It was sealed.

The postmark said September, the return address was a post office box, and I thought, Christmas club, since she’d paid into one every year since I was in grade school.

I worked a thumbnail under the flap and ripped it open.

There was no Christmas club card in it.

It was a machine-printed bank draft receipt with Tyler, Texas, across the top.

A monthly payment of four hundred and twelve dollars and fifty cents had come out of her account on September first.