He drew a blue document out of the paper envelope and laid it flat in the middle of the wooden coffee table.

It was a cashier’s check drawn on a regional bank in Richmond.

It had blue security watermarks across the front and was made out to Eleanor Vance for fifteen thousand dollars.

“This is for you,” Julian said, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets.

“For the nursery.

For whatever medical bills the Army insurance doesn’t cover come spring.”

I didn’t reach for it.

I sat still and looked at the dark machine ink printed across the payee line in the center.