Chapter 3
1985George Evans held one of his boyhood books, pretending to read. He ran his fingertips over the rough cloth cover of Treasure Island, watching his grandfather stare at the television. Decades of squinting and suntans marked Adam Evans’s pale face with deep lines, the thick light brown hair of his youth reduced to a delicate gray cloud around the back of his skull.
A cable channel with endless black-and-white reruns clashed with the brand new television. Even with a twenty-seven inch screen, it was the first in this house that wasn’t big enough to serve as furniture.
The last early Seventies model had faded to all pastel colors and the picture rolled constantly, but the eldest Evans still complained about the modern version fairly often. He claimed to despise the plastic woo
