Way the thundercloud was coming down river, there was a sliver of moon that was not going to last long. While the moon was out, he remembered a poem he read in high school about Ebner Flood who he drank a toast to what moon there was left.

God, if they even suspected he'd set out to kill himself, there were a bunch of people he would disappoint. When he tilted the bottle at a forty‑five degree angle, he remembered people up and down both sides of the river who cheered him on when he was running the football all over Crawfordsville's field.

Most of the people were either relatives of his ma and pa, or May Sue's people. One thing about living in one place for generations, relatives kind of stacked up all along the highway and river.

Some people whispered his grandpa went soft in the head 'cause his great‑grandparents were close relatives who married. Only thing it was not like the poor little girl who talked to him earlier. It was legal then to marry that way ‑ first cousins.

He often wondered if that was not what was half wrong with him ‑ his great grandparents being cousins or something about as kin. Only thing, there hadn't been anything wrong with his father. That is until the time he wanted to have his own son locked up for trailing rattlesnakes over the back of his pickup.