Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

carried the clean smell of damp pine, free of the exhaust fumes that had followed them for six weeks.

“You are going too fast on the turns, Tyler,” Mike called out, his low rumble carrying across the yard.

“I can go faster,” Tyler whispered, though he slowed the pedals anyway.

The boy stopped near the edge of the grass, his small boots continue reading …