Star Cross Inn. The Journey Continues (en Inglés) - Sharon Brawley

WHILE WAITING FOR THEIR TRANSPORTAION to arrive, the woman scrutinized their surroundings continuously and also kept a watchful eye on the little girl seated across the bistro table. Her daughter, just three years old, was engrossed with the box of Barnum's Animal Crackers next to her, playing with the crackers instead of eating them. Reflexively, the mother reached for the small glass of milk and moved it to the center of the table to prevent it from being tipped over.

The anxiousness she felt, however, was not due to the possibilityof spilled milk. This part of the process unnerved her the most-leaving what was deemed a safe location not long ago and moving on to the next. She had come to think of it as transitioning. They were again in transition from their latest identities to the new names and familial history created for them and to another safe haven where they would remain for a relatively brief time. Seldom did they stay longer than three or four months at any location.

Their last temporary residence, however, was for almost six months-just long enough to serve as a teaser for the woman, prompting her to yearn for the stability and security of a genuine home again. It was something she wanted so desperately for her daughter. This is no life for a child, the woman thought, undoubtedly, for the thousandth time since their journey began two and a half years ago. Her precious baby was just six months old at the time and, thankfully, adapted remarkably well to this nomadic way of life. Of course, it was the only life the youngster had ever known.

They were currently midway across the United States, slowly and methodically making their way to the East Coast. To the young woman, it seemed like a beacon summoning them to their new life and one in which they could assume their final identities and establish a proper home. Her small, but highly competent-and well compensated-team assured her it would soon be safe for them to establish a permanent residence. Questions were what she dreaded most when they finally did settle down. It was inevitable, and it terrified her, especially when her sweet child started attending school. Their family dynamic was different than the norm, and children are curious by nature. Why doesn't

your dad ever come to our carnivals? (...or whatever school activity parents are invited to attend.) As a good mother, she instinctively knew it was her responsibility to prepare her daughter for those questions. She also knew lying or sugarcoating the facts was an impossibility. This child was far too gifted-intellectually and intuitively-not to

recognize a lie or tolerate deception. The truth must be shared. Otherwise, the credibility of the only parent the child had ever known would otherwise be destroyed, leaving her daughter even more vulnerable as well as susceptible to her father's considerable control.

From personal experience, she knew how difficult it would be to learn of their extraordinary circumstance, to believe or at least accept it, and then try to counter it. And the unavoidable questions about her father-how can I conceivably explain the inexplicable? How can any of this even be possible? As was her habit when they traveled, the young mother reflected on everything she knew that put them in this precarious situation. There must be something she overlooked, anything to give her a better perspective on how to keep this child safe from her father and his destructive influence. She repeatedly delved into his family's history for insight or clues. Perhaps it was now time for her to meticulously

examine the part she played in setting this in motion and all of the events that followed.