He drew his right hand out of his pocket and held out a rectangular slip of paper.

The morning breeze caught its edge and made it flutter quickly against his knuckles.

I kept back, judging the distance between us.

I folded my hands together perfectly still in front of my waist.

“Take it, Sarah,” he said quietly.

I stepped forward once and snatched the paper out of his fingers.

The textured watermark of a local county bank glinted in the sun.

It was a cashier’s check made out to me personally.