The envelopes were tucked beneath the Easter plates, one at every place setting. Each envelope had a name written on it in my mother-in-law’s familiar handwriting.
Kim opened hers first. She was the oldest of the three siblings, raising two boys while living in a rented trailer behind the local grain elevator. When she looked inside her envelope, she covered her mouth with her hand, overcome with emotion.
Then Jeff opened his. He had lost his job at the Caterpillar plant and was working part-time driving a propane truck. He read the letter inside his envelope, looked up at his father, and struggled to find the right words.
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