Rita shook her head, trying to come up with a metaphor to help her grasp what Miriam had just told her. My birth mother married Lenin’s secretary, then joined the politburo as commissar for industrial espionage. It didn’t seem like something she could write in one of her reports to Colonel Smith and Dr. Scranton. It was too enormous: eyebrows would be raised and they’d discount her reliability as a witness. On second thoughts, that might not be such a bad thing
