By dead reckoning alone, I estimate that I’ve lived no fewer than five lives. Reinvention seems to run in the Espinoza clan; at least it does in the stories I’ve been told. Genealogy never was my strong suit, and I’ve got no patience whatsoever for the cackling and clucking of distant relatives I didn’t choose. Perhaps my heritage just doesn’t lend itself well to personal histories and family trees with actual branches. Affairs, illegal rum-running, and love children rarely do. Read more...