Starting from Scratch by Marie Ferrarella Page B

wandering. Wandering so that at times, when she got to the end of her sentence, she’d forgotten her train of thought.
    She wasn’t making sense and the girls were looking at her oddly.
    â€œBeen a long day,” she murmured, taking refuge in the glass of chardonnay Henry had poured her. She wished it was stronger.
    She wished she was stronger.
    Finally, the meal was over and the girls scattered, as they always did. Andrea to her homework and friends who seemed to live online twenty-five hours a day, Beth to a miniature version of her big sister’s existence.
    Elisha waited, mentally counting to twenty to make sure that both girls weren’t just out of the room but out of earshot, as well. If anything was wrong, she didn’t want to take the chance of having either of her nieces learn something dreadful by eavesdropping.
    She pressed her lips together. Henry was clearing the plates as if there was nothing more important in his life than loading the dishwasher.
    Was that a good sign, or a sign of denial?
    Playing hide-and-seek with the truth was draining her.
    Taking up a second load of dishes in her hands, Elisha followed her brother into the kitchen. She put the pile down beside his on the counter. She stared at the back of his head, willing him to turn around. When he didn’t, she couldn’t take it anymore.
    â€œHenry, if you don’t tell me right this second, I’m not going to be responsible for my next move. What did the doctor say?”
    â€œThe test is positive.”
    She’d always believed that medicine was a strange world, where words like negative meant good and positive meant bad. The complete opposite of the way things were supposed to be.
    Maybe Henry had gotten them confused. It would have been a natural mistake.
    Her mouth felt as if it was sandpaper dry. It was hard to maneuver her tongue, hard to form the words. “Positive as in…?”
    Her voice gave out. There was only a finite amount of strength in her body and right now, that strength was being channeled toward breathing and toward keeping her heart going. Things like talking seemed to be of secondary importance.
    â€œI have cancer, Lise.”
    He still hadn’t turned around, so she circled around him until she could see his face. Elisha drew in her breath. For just an instant, Henry’s face looked drawn and worn, as if the words he had just uttered had taken their toll on him.
    She felt as if someone had just shot an arrow straight into her heart.
    From somewhere deep inside her, a flicker of optimism came. “Hey, cancer can be licked, Henry. Lots of people are cancer survivors. There’s a woman living in my building…”
    She was talking now. Talking as fast as she could, hoping that all the positive thoughts she was generating would somehow negate or deplete the positive results of Henry’s test. But even as she was talking, her brother was shaking his head. Her words were falling by the wayside. Conquered.
    â€œElisha, I’ve got pancreatic cancer.”
    Pancreatic cancer.
    All she could remember was that when she was a lot younger, she’d heard that an actor named Michael Landon had had it and he’d died. His face had been on the cover of People magazine. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye. He’d looked much too young to leave this earth. Too young. The way Henry was too young.
    She also remembered reading, or maybe she’d heard one of her parents say it, she couldn’t remember. In either case, the words were chilling.
    Pancreatic cancer was always fatal.
    Elisha squared her shoulders, ready to do battle. Refusing to believe it. Refusing to allow Henry to believe it, either.
    â€œYour doctor could be wrong,” she pointed out with feeling.
    Henry’s face once more became composed. He was taking this a lot better than she was, she thought. “He’s not wrong.”
    â€œHe could be wrong,” she insisted.