DOWNPOUR

Chandler Hart's wipers slapped against the worst storm he'd ever driven through. Chilled October rain flooded the glass as theough the wipes weren't on. The hellish sound on the roof drowned out the engine's sound and even tehmuffler he'd holed when, three weeks ago, he'd swered off the road afte downing too many drinks to forget he'd been laid off.

"Jesus Christ," He'd said after he'd just left Cindy's Riverside Cafe. Cindy, despite her concern, was glad to see him leaving before any unpleasantry arose.

"Jesus-fuckin-Christ!" He'd cursed when, reaching for peanuts, he bumped his double shot of cheap rye and it sloshed on his cuff.

'The Lord's name in vain!" Zach, the guy next to him who he hardly knew snarled. "You took the Lord's name in vain!"

"Vain?" Chandler sneered. "If God existed, would we be sitting here on our asses?"

"He exists," Zach said with cold certainty. "He's here now. And he hers you. Always."

"Like Santa?" Chandler laughed. "What are you, an altar boy? Better watch your priest's hands. If God didn't exist, guys like you would have to invent him."

Zach growled and spun on his stool. Sensing troble, Chandler tossed down his drink and stood. "Rain's supposed to get worse. I better go."

"You do that," Zach grunted.

The rain poured harder and colder than when he'd arrived two hours ago. Though he ran the few yards to his Ford Asp;ire, his Levi jacket was soaked through and drops trickled from its hem. The engine stalled on the first try, sputtered on the second, then fired. A mile beyond the town's well-lit streets he turned onto pitch-dark Hawkins Hill Road.

"Goddamn turns," hesaid. Barely able to see beyond the car's hood, he rounded the first harpin at a crawl.

"Jesus!" He yelled when he topped the hill and was struck by a gust that rocked the car violently. Water in buckets flooded the windshield so heavily he couldn't see the flaillinlg wiper blades. Blindly, and completely unsure of where he was, he inched rightward, pulled off the road, and stopped glad that he wasn't tumbling to his death down one of the hill's wooded, near-vertical slopes.

He killed the engine, but in minutes he began shivering in his drenched jacket. He restarted the engine and turned the heater up all the way. The rain drove harder, sounding like hail.

"It's only hail," He remembered assuring Chan II, his son who'd just turned three, "Just silly old hail making all that noise." Chan snuggled deeper into his lap, and his compact warmth gave Chandler an inner warmness, one like when he first held him when he was just moments old. In Florida now, over a thousand miles away, with ex-wife Min, and stepfather Lance. He'll be ten next month. Chandler told himself not to forget to send a gift this year.

"He's doing fine," Min had said when they talked almost a year ago. "Learning the violin, but he'll correct you if you don't say 'fiddle.' And he's really into soccer," she said cheerfully but with the familiar strain in her voice that signaled she'd rather the wall was over.

"He's at his violin--fiddle!--lesson now, she said though he hadn't asked to speak to him. He'd been four when they last spoke, and Chan hadn't known who he was.

Chandler felt a pang regretting how, a year after they divorced, He'd willingly signed away all parental rights so prosperous architect Lance could adopt Chan. It hurt again when they gave him a new name: 'Breaker!' after a heroic breakout he'd made from a soccer melee then dribbled like a pro to score the winning goal. Chandler pictured him dribbling with a skill he once had, but another pang hit when he realized someone else, Lance maybe, had taught Chan to dribble. Worst of all, he realze dhe knew what Chan II, what Breaker, looked like.

His cellphone jingled.

"Chan?" Min's voice came through raspy static.

"Min! Hey! He sat up. "I'm pulled over. Rain's too hard to see the road. There's static."

"Can't you hear me?" Min said, alarmed, "Should I wait and call your house? I tried to already."

"Worked late," Chandler lied. I can hear. What's up?"

Min was silent a long time. "Breaker's--Chan...Chan's got a problem."

"What? He doesn't need bail I hope!" He laughed.

A tremor in her voice, Min said, "Cancer."

Chandler's heart skipped. "Cancer? Well, they cure that all the time nowadays,' he said but thought of Mr. Cardona, his high school math teacher, who lost a daughter to leukemia.

"It's his brain. A brain tumor.'

A cold shiver raced down Chandler's spine. "They fix them too."

"Yes!" Min said. "His pediatrician said its a, a, glio...glio, glioblastoma. She explained all about chemo, radiation, how they work. There's surgery too, if necessary. There's no guarantee, she said, but amazing strides are being made all the time. There's new customized cancer treatments, DNA, and the genome..." min trailed off. Chandler too said nothing.

Suddenly, brightly, Min said, "Doctor Cho! She's very confident. She's referred Break--Chan to an oncologist, Dr. Schatz, a famous professor at Florida State. He sees him Friday."

"Good. That's good news," Chandler said, unconvinced. "Keep me posted."

"I promise."

"Good." Okay. Let me know after he sees him. The oncologist."

"I will. So," She paused, "So, how are you, Chan?"

"Except for this Goddamned rain, I'm fine," he said, not mentioning his being laid off.

"Good. I'll call you."

"Okay."

"Oh, Breaker's due home from his lesson any minute. He'll regale me and I'll have to listen to a bar or sixteen. Then I'll settle him down for bed. That's the only time he mentions the cancer, and only about losing his hair.'

Chandler made a laugh he did not feel.

"Bye for now," Min said, "I'll call. Meantime all we can do is pray for the best."

"Right. Keep me posted."

When she hung up he turned the wipers off to gauge the downpour. it seemed to have slackened somewhat. He turned them back on, revved the engine once, and pulled cautiously bacd onto the road.

"Jesus!' He cried out when another gust hit. As it died he realized that a blur wasn't from the rain, but from his own watering eyes.

He wished he'd asked Min to send him a picture of Chan, in his soccer uniform if possible. Or with his fiddle. Or both.

Then he said, "Sorry God. I'm sorry Jesus. I mean about swearing. And, and if you do exist which I don't know but if you do and if you've ever helped anybody, please help Chan. Help Breaker! Because he needs you. He needs you now." And the rain came down harder, then eased,