Starting from Scratch by Marie Ferrarella

me’ his editor, I am going to edit. Now, this is a very entertaining book, just like his others, but, just like his others,” she repeated for emphasis, “his main character could stand a little work, could be a little deeper.”
    He stared at her as if she’d just uttered a heresy. “He’s an action hero, for God’s sake. What kind of depth does he need? I haven’t read it, but if it’s like his other stories, the hero’s a literary version of G.I. Joe. Fortunately, that’s all the public wants.”
    She wasn’t satisfied. “But is that all Sutherland wants? There’s a depth to the man that could be in his work. Everyone can improve.”
    Rocky’s expression changed from frustration to horror. “And you’re going to tell him this?”
    â€œYes.”
    He sighed, shaking his head. “How long have you had a death wish?”
    â€œMy only wish,” she enunciated carefully, “is to make each book I work on the best book possible. And this—” she moved the manuscript slightly “—could be better. I’d be doing Sutherland a disservice as his editor if I don’t say so.”
    â€œYou might be doing yourself a disservice if you do.”
    â€œWhy? He’s not going to burn me at the stake.”
    â€œI don’t know. The man breathes fire when he’s angry. You might just be burnt to a crisp once he gets going.”
    So Sutherland would rant and rave, that didn’t worry her. She could hold her own in a verbal exchange. “Sticks and stones, Rocky, sticks and stones.”
    Rocky laughed shortly, his brow furrowing into grooves of concern. “He might have those in his arsenal, too.”
    After putting her pencil down, she pushed away from her desk and focused her attention on the man who was desperately trying to make her give up her principles. “Rocky, you know I have a great deal of affection for you—”
    â€œBut?”
    â€œI was just curious. How is it you can continue to walk around without a spine?”
    â€œIt’s a congenital thing. I taught myself how a long time ago.”
    She was about to comment on that when her cell phone began to ring. Elisha almost ignored it, then decided to take the call. Holding up her hand to indicate that she didn’t want him to leave and that the conversation was not over, she took the phone out and flipped it open.
    The name that appeared on the tiny screen was her brother’s.
    Her pulse accelerated instantly. “Hi, Henry, what’s the good word?”
    â€œThe test results came in today.”
    Her throat tightened involuntarily. She tried to glean some sort of hint as to the test’s outcome from his tone and failed.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œCan you come by for dinner tonight?”
    The question rang in her head. This can’t be good. But she couldn’t get herself to ask. Her tongue had frozen against the roof of her mouth.
    She didn’t even hear the door close as Rocky slipped out to give her her privacy.

CHAPTER 11
    E lisha stared out the rear passenger window of her taxi as familiar-looking houses moved by on either side.
    There was only a mile left to go. A mile to Henry’s house.
    A mile before she knew.
    She fought against this overwhelming urge to fling open the door, jump out of the cab and run the rest of the way, as if running on her own power could somehow get her there faster. But at the same time, an oppressive feeling of dread rose within her, willing the ride to go on indefinitely so that she would never arrive at Henry’s house. Because until she heard the words, she could go on hoping that the news was good. That things in her life would continue just the way they had always been. With her existing in a madly spinning world that provided a trapdoor for her. A trapdoor that would open when she needed to touch upon the threshold of hearth and home and allow her to go see