This rain won’t stop, he said. Kankakee is touching the bridge on 41, took a sip of coffee. Soon it’ll be overflowing into land. Creating small ponds, lakes, too much for the soil to take, lit a cigarette, looked at his wife who was frying eggs and making toast. We got a roof over our heads, he said. Guess we should be thankful.

Did you hear the boy come home last night? momma said. Told him to be home by midnight. Said be careful, she served breakfast to dad. Don’t see his car in the driveway. I’ve told him to call if he’s not coming home.

He don’t listen. Never has. Just does what he wants. He’s just a boy. He’ll get it together one of these days, he got up to look through the cabinets for a can of tobacco and rolling papers. That’s funny, he said. Swore I had a bottle of Red up here, he moved items around looking for it. Was about halfway full. Took a shot last night. He better not have taken that whiskey.

He wouldn’t do that, she declared. He minds.

That boy. Damn it. Bottle ain’t here.

A sheriff’s car pulled up in the driveway. Lights came through the house like the second coming. A message was to be delivered.

The parents held hands and waited at the door.