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.”