The Long Consequence

On this clear, cool daybreak in early June, Norman Sanger gazed out the picture window in his living room and felt that the scene before him might as well be a form of ethereal mockery aimed at him from the natural world. He was a painter and often thought in terms of color and nuances of color, and it was a beautiful morning. But there in front of the house was his son’s ratty old Thunderbird—askew, muddy, wrecked.

You couldn’t look past it.