I rustle through the nightstand and come across the papers she took from Moony’s desk. A few from the top rests a statement for an IRA account. The balance is barely $10,000. I’m no mathlete, but I know that even without a tax deduction, that won’t pay for one year of school in New Hampshire. My mother wasn’t lying.

I slouch onto the bed, defeated. I don’t understand. Why would Moony lie to me? Why tell me there was a college fund waiting for me if there never really was? Did she just not understand how much university costs now? What was she going to do in a year’s time when I graduated? What was she going to tell me then?

I’m angry at Moony. Angry that she led me on. But even angrier that she has proven my mom right. And angrier still that she has left me here with her, with nothing.

I look around and decide to rifle through the overpacked closet. I need a stash of cash now more than ever. I am almost done with my search when I see a disturbance in the dust ruffle. I’d nearly forgotten to check under the bed. I check below and find a plastic bin. I drag it out into the light and pop off the top. It’s full of old papers—lease agreements, an old car title, stuff like that. This doesn’t surprise me. Filing would be beyond her.

Beneath the paperwork are dozens of envelopes in different colors. Inside are greeting cards. I recognize Moony’s handwriting on the envelopes right away. They are all addressed to Mary—some Mary Rush and some Mary Gage—at varying destinations around Texas and Louisiana. I open one and pull out the card inside. The image is of two cardinals on a snowy pine branch. There is no typed sentiment, just a picture—of me. I am about ten. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and I’m wearing shorts and a camisole. I am asleep on the sofa in our living room.

I turn the photo over in my hand. Moony has written Cat napping with the date on the back. Her idea of humor?

I pull out more. They’re all the same. Blank greeting cards with pictures of me. Some have as many as three or four, most have one. In some, she has tucked a note written to my mother:

Mary,

Cat is well. She’s doing good in Ms. Elmore’s class. Don’t worry.

—Edna