Starting from Scratch by Marie Ferrarella Page A

Henry.
    Henry was not only her rock, he was her link to the past. Her link to the life that she’d had before the world had gotten so crazy. In Henry’s eyes she could almost see her childhood.
    The cab had stopped moving and the driver was looking at her expectantly. She realized that he’d said something, probably some inane thing like, “We’re here, lady.” He was waiting for his money. Digging through her wallet, she snared several bills and thrust them at him. More than the fare since he smiled.
    Taking a breath, she opened the door and slid out. The air smelled like rain. The July humidity seeped into her soul. Her knees felt oddly disembodied as she walked from the cab to Henry’s front door.
    Please let him be all right. Please, God. I won’t ask for anything ever again, I promise. Just let my brother be all right.
    When he opened the door to her ring, Henry was smiling.
    She felt her heart leap up, enveloping itself in armaments of hope.
    It’s going to be okay, she thought. Everything’s going to be okay. People who had just gotten bad news didn’t smile, right?
    Elisha clung to that as she kissed Henry’s cheek. “Hi.”
    He hugged her. She hugged back a little longer than she ordinarily did, breathing in the scent of the aftershave lotion that he used. The same one their father had used. Henry didn’t believe in change. Neither did she. More than anything in the world right now, she wanted nothing to change.
    â€œHi, yourself,” he said, releasing her.
    â€œSo—” Elisha tried to sound cheerful, but her voice failed her. It almost squeaked.
    The next moment, she saw that the girls were in the room, standing directly behind Henry. Within earshot. His daughters looked cheerful. Happy. Nothing seemed different.
    Was everything all right then, or hadn’t he said anything to Andrea and Beth?
    He hadn’t, she suddenly realized. Henry hated to bring sadness into their worlds. He was always looking for that one ray of sunshine trying to push its way through a storm-filled cloud. Telling the girls about their mother’s death had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. But he had.
    And that was when it had dawned on her that her younger brother was so much braver than she was. Because she would have never been able to tell them. Being the bearer of bad news was just not something she could do.
    Elisha looked at Henry, her eyes asking him a thousand questions. None seemed to register. They all bounced back to her as if she’d been looking at a painting of Henry instead of someone with a soul.
    â€œAunt Lise, come see what I did,” Beth cried, pushing ahead of her sister.
    Not bothering to wait for a response or for Elisha to follow her on her own, the little girl wrapped her fingers around her hand and began to tug her in the direction of the stairs.
    â€œCome see,” Beth insisted again, more loudly this time. “It’s in my room.”
    Elisha looked over her shoulder at Henry, who waved her on as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Go ahead. We’ll talk later.”
    Was it bad news, or good news that would keep? She didn’t know.
    All she knew for sure was that she had just been given more time to pray. More time to make deals with God, a God she visited on occasion in her mind but who she’d long since stopped having contact with on a regular basis. Church was a place that resided in her childhood. It had been years since she’d attended any kind of Sunday services. When she’d dropped out in the beginning, there was always an excuse handy. Until she no longer felt the need even for that.
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    It was agony, making small talk at dinner, pretending there was nothing on her mind. She was surprised that she wasn’t doubled over by the weight of it. But she went along with the charade, knowing it was necessary.
    But knowing didn’t keep her mind from