The envelope is completely empty.

Inside the card, Judy’s rounded schoolteacher handwriting fills the right-hand panel in bright blue ink.

“You two have always been so capable, we never worry about you,” I read silently to myself.

I press my thumb against my index finger under the tablecloth and read the single line of ink a second time to make sure I haven’t missed a zero or a handwritten amount.

“Go on and open it, Nate,” Judy says cheerfully, beaming at us from her chair.