My Neighbor Knocked in the Rain and Told Me to Take My Granddaughter Across the Street—From His Window, I Watched My Own Son Enter My House

The kind that overwhelms gutters and turns every passing car into a hiss of water.

Rosalind went to bed at eight-thirty.

At 9:47, somebody knocked.

Not the bell.

Three sharp knocks.

Gideon.

Soaked.

“Ten o’clock.”