch.
Across the street, Arthur was sitting in a lawn chair beside his garage, reading a newspaper. He looked peaceful. Undisturbed. Alone.
Vivian sighed. "Poor thing."
Martie looked at her. "He's reading."
"I know."
"He doesn't look sad."
"He's alone."
"So?"
Vivian lowered her voice. "Martie, honey, you don't understand men."
"I understand enough."
"I know men."
Lou whispered, "You've been saying that since 1962."
Vivian ignored her. "That man needs company."
Martie glanced across the street. Arthur turned a page. "He may prefer being alone."
"Nobody prefers being alone all the time."
Lou raised her hand. "I sometimes do." "You don't count," Martie said.
"Why?"
"Because you talk to birds."
"Birds are excellent listeners."
Vivian adjusted her blouse. "Come on."
They crossed the street. Arthur heard them before he saw them. Three sets of footsteps. One set brisk. One set purposeful. One set slightly irregular because Lou was walking with one shoe untied. Arthur lowered his newspaper. There they were. Coming straight toward him. He looked at the sky. "Lord help me."
Vivian smiled. "Good morning, Arthur."
"Morning."
Martie held up the pie. "I made this."
Arthur stared at it. Then at Martie. Then at the pie again. "What is it?"
"Lemon icebox pie."
"I can see that."
Martie frowned. "You asked."
"I was making conversation."
"Well, there you are."
Arthur stood. "I can't eat an entire pie."
"It's not for you to eat all at once."
"I figured that."
"You can have some today and some tomorrow."
"And some the day after that," Vivian added.
Arthur looked at her. "How long does this pie last?"
Lou answered. "Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether Martie finds out you gave any away."
Martie glared at her. Arthur laughed. Actually laughed. The sisters exchanged quick glances. Vivian's eyebrows rose. Martie's mouth twitched. Lou grinned.
Arthur noticed. "What?"
"Nothing," all three said.
Arthur looked suspicious. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Vivian smiled innocently. "We're just happy you're enjoying the pie."
"I haven't eaten it."
"You laughed."
"I can laugh."
"Of course you can."
Arthur looked from one sister to the other. Then to Lou. Lou was staring at him with an expression of complete sincerity. "You have a nice laugh." Arthur blinked. Nobody had told him that in a very long time. He looked down at the pie. "Thank you." The moment grew quiet. Just for a second.
Then Lou ruined it. "Do you own a fishing pole?"
Arthur looked up. "What?"
"A fishing pole."
"Yes."
"How many?"
Arthur hesitated. "Three."
Lou nodded. "Good."
Martie closed her eyes. Vivian sighed.
Arthur looked at Lou. "Why is that good?"
"Because if we go fishing, you won't have to share."
"We?"
Lou nodded. "You said maybe."
"I said maybe sometime."
"This is sometime."
Arthur stared at her.
It was difficult to argue with that logic. "I've got things to do."
"What things?"
"Things."
"What kind?"
"Private things."
Lou nodded thoughtfully. "Like what?"
Arthur took a breath. "Why do you need to know?"
"I like knowing things."
"I've noticed."
Vivian stepped in. "Lou."
"What?"
"Let the man enjoy his Sunday."
Lou looked genuinely confused. "I am."
Arthur shook his head. "You three are something else."
Martie smiled. "We've been told that."
Arthur took the pie. "Thank you."
"You don't have to bring the plate back."
"I wasn't planning to."
Martie stopped. "You weren't?"
Arthur's mouth curled into the faintest smile. "Thought I'd keep it."
Martie stared. Vivian burst out laughing. Lou slapped a hand over her mouth.
Arthur turned and walked toward his house. Behind him, the sisters stood in stunned silence. Lou whispered, "He made a joke." Martie nodded. "He did." Vivian smiled. "He's getting better."
Then Arthur stopped at his front door and turned around. "Oh."
All three looked at him. "Yes?"
He held up the pie. "This is really good." Martie's entire face softened. "Thank you." Arthur nodded. Then he went inside.
The sisters remained standing in the street. For several seconds nobody spoke. Finally Lou said, "I think he likes us." Martie shook her head. "He likes pie." Vivian smiled. "Same thing."
That afternoon, Arthur ate a slice. Then another. By six o'clock, half the pie was gone. He sat in his kitchen with his coffee and looked at the remaining half. He hadn't realized how long it had been since anyone had brought him something simply because they thought he might enjoy it.
His wife used to make lemon pie. Not icebox pie. Lemon meringue. She'd put too much meringue on it because she knew he liked the filling better than the topping. He could almost hear her telling him he was eating too much. Arthur smiled. Then the smile faded. He hadn't thought about that in a while.
He opened the drawer beside him and found an old photograph. His wife was standing beside him at a lake. They were younger. Much younger. She had her arm around his waist. He remembered the day. He remembered the argument they'd had that morning about whether they needed a bigger cooler. He remembered her laughing when he fell off the dock. He remembered everything. Arthur stared at the photograph for a long time. Then he heard something outside.
A bird. He looked toward the window. Across the street, Lou Bellamy was standing in her yard talking to a blue jay. Arthur watched her for several seconds. Then he shook his head. "Crazy woman." But he was smiling.
Monday morning, Martie found something on the front porch. A plate. Clean. With a note underneath it.She picked it up. There were only four words written on a piece of paper. Pie was damn good. Thanks. Martie stared at it.
Vivian leaned over her shoulder. "Oh." Lou came running out of the kitchen. "What happened?" Martie handed her the note. Lou read it. Then she looked up. "He cursed."
"So?"
"Arthur Caldwell cursed at us."
Vivian smiled. "No, honey." She took the note back. "Arthur Caldwell thanked us."
The three sisters looked across the street. Arthur was outside watering his flower bed. He noticed them. He lifted one hand. They waved. Then he called across the street. "Morning!"
Vivian's mouth dropped open. Martie's eyes widened. Lou whispered, "This is huge."
Arthur looked at them. "What?"
Vivian smiled. "Nothing!"
He shook his head. Then, almost as if he couldn't help himself, he called back: "What in the world are y’all doing now?" The sisters burst into laughter. And Arthur did too.
He just didn't know it yet, but somewhere between a lemon pie and three women he hadn't asked for, his quiet life had begun to change. And it was about to get considerably worse. Or better. Arthur Caldwell wasn't sure which, but he suspected it was going to involve fishing.