I weave my hands together to still their trembling. “Last month I met a journalist who called me a grief vampire. He said I used tricks to prey on the vulnerable for money and fame.” Some in the audience hiss and boo. I shake my head to quiet them. “I’ve done a lot of self-reflection over the past few days. In a way he was right. I do take your money and there’s some truth to the fame accusation. Who doesn’t want to be admired? But it’s more complicated than that. I also used your stories, questions, and tragedies, focused on you, to distract from the things I didn’t want to face.”

“Like what?” a woman calls out from a few rows back.

“Many of you have read that I was adopted and never knew my biological parents. Up until a month ago, I couldn’t recall the first six years of my life. That might not be strange for you, but I have an eidetic memory, meaning I can recall almost everything. That same journalist gave me the courage to find out the truth about my past. Together, we learned that my birth mother was a clairvoyant. Her name was Olivia Ravanelle and she was murdered when she was only thirty-four. I was four-and-a-half and saw it happen.” People gasp. “That trauma blocked all memory of the murder and life with my mother.”

Moose leans his bulk against my leg in a show of support. “My foster care records were destroyed, medical records sealed, by people who thought what they were doing would help me. No one wanted to adopt a kid tied to a murder, especially one as grisly and sensational as my mother’s. My name was changed to give me a fresh start. A story was made up about birth parents that’d died in a plane crash. And it all worked. But in doing so, those folks stripped me of my past, my mother’s story . . . and left me with an obsession to survive with no context.”

I look into the audience. “For my entire life, I’ve thought about looking for my birth mom, on the other side. But each time I approached the door, I was overwhelmed by panic. Now I know why. When I finally learned the truth about my past, I called to Mama. We connected . . . she’s at peace and she wants that for me, too.” I swipe tears away before they fall. “Sorry for being a big baby.”

“We love you!” a woman yells.

I manage a half smile. “All my life I’ve been driven to survive, above anything, because of Mama’s murder,” I explain. “I began as a psychic to make a few bucks on top of the tips I earned as a crappy waitress. I used my successes to define myself because pieces were missing. But that’s not why I’m here today.” I take a breath, glance into the wings where Lucas stands. He nods at me. Despite the fact that I’ve taken control of my career and no longer do any research, he’s still in my corner. “I believe in my gift now. I know who I am, both because of and despite my past, and my goal, above fame and fortune, is to help as many of you as possible. I hope you can believe in me, too. I’m here for you, regardless.”