Nate looked at the blue slip of paper hanging in the evening air between them.

The tips of his ears turned a bright, dark red, the color spreading down his neck to the collar of his work shirt.

It was the exact same flush that had burned under his skin two Easters ago when he read the bluebird card under the dining room tablecloth.

He didn’t raise his voice or step back.

He reached out with two fingers, took the check by its top edge, and pressed it gently back into Judy’s open palm, closing her fingers over the paper.

“We don’t need one dollar that had to be asked for,” Nate said.