Starting from Scratch (8 page)

E
very time she called Henry's cell phone, Elisha literally held her breath. Afraid that there'd be no answer.

It had been almost two weeks since Henry had dropped his bombshell on her and she still hadn't even begun to come to terms with the black specter that had been released into her life. In a way, she felt selfish, focusing on her feelings this way. After all, this wasn't about her, it was about him, about Henry.

And yet, all she could think of was what was she going to do without him. She couldn't even begin to imagine what life would be like without Henry.

She
refused
to imagine what life would be like without him.

The very notion that it could happen made her want to absorb him through every pore of her body. To memorize moments they spent together. He was her little brother. The last of her family.

Granted, there were the girls, but Beth, and even Andrea, were children. Not only that, they were the second generation. Henry was the last one who knew her when she'd had braces. When her hair had been a light blond instead of the descriptionless shade of dark blond it had evolved into. Henry knew her when she used to catch fireflies and put them in a jar, secretly believing that if there was ever a power failure, she could light up the world with them.

Impatiently, she looked at her watch, counting off the seconds. Where
was
he? If something had gone wrong, he would have called, right? Or had someone call for him. Fear began to scramble up the inside of her chest, lodging itself in her throat.

When Henry's voice came through on the other end of the line right after the fifth ring, she didn't bother hiding the sigh of relief.

“Hi, you're still there.”

“Still here.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. It warmed her. “Did you call that doctor I found for you?”

Patience embedded itself in the warmth. “Elisha, he's a holistic healer.”

That was no reason to write the man off. The testimonials to the man had taken up three pages on the Internet. “And maybe he's on to something. What have you got to lose?”

“Time,” he told her frankly. “I don't want to spend it chasing my tail. I want to spend it with you and the girls.”

She'd been frequenting bookstores, looking through the alternative-medicine sections as well as hitting all the Web sites dealing with the latest medical breakthroughs. Somewhere in all that discovery, in all that rhetoric, there had to be something that would keep Henry on this earth a little longer. The stack of books and notes she'd accumulated were a healthy size. It was time Henry started going through them.

“Well, I'm coming up for dinner tonight, so you're getting that part of your wish.” Elisha paused, searching for the right way to segue into her question. There wasn't one. But this was Henry and he was used to her jumping from topic to topic, so she jumped. “Have you told them yet?”

She heard him taking in a breath before answering. Was that just a coincidence, or was he hurting? She was afraid to ask that question. “Yes.”

Okay, one hurdle down. She took the next, the one that meant he was convinced he was going to win. “And did you also tell them that their daddy is going to lick this thing?”

Henry laughed shortly, but she couldn't tell if there was a smile on his face when he said, “Yes, I told them all the appropriate lies, Elisha.”

She knew he always wanted to be truthful with the girls. But he wasn't militant about it. The truth took on many shapes and he would never knowingly strip his daughters of their safety net.

“They're not lies, Henry. Dammit, I told you that you have to believe that you're going to get well, otherwise, it won't work.”

“This isn't an old stage production of
Peter Pan,
Elisha. You don't just clap your hands and make Tinker Bell live. I'm afraid that this is a little bit more involved than that.”

“Faith can move mountains.”

“It helps if you have dynamite on your side.”

This time she did hear the smile in his voice. It heartened her a little. “That's what I'm looking for. Dynamite.”

“Keep looking, Lise. I'm not trying to discourage you.”

“Good, because you can't.”

That was for the wee hours of the night, when she'd lie awake, staring at her ceiling, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed. Wondering why things arranged themselves the way they did. Why they couldn't be the way she wanted them to be.

Elisha thought of the pile of books and articles on her coffee table at home. “I've got some more things I found for you.”

“I look forward to seeing them.”

Her mouth curved even as she shook her head. Some things didn't change. Henry was still the one trying to comfort her instead of the other way around. Even during that awful period when his wife had died, Henry was the one who'd ultimately wound up comforting everyone. Her, the girls, Rachel's best friends. When did he get the privilege to break down?

Elisha caught her lower lip between her teeth. She didn't want to think about it.

“Okay, then it's settled. I'm coming over tonight. Don't go to any trouble, by the way. Since I'm inviting myself over, I'm bringing dinner.”

“Pizza?”

She laughed. “I'm too predictable.”

Henry was nothing if not supportive. For just a second, it felt as if the other thing, that darkness that loomed over their lives, was just a lie. “Hey, don't underestimate that. It's nice to have some things to count on. Seven?”

The receiver nestled between her ear and shoulder, she was already looking through her BlackBerry for the number of the pizzeria she called that was near Henry's place. “Earlier if I can get away and the traffic doesn't make a saint cry.”

“See you then.”

“Bye.”

She was just hanging up the receiver when her phone buzzed. Henry's light hadn't gone out yet, so the call was coming in on her second line. Elisha paused a second as the words suddenly hit her.

Henry's light hadn't gone out yet.

And God willing, it won't, she thought before she switched to the second line. Locating the number for the pizza parlor, she placed the BlackBerry on her desk and turned her full attention to the call.

“Elisha Reed.”

“Elisha, this is Sinclair. I'm just back from my tour. My head is still spinning.” The deep chuckle rang in her ear. Sinclair sounded very pleased with himself. The tour must have gone very well. With any luck, he could live off the fumes of all that goodwill for several weeks. Long enough to guide him into his new project. “This is New York City, right?”

“Right. All eight million of us, stuffed onto a little island.”

“Which brings me to my next point,” Sinclair said. “Are you free for lunch?”

These days, she didn't seem to have an appetite. Eating was a low priority. She'd intended on spending lunch today the way she had the last two weeks, checking all the sites she now knew by heart, looking for something new to have been put on since the last time. That one new thing that might point her to the right path that would eventually lead to arresting her brother's condition, or perhaps even, please God, sending it into remission.

She was making deals with God on a daily basis now, bartering for time, just a little more time. Every new day was precious.

On the other end of the line, Sinclair seemed to interpret the silence in his own way. He, like everyone else, was aware of how hard she could work.

“Because if you're not free for lunch,” he continued, “I'll bring lunch to you. Or if it's a matter of another author sucking up your time, I'm feeling too good to sulk about it. I'll just take you out to dinner.”

To Sinclair, dinner before eight wasn't civilized. By then she intended to be well into her visit with Henry and the girls. “I'm afraid that dinner's not possible, Sinclair.”

She heard him make a disparaging noise. “Dinner's always possible.” And then his voice brightened, taking on a hopeful note. “Unless it's a hot date.”

The man was like a favorite grandfather. One who believed that God had intended the people of the world to exist in pairs. He'd even attempted to play matchmaker once, until she made it perfectly clear that her single status was not something she lamented but, for the most part, enjoyed. If he'd had the slightest inkling that it was by resignation, the man would have been off and running, searching for possible mates for her.

“I'm seeing my brother and his daughters tonight.” It wasn't necessary to say anything more, even if she was able to.

“Ah, family. Very important, family. Don't know what I'd do without mine.” And then he chuckled. They both knew he had a family that at times made the Addams Family appear normal in comparison. “Of course, I like keeping them at arm's length because as wonderful as having family around is, not having them around at times is pretty damn wonderful, too.” Dropping the topic, he reconnoitered. “So, is it settled? Lunch?”

She supposed that the Internet wasn't going anywhere. Besides, there was that old adage about a watched pot. Maybe by tonight, there would be something new on it worth reading.

“Lunch,” she agreed.

“I'll come by to pick you up at eleven-thirty. Brace yourself, I intend to tell you all about my adventures, especially about the woman who wanted me to autograph all the copies of my books that she had in her den.” This time, the chuckle was very earthy.

“Sounds like someone had a very good time,” she commented, doing her best to sound enthusiastic for his sake.

She genuinely liked Sinclair. He'd been her first author of renown and she found him very easy to talk to. When he wasn't going through a crisis about writer's block, he was very entertaining. Riding high on his success, she had no doubt that he would sound just like an animated version of one of his books—chatty, fast-paced and exuberant, with a dash of mystery thrown in every so often. With any luck, she'd give him his lead today and he would do all the talking for the rest of the meal.

Elisha closed her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. Since Henry had told her his diagnosis, she'd been averaging only four hours of sleep a night. With the least little bit of encouragement, she could easily just fall asleep.

When her eyes drooped down a second time, she forced herself up to her feet. She had an hour before Sinclair came to take her away to lunch. An hour in which she had to get some kind of work done. She hated not being productive. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and headed out of her office, down the hall to the newly renovated ladies' room.

Work had been completed three weeks ago, but the area still smelled faintly of paint. She tried not to notice. Paint gave her a headache.

Elisha turned on the faucet and cupped her hands beneath it to catch the water. Taking in a breath, she brought the water to her face. All it succeeded in doing was washing away the minimal makeup she'd remembered to put on this morning.

For a second, she looked at her reflection. The lighting in bathrooms was designed to make everyone look like a wraith, she decided. She really did look like hell, she thought, recalling Sutherland's less-than-heartwarming greeting the last time she'd seen him.

She hadn't heard a peep out of him since then. Was that a good sign? To hell with signs. Right now, she didn't care. All she cared about was that Henry would be around to help her celebrate her birthday next April.

And after April came, there'd be another goal to meet. She intended to continue updating goals indefinitely, until Henry wound up outliving her.

Stranger things had happened.

“I
s something wrong?”

The question came from behind her. Raising her head and looking into the mirror, Elisha realized that one of the bathroom stalls had been occupied when she'd entered. Carole came out, doing her best to summon a look of concern on her perfectly made-up, heart-shaped face.

Dammit, she should have checked first to make sure that she was alone. Not that she'd cried, thank God. But she looked as if she had been crying and heaven only knew what Carole would create out of this nothing of a scene. Elisha had no doubt that if there was a way, the woman would attempt to use this to try to advance herself. She had no idea how, but then, she'd never wanted to further her career by walking on top of dead bodies.

Elisha took a deep breath, peeling back a smile so far, the corners of her mouth hurt. “Not a thing.” And then, because women didn't just throw water into their faces for no reason, she had to say something. “I'm just a little tired, that's all.”

Instantly, the woman in the tight, powder-blue power suit took her cue. Though they were standing practically hip to hip at the counter, their eyes met in the mirror. “Well, if you like, I could take over a few things for you, free you up so that you can go home early and get some rest.” Carole turned her head to look at her directly. Triumph lit her eyes. “You really do look as if you need it.”

“What I need,” Elisha replied cheerfully, not the easiest feat to accomplish through clenched teeth, “is to get back to work.”

Like a shark on the scent of blood, the nubile blonde refused to back away. A confidential note entered her voice. “Mr. Randolph told me he thinks you really should delegate more.”

She wasn't going to let the little witch get to her, Elisha promised herself. Carole obviously smelled a moment of weakness and was trying to move in for the kill—or at the very least, move in.

Sorry, honey, no vacancies, not today.

“Mr. Randolph says a lot of things,” Elisha replied with a calmness she didn't feel. She could see the way the would-be senior editor was looking at her, as if Carole was waiting for her to admit to having one foot in the grave.

Elisha slanted a glance at herself in the mirror. She was losing weight, not by design, and her clothing was beginning to hang on her frame. This was definitely
not
one of her best days. Apart from better-fitting clothing, she really did need to learn what to do with makeup so that she didn't resemble someone from the cast of
Night of the Living Dead.

On her way out, Elisha paused to give Carole one last, phony smile. “I wouldn't take Mr. Randolph's words to heart if I were you.” She turned away and crossed to the outer door. “Provided you can find your heart.” The last was said under her breath as she made her exit.

Elisha returned to her office, determined to get something done in the hour before Sinclair arrived. She supposed she couldn't really fault Rocky if he'd actually said what Carole claimed he'd said to her. The man meant well, he just didn't understand what kind of person Carole Chambers was. Being born the heir apparent to Randolph & Sons Publishing, Rocky had no idea about the kind of back-stabbing melodrama that could and did go on in the business world.

The literary world was no different, given the wrong set of people. For the most part, Elisha found that she got along very well with the other senior editors. Happily, that extended to most of the rising editors and assistant editors, as well. But every species had its piranha and Randolph & Sons had Carole.

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.