I know fathers name their sons after themselves all the time, but it’s not really a thing with mothers, and definitely not with mine. I know how much she hates her name. We’ve already had that conversation.

I keep reading. The birth date is listed as October 29, 1983. I haven’t celebrated Mary’s birth in a long time, but I remember her birthday. She would never let me forget that she’s a Scorpio. She has the same kind of allegiance to astrology that most people reserve for their country.

This is not my sister’s birth certificate. It’s my mother’s.

My hand falls with a moan of frustration. It’s not that I really need the confirmation. The picture speaks a thousand words. The time away from school. It’s obvious my mom had a baby in her teens, a baby who died. But even so, my brain picks at the frayed edges of my theory, desperate to unwind it, to take me back to the simple only child of an only child story I have been telling myself for years instead of this new, sordid drama.

I start to tuck the paper back into the envelope, but my eyes stick on something like pins in a ripped hemline, waiting for my brain to catch up.

FATHER’S LAST NAME: Gage

FATHER’S FIRST NAME: Harold

But…

MOTHER’S MAIDEN NAME: Rush

MOTHER’S FIRST NAME: Edna

I hold my breath.

I never knew Moony’s maiden name, which suddenly strikes me as odd. But I complained enough when my mother changed her name to Rush for Moony to have had ample opportunity to tell me. I thought my mother had changed her name to distance herself from us, from her only mother and her only—living—daughter. But if distance was what she wanted, wouldn’t she have chosen something else? Something not connected to Moony in any way?

I slide the certificate back into its envelope and dig deeper. I am starting to come across older things now. Scratchy photographs of people I don’t recognize, a baby shoe that is yellow and brittle as mummified teeth, a bundle of pressed flowers, brown with age. And then, small and tucked in on itself, a newspaper clipping. Carefully, I unfold it. It has been ripped from its original page, but some of the header remains. I can see the year 1939 printed at the top, and the letters–ed News left from the title. The headline reads, “Notorious Medium Committed After Brutal Attack on Spouse.”

There is a black-and-white image of a woman with Moony’s fair hair and round face and someone else’s dark eyes staring out. Her hat nearly dips over one eye. Her hair curls close to her neck. Her smile is tight. Her eyes—intense.