Starting from Scratch

by Marie Ferrarella

And all the while, she nodded and smiled at the people who filed by.

  “How are you holding up?”

  The sound of the familiar voice behind her had her wanting to sob with gratitude. Elisha swung around. She’d never welcomed the sight of Sinclair Jones as much as she did at this very moment.

  “As good as can be expected,” she admitted once hugs had been exchanged. “What are you doing here?” She hadn’t notified anyone other than Rocky about the wake. But even as she asked, the answer occurred to her. “Rocky called you, didn’t he?”

  Sensing she needed a moment away from everything, Sinclair drew her aside to a less populated corner. “Yes, but he wasn’t the first to notify me about your loss. I am very, very sorry, Elisha.”

  Dammit, there was that lump again. She was going to have to get better control over herself than this. She forced a smile to her lips.

  “Thank you.” And then curiosity stepped up to the plate. She supposed that was a good sign. It meant that she wasn’t completely dead inside. “Who called you before Rocky?”

  “Sutherland.”

  She stared at Sinclair, not quite computing his answer. Maybe the low drone of voices had distorted what he’d said. “Ryan Sutherland?”

  “You know anyone else by that name?” And then, before she could answer, he interjected, “Besides the actor, of course. And there’s his father, as well,” he recalled. “And that opera singer, Joan, I believe…”

  Elisha tugged on his arm to stop the free-flowing word association. She knew that Sinclair’s wealth of trivia could take him in directions that were miles from the subject at hand. She wanted to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake.

  “Ryan Sutherland called you?”

  “Yes. Yesterday. Said something about knowing that I was a friend as well as your author and that I might not know about this.” Gray-tufted eyebrows drew together over a nose that was distinctly Roman in structure. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Because the words hurt too much. Because I was afraid I’d cry if I talked to a friend.

  She shrugged her shoulders in a helpless manner. “It’s been so busy…”

  He merely nodded at the information, his manner telling her that he sensed she was shying away from the true answer. But that was her right and he wouldn’t rob her of it.

  “Well, I’m here now.” He presented himself before her like a superhero arriving to right wrongs and vanquish evil. “What do you need me to do?”

  Threading her arm through his, she smiled. It was nice being in the company of a friend. “Just stand here. Just be you.”

  He nodded again, ready to become her guardian of choice. “I can do that.”

  Rocky arrived at the funeral parlor not long afterward, grumbling about traffic. The disgruntled words faded the moment he saw Elisha. Without a word, he went to her and embraced her, enfolding her in his long, thin arms. She almost lost it then. Only the sight of several of her other authors approaching forced Elisha to tough it out.

  “If you want to cry, let me know,” Rocky whispered, releasing her. “You can retreat into my limo. Nobody’ll see you.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  Squaring her shoulders, she went to greet the others. After she fielded the well wishes and accepted condolences, a quick inventory told her that everyone had received the same phone call. Sutherland, it seemed, had been busy. He’d spread the word to all of them, leaving messages on answering machines that made it sound as if their presence was obligatory.

  Yet he himself was nowhere to be seen, she noted.

  “As if I wouldn’t have come once I knew. Why didn’t I know?” Frances Mitchell, another one of her authors, asked, squinting myopic eyes behind her tinted designer glasses. The prolific creator of Emma Wales, an amateur sleuth that had caught the imagination of the reading public, had a voice that sounded like whiskey being poured over gravel. It was the by-product of a wilder youth than the average great-grandmother could usually boast about.

  “I didn’t call anyone,” Elisha explained. “Just Mr. Randolph.” She nodded toward him. “I just said I wouldn’t be in for a few days.”

  Having stepped away for a moment, Rocky made his way over to the cluster around Elisha once he heard his name mentioned.

  “Funny thing was, Sutherland called me, too, to make sure I knew,” he told her. Taller than those around him, he scanned the crowded room. To no avail. “I expected to see him here, too. Has he come by?”

  “If he did, I never saw him.”

  Nor did she expect to. But then, she hadn’t expected Sutherland to send flowers either, but he had. A huge arrangement that rivaled even Rocky’s. It arrived at the funeral home the morning after he’d called her about the poker game. Looking at the wreath, she speculated that it had to have deprived every florist in a three-mile area of their white roses. White, for purity, she thought. It somehow seemed appropriate.

  Just when she felt she had a handle on Sutherland, he ruined it all by doing something nice. And then not showing up to take any credit. If anyone marched to a different drummer, he certainly did.

  But his thoughtfulness in rounding up her authors and in sending the flowers touched her. The man defied any kind of label. She had a feeling that he probably liked it that way.

  “I want you to take as much time as you want,” Rocky told her the next time he had the opportunity to get her alone. When she looked at him quizzically, he smiled, obviously realizing he hadn’t been clear. “Getting back to work,” he explained. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got Carole covering for you.”

  Carole. The barracuda understudy who was waiting in the wings for her chance to chew the leading lady to bits. Elisha’s mouth quirked.

  “Not exactly the most comforting thing you could say to me at the moment.” Or any moment, she added silently.

  Overhearing, Sinclair was quick to add his support. “Not to worry, Elisha. The woman doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

  But she’d like to, Elisha thought, nodding a greeting at someone else who had come to pay their respects. There was no doubt in Elisha’s mind that the younger woman wanted to hold a candle to her so close that she’d set her on fire, thereby successfully eliminating her from any and all daily dealings at Randolph & Sons Publishing.

  “Thanks,” she murmured to Sinclair. “I can always count on you.”

  “Yes,” he told her firmly. “You can.”

  The sun was out the morning of the funeral.

  It seemed all wrong to Elisha. It should be raining. Everything in nature should have been weeping, the way she was inside. She wanted rain to show her that the angels were grieving as much as she and the girls were.

  As always, Beth was at her side. Even Andrea seemed to cleave closer today, her attitude shed by the wayside, at least for the time being. She had to remain strong. For their sake. Just as Henry had remained strong at his wife’s funeral.

  A great many good things were said about Henry. Eulogy after eulogy was given, with each person sharing a bit of their time with Henry for the benefit of the rest of the mourners. It was clear to his daughters that he would be greatly missed.

  But then, they already knew that. Because they were missing him something fierce themselves.

  “He sounded like a great guy,” Sinclair whispered to her as yet another person walked up to the pulpit.

  “He was,” Elisha replied with feeling.

  When it was her turn to give a eulogy, she did so on legs that felt oddly shaky. Afterward, she didn’t remember speaking. Rocky told her she did fine. She took his word for it.

  “I am—was—five years older than Henry. That made me his big sister. Big sisters are supposed to protect their little brothers. But in reality, our roles were reversed even before he grew taller than I was. Henry always tried to protect me. He was like that with his wife, his daughters. Everyone he knew. That was the kind of person he was. Bighearted and caring. You felt safe around him. No matter what was wrong, when you were aroun
d Henry, you knew it would work itself out. He was a great optimist and you couldn’t help but be one, too, when you were around him. Without him, some of the light has gone away. If you’re looking down, Henry,” she said, looking up toward the vaulted ceiling, “I just want to tell you that I miss you, little brother. More than I can ever say.”

  After the service, everyone came back to the house. People clad in black mingled with people wearing far brighter colors in honor of the way Henry had embraced life. Wholeheartedly.

  His spirit seemed to permeate the gathering. Everyone talked about him. Everyone had a Henry story to share. It did her heart good to listen. She fervently hoped that it had the same effect on the girls. But by and by, people began leaving, going back to their lives, leaving Elisha and Henry’s daughters to try to reconstruct theirs as best they could.

  “Remember, I’m right next door if you need me,” Anne Nguyen told her as she shepherded her own three sons, all under the age of fourteen, out the door. Her husband stood in the background and took the boys home.

  Elisha smiled and nodded her thanks, then turned from the door. There was no one left in the room except for Rocky. Everyone else had left. Left her to tend to Andrea and Beth. To take over the reins as head of the family, a role she knew nothing about. She squelched the recurring panic as best she could.

  She smiled at the man, grateful for his blatant show of support. “You don’t have to stand guard over me, Rocky. I know you have to get back.”

  He shook his head. His intent was to remain for as long as she needed him to. “They can’t fire me, I’m the boss’s son, remember?”

  “But the boss can read you the riot act,” she reminded him. And they both knew how much he hated that. How much he dreaded it.

  Rocky shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

  In response, she got behind him and placed both of her hands against his back. “Go.” Gently, she pushed him toward the door. “I’m going to be all right.”

  Closing the door, she turned from it. Panic dashed through her.

  No, I’m not.

  CHAPTER 25

  It had been almost two weeks. Two weeks since the world had stopped. She wanted to go back to work. To do what she’d done when Garry had left her with a huge, gaping hole dead center in her heart. She’d thrown herself into her work. God knew there was always enough of it to submerge her. Unlike some other careers where things fluctuated between feast and famine, her line of work and her level of responsibility provided a feast, a tremendous, gluttonous feast.

  But now, getting near the table was no longer a matter of simply showering, dressing and sailing out of her trendy apartment. Then the most difficult part of getting to work involved finding a cab.

  Now there were layers of responsibilities to impede her progress. She couldn’t just get herself ready and go. For one thing, she was too far away. Trains and cabs needed to take her from Henry’s house on the island to the heart of the city, where Randolph & Sons lived.

  And more important than that, she was no longer alone. There was more than just herself to account for. While Andrea was old enough to come home from school and be left alone for several hours, Beth was not.

  She needed a system.

  The realization occurred to Elisha at approximately two o’clock in the morning, as she lay awake, watching shadows from the oak tree outside her bedroom window chase each other along the textured ceiling.

  More than that, she needed her life back. A life where she was accountable only for herself, not for two other lives.

  Can’t run from it now.

  “There’s always boarding school,” Rocky had told her the day before when she’d called in to say that her plan was to come back on the following Monday.

  His suggestion about the school had come on the heels of his query regarding what arrangements she’d made for the girls while she was at work. His question had thrown her for a loop because she hadn’t even considered that arrangements had to be made. The moment he’d asked, she realized something had to be done soon.

  “Boarding school?” she’d repeated. Visions of unhappy children wearing uniforms and marching to class, flashed across her brain. It would be a way out for her, but definitely not for them.

  “Yes. There are plenty to choose from. Any one of them would be willing to send you a boatload of brochures.” He made a slight, derogatory sound, then went on. “My parents sent me to one right out of preschool. Addams Academy in Massachusetts. I spent the first twelve years of my academic life calling the janitor Dad.”

  His tone confirmed her thoughts on the matter. “You’re not really recommending that, are you?”

  He laughed. “Only as a last resort. But I am recommending a nanny.”

  “A nanny?” She turned the idea over in her head. If she could find someone who was equal parts Mary Poppins and Mrs. Doubtfire, she’d be home free.

  “Or a housekeeper,” Rocky had amended. “Someone to be there for the girls when they come home.” Then he paused before adding in a strained, hurried voice, “Unless you intend to give up your career and stay home with them, at which point you can read about my suicide on page six of the section dealing with local news.”

  She’d disregard the dramatic portion of his statement and concentrate on the one kernel of information he’d yielded. “A nanny, huh?” The best way to proceed was to get a recommendation. Since it was his idea, she’d asked Rocky first. “Do you know of any?”

  “All my nannies have long since departed this earth but I’ll ask around, see if I can find the names of the best agencies.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll handle it myself.” Then, hungry for news, to touch base with what grounded her, she asked, “How’s everything going at the office?”

  “Didn’t my threat of suicide if you don’t return give you a clue?”

  She’d laughed then. Rocky always knew how to lighten a mood. “I thought you were just stroking my ego.”

  “I’ll stroke anything you want,” he promised, “just tell me that you’ll come back.”

  She’d worked too long and too hard to give it up just like that and they both knew it. In Rocky’s case, she had the feeling he was counting on it. “Why, Rocky, this is so sudden. I thought I wasn’t your type.”

  She could hear the warm smile on his lips as he answered, “If I was batting for the other league, you would be my first choice.”

  “Consider my ego stroked.”

  And now she lay here, trying to make plans for the swiftly approaching day when she would return to her desk at Randolph & Sons. Anxious, overwrought and fighting madly to stay one step ahead of the depression that losing Henry had created, she realized the amount of sleep she’d managed to get came to a grand total of two and a half fitful hours. During that time she’d managed, from all indications by the way the sheets were twisted, to do a fair imitation of an old-fashioned spinning top.

  She remained in bed for another hour, then gave up. She spent the next hour or so planning on how to break the news to the girls. She wasn’t sure what to expect. During her visits to Henry, the girls had been on their best behavior, each vying for her attention. Now she was no longer the visiting aunt but the substitute parent and that brought with it an entire new set of ramifications. There might be warfare on the horizon.

  “A nanny? Why can’t you just stay with us?” Beth asked when she’d called the two together to tell them about her newest decision.

  Not letting her answer Beth’s question, Andrea protested sullenly, “I’m too old for a nanny. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  She took the questions in the order in which they came. “I am staying with you, Beth, but I have to go to work. And no, I’m not kidding. A nanny will be here when you get home from school, here to give you a snack when you’re hungry.”

  “You don’t have to work,” Andrea pointed out. “Didn’t Dad leave you enough money for us?”

  It was a rhetori
cal question. Andrea had a pretty good idea how much they were worth. She and all her friends liked to compare notes on what their fathers did for a living and approximately how much money was involved in the effort.

  The girls knew that she’d gone to Henry’s lawyer to find out about his will. To her surprise, her brother had left a sizable estate to be held in trust for his daughters. There were no worries as far as finances were concerned. There was also enough to see to everything more than comfortably.

  “Yes, he did,” she answered patiently, “but I still have to work.”

  “Why?” Beth turned up her face toward her like a morning glory seeking the sun.

  It had been a long time since Elisha had had to explain herself or to justify her actions to anyone. She was rusty at it.

  “Because I do.” She cringed inwardly as her words echoed back at her. That argument was as effective as every parent’s “because I say so,” she thought. This wasn’t the foot she had wanted to start out on with the girls, especially Andrea. She tried again. “Because being a senior editor at Randolph & Sons is who and what I am. I love my work.”

  “Don’t you love us?” Beth asked. Elisha noted that her eldest niece didn’t seem interested in the turn the conversation had taken. She was looking off sullenly, as if she was counting the moments until she could leave the room.

  “I love you both very much,” Elisha assured them, although only Beth seemed to care. “But it’s a different kind of love than I have for my work, honey,” she explained. “I need to do this in order to be happy.”

  “Instead of being miserable, saddled with us,” Andrea interjected sarcastically.

  Elisha could only stare at Andrea. “No, that’s not true. I’m not ‘saddled’ with you. I’m blessed.” She thought it was the best thing to say under the circumstances. She seemed to have convinced Beth. Andrea rolled her eyes.

  “Look, you don’t have to go to any trouble, hiring a nanny or housekeeper or whatever,” Andrea insisted. “I can take care of Beth.”

  It was a little akin to the argument about getting a puppy, Elisha thought. Great promises were made at the outset, at the bargaining table. Promises that were rarely, if ever, kept.