You can’t unsee such a thing. And if you’re a maternal sleuth with a puritan upbringing like me, you might look away in shock.

I don’t have insight or hindsight. Crazy Suzanne should not have documented our lives, and should definitely not have chosen what to pack.

My wrists strained at the handcuffs wanting to wave, give a peace sign or some indication that I was still dateable.

W e’re on a raft of logs in the middle of a river just yards from terra-firma when David hands me the dried piece of mushroom. “ You’ve...