Chapter 11

  Anxiety doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow.

  It only empties today of its strength.

  -C. H Spurgeon

  The mall was buzzing with squealing kids, harassed mothers and grim, grey-haired mall diners. I held my cappuccino in slightly trembling hands, relishing the warmth of the drink. Fatigue was starting to take its toll. Pedro sat down next to me. I stared at the huge plate of saffron rice and samousas he placed in front of me.

  “As delicious as it is, mocha is not a food group. Eat up.”

  “You sound like my brother.”

  “What does your brother call you?”

  I hesitated. They waited politely for my answer.

  “My name’s Hope.”

  “Your car is registered in the name of Heidi Cannikin.”

  “Heidi’s a pseudonym I use. In my other life...”

  “While you’re part of our family Dochter, we’ll call you Hope.”