6 - Pages of Sin

opinion.”
    “Oh, hey,” Ruby said. “Here’s another book with something stuck inside it.”
    I glanced over and saw her wiggling a dark green book in her hand. It was another Jane Austen that matched the one that had caused problems yesterday. This one was slightly more faded, yet still had its lovely leather binding, so I wasn’t sure how it had ended up in the box of damaged books. Once again, I suspected Mom was the culprit.
    Ruby jumped up and handed me the book and an envelope.
    I smiled tightly. “Thanks, Ruby.”
    “I didn’t open it,” she said.
    “I wasn’t worried about that.” I stared at the envelope, almost afraid to open it myself. So I didn’t. It might be important or it might be nothing. But whatever was inside that envelope had been hidden away this long; it wouldn’t hurt to let it sit for another few hours.
    I tucked the envelope back inside the copy of Mansfield Park and slipped the book into my bag. Then I concentrated my energies on repairing my students’ flapping spines and loose hinges.
     
     
    “A birth certificate?” I said in amazement. “Whose is it?”
    Earlier, I’d thought it would be nice to wait and let Mom do the honors and open the envelope. But I’d just about changed my mind after pacing anxiously around the house for the past forty-five minutes, waiting for my parents to get home from their dinner with Byron. Then I heard their car drive up.
    The first thing Mom and Dad did when they entered the house was share with me everything Byron had said about Elaine. Sadly, that amounted to almost nothing. Since then, Dad had gone off to bed and I’d been pacing the room while Mom sat in her favorite chair by the fireplace and examined the aged document.
    “Mom, what does it say?” I asked.
    “This is so bizarre,” she muttered, holding it up to the light. “I shouldn’t judge, but I have to wonder what is up with that crazy family.”
    Frustrated, I stuck out my hand. “For God’s sake, Mother. Either speak to me in clear sentences or hand the thing over so I can read it for myself.”
    I guess I was feeling a little anxious.
    “Sorry, sweetie. It’s just that I’m flummoxed.”
    “Why? Whose birth certificate is it?” I asked with as much patience as I could muster. “Does it belong to one of the sisters?”
    She shook her head as she peered up at me. “I don’t recognize the name of the child, so it’s not anyone we know.”
    “Then who’s the mom and dad?”
    She glanced down to double-check the information, then looked up. “According to this form, the father is Byron Frawley.”
    “Byron?” I frowned. “I thought he and Wanda didn’t have any kids.”
    She shook her head numbly. “They didn’t.”
    “Okay.” I was getting a bad feeling about this. “So whose kid is it?”
    Wearing a look of pure dismay, she said, “It’s Marjorie’s.”

Chapter Seven
     
    “That’s impossible,” I said, shaking my head in complete befuddlement. “Marjorie and Byron had a child together?”
    “That’s what this document says.” Mom waved the paper in her hand, then rose from the chair and walked into the kitchen. “I think we need a little nightcap.”
    “Oh, I’d say so.” I followed right behind her. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Mom was the best role model ever. Well, except for the occasional purges and those wild chanting drum circle trances she had a tendency to fall into. I couldn’t go there with her.
    She brought the bottle of Baileys’ Irish Cream down from the cupboard, filled two small glasses with ice, and poured the liqueur. We sat at the kitchen table and sipped our yummy drinks in silence for a moment.
    “I want to know when all of this could have taken place.” I tried to calculate. “First Byron and Elaine were in love. A year later, Byron and Wanda were married. So where in that time frame did Byron and Marjorie hook up?”
    Byron had been a busy guy, that much was clear.
    “See for yourself,” Mom said, and passed the thin, aged certificate over to me.
    It was a smudged and faded carbon copy of a document titled Certificate of Live Birth. All the boxes were filled in except for the name of the baby. The box for “female” was checked, so it was safe to say that Marjorie had given birth to a little girl.
    It was strange to be studying this unknown child’s birth certificate. What was even more surreal was that the child’s date of birth was only a