One April Sunday, our grandmother invited us for lunch. Later, while playing hide and seek, my 7-year-old brother, Terry, hid inside Dad’s Buick. Scrunching beneath the dashboard, he saw a cookie tin under the seat and pried it open. It was half-full of money.
Holding up the box, Terry said, “Let’s borrow a shovel from the barn and bury it as pirates’ treasure in the field Uncle Bill just plowed.” We’d had four treasure hunts when Dad yelled, “It’s getting dark, let’s go home.” Deciding to keep our adventure a secret, I returned the shovel to the barn.
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