Starting from Scratch

by Marie Ferrarella

  Well, Carole Chambers wasn’t going to be feasting on her flesh anytime soon, Elisha silently promised herself as she slipped back behind her desk.

  Especially not while she was still breathing.

  Sinclair Jones stuck his leonine head into her office at exactly eleven-thirty. His blue eyes shining and nearly lost in the depths of his smile, the author strode in, slightly larger than life despite his five-ten stature, and lifted her up out of her chair. Elisha found herself folded into a big, grandfatherly hug with absolutely no preamble or warning.

  If she was given to heart attacks, she might have had one.

  “There’s the world’s best editor,” Sinclair declared heartily. His snow-white beard grazed her cheek a second before he brushed a chaste kiss against it.

  Trying to catch her breath, Elisha returned the man’s hug in kind as best she could. When he was in the throes of enthusiasm, Sinclair lost track of his own strength. On occasion, ribs were bruised.

  She tried to match his smile. She really did like the man and enjoyed his company, both professionally and personally. But these days her heart did not go easily into things without effort. She was still reeling, still ricocheting between being wildly hopeful and incredibly frightened, neither of which meshed very well with the nature of her work.

  “You’re only saying that because it’s true.”

  He laughed, stepping back, but not before catching her hand in his. Gently, he began to draw her over to the doorway. “I hope you’re hungry because I’m ordering everything on the menu. We’ll share.”

  She knew how he could get. Like a child with a sweet tooth let loose for the first time in a candy store. Her eyes met his. One of them had to be the grown-up here. “What did the doctor say about your cholesterol?”

  He chuckled. “That it’s alive and well and so am I.” He tugged on her hand. “Come, don’t spoil this, Elisha. I’m fresh from an absolutely fantastic high.” In the middle of his entreaty, he stopped to share his latest discovery. “Did you know I have fans in this funny little place in New Mexico called Truth or Consequence? I’ve never heard of the place. The show, yes,” he clarified quickly, “but not the place.” And then he positively beamed. “But apparently they have heard of me.”

  She didn’t wonder. The publicity department had gone all out, getting Sinclair’s face in a dozen different ads. This was going to be his biggest blockbuster. Albeit not like Sutherland’s, but then Sutherland was in a category by himself.

  “That’s because you’re famous.”

  His grin got wider, spreading out the white whiskers even more. “I am, aren’t I?”

  Like a kid tempted to pinch himself in order to prove to himself that all this was true, he stared for a long moment at the outer trappings of his success. In this case, his five-hundred-dollar designer jacket. He raised his eyes to Elisha again.

  “I still can’t really believe it. I mean, I know it’s true because they were lined up at all the bookstores, waiting for my autograph, and I see those royalty checks that come in twice a year, but sometimes, I just step back and shake my head in wonder. Inside—” Sinclair tapped his barrel chest with a closed fist “—I’m still that guy cleaning out the saloon in Waco, Texas. Dreaming of better things.”

  She patted his hand. “Well, you don’t have to dream anymore. It’s all true.”

  “It wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t rescued that first manuscript of mine out of the slush pile. That manuscript that had gotten a thousand rejections.”

  Her mouth quirked in amusement. “Remember what I told you about exaggerating?” It was one of the few things that she red-lined in the margins of his manuscripts. He had a tendency to go overboard.

  “I’m not exaggerating,” he protested. “I’ve got the rejection slips to prove it.” He sobered just the slightest bit, a twelve on the Richter scale going down to an eleven point nine. “To keep me humble in case I ever get a big head.”

  “Big heart.” Standing beside him, Elisha affectionately patted his ample chest area with her hand. “You have a big heart, Sinclair, not a big head,” she assured him. “If your head hasn’t gone up several inches in the last fifteen years, I’d bet even money that it’s never going to.”

  She flashed a smile at him with far less effort than the previous one had taken. “Now, where is the man who used to clean out a saloon in Waco, Texas, planning on taking me for lunch?”

  “Anywhere you want to go,” he told her expansively. “The sky’s the limit—and I mean it,” he added.

  Sinclair sounded as if he wanted to make an afternoon of it. But one of them still had several things to see to before the close of day. Elisha looked at her watch and slowly shook her head to the unspoken part of his offer. “I’ve only got an hour. The sky’s going to have to be close by.”

  Undaunted, he agreed with feeling. “Close it is. I know just the place.”

  He crossed to the rack by the door where she’d hung her suit jacket this morning. Sinclair took it off the hook and stood waiting to help her slip on the outer garment.

  Her back to him, she let him play the gentleman. “You know, courtly manners like yours went out a long time ago.”

  She turned to face him again as he answered, “They should make a comeback. Men like to treat women like ladies.”

  Elisha had no idea why Sinclair’s comment made her think of Sutherland, or the way the other author had stood there, like a huge, uncouth bore, telling her that he wasn’t about to bother showing her the way out of his apartment. Not that a safari guide was in order, but a drop of gallantry would have been nice. Sutherland could stand to learn a thing or two from Sinclair.

  After buttoning her jacket, she picked up her purse and smiled at him. “You’re a rare man, Sinclair.”

  “I like to think so.” Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he ushered her out of the office. “So, did I tell you that I have a brand-new idea for a mystery?”

  She paused long enough to pull the door closed behind them. “No, but I knew you would.”

  He laughed dryly. “That makes you one up on me, Elisha. I always think that the last book I wrote will be the last book I wrote,” he said with emphasis. “And that there aren’t any more ideas left in my head.”

  “I don’t believe you for a minute,” she informed him lightly. “There are lots of ideas left in your head, Sinclair. And they’ll come when you summon them to come.”

  “That’s why I love having you in my life, Elisha. You make me feel so confident.”

  “Part of my job, Sinclair. Part of my job.” And then she did smile. “As well as my pleasure.”

  “Mine, too.”

  His booming laugh rang out as they stepped out in the hallway and walked toward the elevators.

  CHAPTER 16

  “What do you mean you can’t stay for a meeting?” Rocky stared at Elisha. “You always stay,” he protested.

  This was the third late-afternoon meeting in as many days. Twice she’d reluctantly put things on hold and remained, to pilot the meetings as well as participate in them because Rocky liked handing the reins over to her. But not tonight. She couldn’t. Who knew how many more evenings with Henry she had left?

  She hated the thought, but running from it accomplished nothing and robbed her of precious time. “I know. But I’ve got a family emergency.”

  “What kind of emergency?”

  She really, really didn’t want to go into it. So far, she hadn’t shared news of Henry’s condition with anyone. “Dinner.”

  Rocky seemed baffled. “Dinner’s an emergency? Lise, you’re not making any sense. Now, I know that it’s a little late to be calling a meeting without any warning, especially since I’d said yesterday that there wouldn’t be another one today, but this really wasn’t my idea. My ‘won’t-stay-retired’ father wanted all the senior editors to get together for a little brainstorming session. Seems he thinks that adding another line to the stable is a good idea and he wants to see what you all come u
p with.”

  This time she intended to remain firm. Her resolve was stronger than Rocky’s and they both knew it. “My brain doesn’t storm after five o’clock anymore, Rocky. It just lies there.”

  His look told her that he wasn’t buying. “I know this is the third meeting in a row, Lise, and I’m really sorry about it. But if you’re going to come up with an excuse, it has to be a better one than you’re not up to brainstorming. We’ve all seen what you can do. Hell, I’ve seen you work practically around the clock that time we needed John Spencer’s book in the lineup after Randall flaked out on us,” he said, mentioning one of their former editors.

  “That was a onetime event,” she pointed out. “I don’t do that on a regular basis. I’m not a robot.” She realized that she was beginning to sound a little testy and she didn’t mean to, not with Rocky. Despite his title, he was just the messenger here. It wasn’t his fault. “Besides, I really do have previous plans.”

  Leaning his posterior against her desk, Rocky crossed his arms before his shallow chest and looked at her, a shadow of a man dressed in black. “The dinner.”

  “The dinner.”

  Rocky softened slightly. “With a guy?”

  She almost laughed out loud. That part of her life was behind her. “Rocky, there hasn’t been ‘a guy’ in my life in the way you mean for a very long time. It really is family.”

  “So, if it’s family, it can be put off.”

  “No,” she said firmly in a tone she never used with him, “it can’t.”

  “Elisha, what’s going on? Something’s up and you’re not leveling with me.”

  She looked away. “Nothing’s up.”

  “Lise, I’m a hell of a lot more intuitive than the average man on the street, certainly more so than my father ever was. I’m too damn sensitive for my own good and my sensitivity level tells me that something’s wrong.” He turned her face toward him. “Now, out with it.” And then he stiffened. “Oh, damn, are those tears? Tell me those aren’t tears.”

  She measured the words out evenly. Anything else and she would have choked. Emotion had come swarming out of nowhere to overwhelm her. “They’re not tears.”

  Rocky frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

  One tear trickled out. Annoyed, she rubbed it away with the back of her hand. “I’m just repeating your own damn dialogue, Rocky—”

  He caught her hands in his and forced her to look at him. “Okay, I’m not your boss, not the guy whose head is going to be on the chopping block if I don’t deliver my best senior editor to the meeting—”

  Elisha was clutching at straws, trying desperately to divert the conversation from the direction it was headed. “You never called me your best senior editor,” she sniffed. She hated herself for giving way to tears when she was trying so hard to be strong. So hard not to think of anything beyond the single moment she was living in.

  “Didn’t want you to get a swelled head,” he told her gently. “But you are. And stop interrupting.” He resumed his speech, “Don’t think of me in any professional capacity at all. Just think of me as your friend. Someone you’ve known for twenty-four years. Someone who cares about you.” When she began to turn her face away, he inclined his head, peering at her. “Someone who’s shared his own traumas with you.”

  And then, because she couldn’t hold them back any longer, the words just burst out, almost on their own. “Henry has cancer.”

  “Is it serious?” His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “I mean, of course it’s serious, cancer is always serious. But it can be treated, right?” He watched her carefully.

  “I keep hoping…” And then, just for a fraction of a second, Elisha’s hope deserted her. “It’s pancreatic cancer.”

  The air stood still around them. The street noise below grew distant. His eyes intent on her face, Rocky said nothing and seemed stricken.

  Finally, he drew in a breath, as if that could somehow protect them both. “How much time…?”

  Elisha shook her head violently, not allowing him to finish the question. Not wanting him to. “I haven’t asked him. I don’t want to know,” she confessed. “I just want every minute I can find to count.” She looked at him, knowing he understood even if she was being incoherent. “So, you see, I—”

  “Go,” he said, waving her toward the door. “Go see your brother. Be with him.”

  She lost no time in gathering up her jacket and purse, then stopped. She was leaving him in the lurch and as much as she wanted to leave, she hated to do that to him. “What about your father?”

  “I’ll deal with him.”

  He’d said that way too cavalierly. She smiled at him, gratitude in her eyes. “Rocky, you’re afraid of your father.”

  Sparse shoulders shrugged beneath the burgundy cashmere sweater. “So, I’ll let him bully me around a little bit. He won’t do it in front of the others. Thank God he’s got this thing about maintaining decorum before ‘the troops.’” His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “You would have thought the man was a career soldier instead of someone who’d donated a little time to the army reserves in his twenties.” And then Rocky tried to smile, offering Elisha what he hoped was some kind of positive energy. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Miracles were out of Rocky’s realm. Still, she was grateful for the offer. “I might need a shoulder.”

  “I’ve got two.” As if to emphasize the fact, he raised and lowered his in an almost comical fashion. “They’re not too wide and they’re kind of bony, but they’re yours if you need them.”

  She could feel the tears coming again. She needed to leave before they materialized. Once was more than enough. “Thanks, Rocky.”

  She was almost at the door when he called after her. “Wait.”

  Elisha turned around, afraid that his fear of his father had gotten the better of him. Afraid that she was going to have to ignore any last-minute plea that might be rising to his lips. She really needed to see Henry tonight. It had been three days since the last time and those were three days she wasn’t going to be able to recover.

  A sense of fatalism warred with her natural tendency toward optimism. “What?”

  “Henry lives on the island, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So—” he crossed to her “—you’re going to need transportation.”

  “I’m getting a cab.” That was the one thing she could always count on. The city was always full of taxis looking for a fare.

  But Rocky was shaking his head. “Forget the cab. We have a limo at our disposal.” He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know. The limo was used to pick up out-of-town authors at the airport, as well as to chauffeur them around when they were visiting. In the off times, Rocky used the limo to take him to and from his apartment. “I’ll have Tom drive you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Sure I do. I just cost you time, arguing about coming to this afternoon’s meeting.” She knew Rocky felt bad about what she’d told him. This was his way of trying to help. “Besides, Tom is a genius when it comes to maneuvering through traffic. You’d swear you were on a motorcycle instead of in a limo. And he knows more shortcuts than Rand McNally. I guarantee he’ll get you there faster than any cabdriver. And in comfort, too. You won’t spend half the ride to the island trying to figure out ‘what that smell is.’”

  “Comfort’s not very high up on my priority list, but okay. I’ll take you up on your offer.” Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. “And thanks.”

  Caught off guard, Rocky brushed his long, thin fingers along his skin where her lips had touched him. The look on his face told Elisha he wished he could do more. “Don’t mention it.”

  Giving her an encouraging smile, he took out his cell phone and pressed the preassigned number that would connect him to his limo driver.

  Behind them, in the hall, senior editors and an assorted number of staff members were beginning to file by, on their way to the conference room. Roc
ky purposely kept his back to the doorway.

  CHAPTER 17

  Elisha discovered optimism only went so far. Even hers. In their second or third meeting, Ryan Sutherland had accused her of being a terminal optimist, saying that the only cure for that was reality.

  She hated the fact that the man was right.

  As the days and hours of the past month had dried up and blown away, she had begun to feel like someone addicted to pistachio nuts who had been presented with a bag filled with them. And none of the nuts had an opening, not so much as a tiny, split crack that she could pry apart in order to get at the green meat housed within.

  None of the doctors she’d had Henry go and see had anything encouraging to say.

  It was like living in a world stocked with an endless supply of futility.

  Henry, being Henry, had decided to continue living his life by going to work, treating each day as just that, a day. A single day in his life. He wanted to go on working at the law firm for as long as he was able.

  Though he was a hell of a lot braver than she was, she believed that a part of her brother had to hope that by continuing as before the diagnosis, by putting little importance to this devastating sentence, this hideous six-letter plague would somehow just wind up fading back into the darkness from whence it had emerged.

  Henry might have continued with his life, but things changed for her. She still went in to work, but she lit candles, she prayed. She made endless deals with God in which hers was the only voice that was heard.

  “It’s okay,” she said as she deposited into an envelope yet another check for one of the myriad charities that sent letters of entreaty to her. “You don’t have to move the earth, or send a dove past my window to show me you’re listening. Just make Henry get better. That’ll be my sign.”

  Never heavy to begin with, Henry began to lose weight and it showed, really showed. Elisha stepped up her prayers and contributions. She couldn’t outrun the nervous, restless feeling that tumbled throughout her body like a malfunctioning dryer.