Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

grass.

“Is he taking me back?” Tyler asked.

Tyler pulled at the neck of his faded green shirt, his face twisting slightly as if the movement hurt his collarbone.

Mike walked over to the swing and knelt down on the cold woodchips, placing a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“No,” Mike said. “We are going to the clubhouse.”

By four in the afternoon, the pine continue reading …