“Oh, right. Sister Louise. Of course.” Despite the fact that he’d been raised a Baptist, John had opted to enroll Katie in a Catholic school—Holy Family Elementary in Bethesda. It had a great reputation as one of the best primary schools inside the Beltway. Even had a waiting list.

John was delighted Katie was getting along so well in school. She’d suffered some separation anxiety at first— perfectly understandable, considering what she’d been through—but now she looked forward to catching the school bus and riding off with her friends every morning. Made it worth all the strings he’d had to pull to get her in.

Pulling strings… the name of the game around here. When he’d been a practicing internist in Atlanta he hadn’t known a thing about strings. But he’d learned fast: a couple of years as a Health and Human Services deputy secretary and he could pull with the best of them.

He glanced at his watch. “Oops. You’re going to miss the bus.”

She grinned. “And then I’ll be Latie Katie.”

“Yes, you will. Did you take your pill?”

She searched the tablecloth around her cereal bowl for it. “No, I—”

“I have it.” John looked up as his mother approached them from the far side of the kitchen, holding up an amber vial.

“Thanks, Nana,” Katie said, sticking out her hand.

Nana—she was still Helga to her peers, and she’d once been “Ma” to John, but she became “Nana” to the family once Katie began speaking. Not a day passed that John didn’t thank heaven that his mother had come to Washington to stay with them. He and Katie couldn’t have got along without her.

She shook a pink, red-speckled tablet into her granddaughter’s upheld palm.

John watched his mother and realized how much she’d aged within the past few years. Seventy-five and looking every minute of it. Two or three years ago her hair had been just as white, but she’d looked sixty-five. Living proof that stress makes you old.