Starting from Scratch by Marie Ferrarella Read Free Book Online Page B

wherewithal, or patience, or whatever to put it together so it makes sense.” Dropping the silverware on top of the four dishes, she smiled. “That’s where I come in.”
    He cocked his head ever so slightly, as if the information would transfer itself into his brain a little more swiftly at that angle. “You put it together for them?”
    There were times when she was sorely tempted to toss out a page and put her own words down in its stead. But that was the easier way and the more dishonest way. Although she had to admit it was personally satisfying to see her words in print, even under someone else’s name.
    â€œI nag,” she corrected him. “I push, I prod, I provide the encouraging word, sometimes over and over again.” For her most insecure authors, she thought. With them, bolstering their morale was very much like trying to pour a given amount of water into a pail with a gaping hole in it. “Until they get it done.”
    Henry nodded at the explanation. “You had it right the first time. You nag.” He grinned. “As I recall, you were quite good at that.”
    â€œI never nagged you.”
    â€œYou most certainly did.”
    Stubbornly, she refused to give up any ground. “About what?”
    He rolled his eyes, seeming more amused than frustrated. “Everything. You thought things had to be done a certain way—your way—and you wanted me to do it just that way.”
    From her point of view, she’d been altruistic, but she supposed she could see that from his position, her behavior might have seemed a little irritating. “I just didn’t want you making my mistakes.”
    â€œKids need to make their own mistakes,” he told her quietly. He got up from the table, picking up the stack of plates and silverware. “That’s how they learn.”
    He had a point and she was more than willing to concede to it. Henry was even a better father than theirs had been, and she had adored their father.
    â€œWhich is why you’re the parent and I’m the editor. I wouldn’t have the patience to stand back and let them learn on their own,” she admitted honestly. “I’d just jump right in there and do it for them.” Holding the glasses to her to keep from dropping them, she followed Henry into the kitchen. “You really have done a great job with the girls. They’re wonderful.”
    Henry placed the dishes on the counter and opened the dishwasher. One by one, Elisha rinsed off the dinner plates and handed them to him to place on the rack.
    â€œYeah, they are, aren’t they? Don’t get me wrong, there have been a few rough patches, especially with Andrea, but for the most part, I’ve been pretty blessed.” The last dish he took from her slipped through his fingers. It landed on the tile with a clatter. Because it was the everyday dinnerware, the plate didn’t shatter.
    Not looking in his direction, Elisha stooped down to pick up the dish.
    â€œNever knew you to drop anything,” she teased. “I’m the one who does that, usually because I’m moving faster than the speed of light.”
    When she rose back up, her grin froze, then abruptly faded the second she saw her brother’s face. Henry was struggling to mask it, but she was positive she saw a glimmer of pain flash across his features. Something squeezed her heart.
    â€œHenry, what’s wrong?”
    He did his best to look unaffected as he waved a hand at her question, dismissing it. “Nothing. It was just a twinge.”
    â€œA twinge of what?” she demanded. He made no answer, as if the question had no significance. Still looking at him, Elisha quickly pulled over a chair. “Here, sit,” she ordered.
    When Henry did as she asked, she became really concerned. Henry had never had a macho complex, but he just never showed any weakness. If he needed to sit down, something was very, very