Ron rests one heavy palm on the back of Judy’s dining chair and stays standing at the head of the table.

Next to the ham platter, three plain white legal envelopes sit in a neat stack on the tablecloth, propped against the heavy glass gravy boat.

“Before we pass the scalloped potatoes,” Ron says, his voice booming over the rim of his water glass, “your mother and I have an announcement to make.”

“We sold the forty acres down by the creek last Tuesday,” Ron says, looking around the white lace tablecloth at his children.

“The final land papers cleared the bank yesterday morning.”

Kim stops her butter knife in midair over a cloverleaf dinner roll, her fingers frozen above the plate.

“Your mother and I talked it over back in February,” Ron says, adjusting his collar.

“We don’t want you kids sitting around waiting for us to die before you see any benefit from the family land.

We want to hand out the money while we’re still here to watch you enjoy it.”

He reaches down, picks up the top white envelope from the stack, and hands it across the green bean casserole to Kim.

Kim slides her thumb under the flap, pulls out a blue paper check, and immediately covers her mouth with her hand.

“Twenty thousand dollars,” Kim whispers, her breathless voice dropping into a tight, disbelieving hush.

“Mom.

Dad.

Oh my Lord.”

“That’ll put a proper roof over those two boys of yours,” Judy says, leaning forward with her bright schoolteacher praise.

“No more living in that rented trailer with water dripping through the ceiling every time it rains.”

Ron picks up the second envelope and hands it across the table to Jeff.