Sip some water. If you can swallow water, that means you can breathe.

Reese took a sip from the bottled water. It was a staple in her car. There wasn’t much worse in life than having an anxiety attack in the car. It eased her mind to be distracted by a mundane action. And she had convinced herself of the truth. If she could swallow water, she certainly could breathe. She wanted to mentally address why she was on the brink of an anxiety attack but the drive to her office was quick. Switching gears was another effective tool for putting a stop to an impending attack.

Her office was located on the first floor of an old converted Victorian house with a sweeping front porch and original architectural details. The double oak front doors with frosted windows were locked. Good. No one else was in the building. A chime announced her entry and she pushed the heavy door closed behind her. There were six offices in the house, mostly law practices, her coaching business, and the owner’s company. Gregory.

Every time she thought of Gregory, she recalled the first time she met him. It was an addiction to recall that day, that moment, when just over two months had passed since the last day Reese saw her brother, playing at the field, ignoring Heather’s flirtatious advances.

Reese looked at the black nail polish on her fingers. Luke would have been appalled. Goth. She wasn’t Goth by any means, but somehow painting her nails with a cheerful pink seemed out of place.

She walked in the direction of Bishop’s Gas Station where Burt would sell her a pack of Virginia Slims despite her only being twelve. Wait. No. Thirteen. Today she was thirteen.

Casey’s Pub was on the way to the gas station and was painted bright red. The color of blood. She really needed to stop thinking like that. It couldn’t be good for her mental state. Her dad’s car was haphazardly parked in the small, nearly empty lot to the right of the free standing blood red building. Nearly empty because although it was Saturday most residents waited at least until noon before drinking. But not her dad. He was inside brooding over Luke’s birthday. Today he would have been thirteen same as Reese. But Reese was barely a blip on her parents’ radar anymore.

She stood across the street looking at the front door with its small port window, mentally willing her dad to look out and see her. She waited. After a few minutes the door opened and Reese’s heart skipped a beat. He must have seen her. He must have remembered it was her birthday too. She felt a quick pulse of happiness, but then it faded. No not faded. It was yanked away from her.

Mr. Sullivan, Casey Sullivan, stepped out and walked the three concrete stairs down and across the street to Reese.

“Reese, I thought that was you through the window,” Mr. Sullivan said in a heavy Irish brogue. “You looking for your Dad?”

Reese shrugged, not knowing if the answer was yes or no.

He looked at her with the same look everyone gave her now. The look that said, “poor girl. So sad what happened to her brother.”

“He’s having a tough day today. Is there something I can help you with? Is your mother okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. I don’t need anything.”

He nodded acknowledgement and waited a respectable minute before turning his back to her. At the top of the steps, Mr. Sullivan looked back at Reese and said, “Happy birthday. You two were twins, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good then.”

He disappeared into the cavernous pub and for a split second while the door was opened, Reese thought she could see her father slumped over at the bar, hands encircling a beer mug. But maybe it was her imagination.

She continued her trek to Bishop’s and with a pack of smokes in her front pocket, she swung through the Shack and snagged the first slice of pizza for the day coming out of the oven. With a cold cola, pizza slice, and pack of cigarettes, she went behind the brick row of stores where she found a milk crate and flipped it upside down for a seat.

Heather had offered to bring a cake to the house later to celebrate Reese’s birthday. But Reese declined the invitation. It would be too sad. Besides Heather seemed a million years older than Reese, not the three months she really was. Turning thirteen had transported Heather into a pre-adult state of mind. She was hanging out with high school boys and rumors had it that she was quickly becoming known for her special “bedroom” skills or more like “backseat” skills.

It didn’t really matter to Reese. She wanted to be alone anyway. The truth was she didn’t want Heather’s company or her mom’s or dad’s. She wanted Luke’s company. She wanted it so badly it ached in a way she couldn’t describe. Her whole body ached from the inside out.

She finished her pizza, wiped her hands on her shorts and opened her pack of Virginia Slims. She watched her black nail polished hands as they slipped a cigarette out of the pack. Her scabbing scratches all over her knuckles looked so pronounced in the sunlight. She stuck the unlit cigarette between her lips and gazed at the dozen or so marks crisscrossing her knuckles. Another thing Luke would be appalled at. But there was a sense of relief in slicing her flesh, watching the blood trickle into little wells of red bubbles. She rubbed her hands together and fished in her pockets for matches. She fished deeper. “Damn,” she said. She had forgotten to grab a book of matches.

Out of nowhere to her left a flame flicked. She looked up at the standing figure.

“Hurry up. It’s getting hot,” the man said. He looked vaguely familiar to Reese. She maneuvered her cigarette towards the flame and puffed. Smoke blew through her lips and he tucked the lighter into his jeans back pocket.

“A little young to be smoking, don’t you think?” He said.

Reese looked at the smattering of red freckles across the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t tall, not much taller than her 5’5” stance she figured. He was kind of cute in an older guy kind of way.

“You’re that Caldwell girl, aren’t you?”

She nodded and looked down. He wore boots, tan construction style, but he didn’t strike Reese as a laboring kind of guy. There were splotches of pink paint on the toes of his boots.

“I heard they found your brother. Luke.”

Again she nodded and continued to wonder about the pink splashes of paint while she said, “Brittany Connors found him. She’s only four.” She pulled her attention away from the boots to look at his face. She waited for the inevitable look of horror everyone gave her when she said those words, “she’s only four.” But the look didn’t come. He just watched her with sad eyes, but she didn’t think he felt sorry for her like all the other sad eyes. He actually looked curious like people do when they hear a morbid story.

“She found him two days before her parents believed her and went to check themselves.”

 She waited for some kind of reaction but the guy just stood there, seemingly engrossed by her words.

“He was sliced up pretty bad I guess. Brittany’s mom threw up all over his body, contaminating the crime scene. But it really wasn’t the crime scene, just where his body was dumped.”

Still no reaction. “Did you know Luke?” She ventured off course, hoping for him to say something.

He shifted his stance and reached out a hand. “Can I have one of those?”

Reese looked to her cigarette and shrugged. “Sure.” She gave him one and he lit up. Then he sat on the pavement next to her, holding the cigarette kind of funny between two fingertips rather than nestled between his knuckles.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He said, cocking his head toward her.

She looked down at him now instead of up at him. “You look familiar.”

“Gregory Hewick. I own Two Scoops.”

Yes. There’s where she had seen him. “Luke liked going there. Said you had the most choices for ice cream.”

“He liked the peanut butter fudge the best. With hot fudge and marshmallow. Not whipped cream.”

Reese couldn’t help herself. She smiled just a little.

“And you, well you always order the same thing. One scoop of plain old chocolate. I had you figured for strawberry or maybe bubble gum.”

She thought it was odd he remembered what she ordered. He almost never waited on the customers. He had a bunch of high schoolers for that job. But she wanted him to talk more about Luke. Give her a little piece of her brother. She didn’t want to hear about herself. “He didn’t like whipped cream. How can you not like whipped cream?”

“You never asked for whipped cream either.

She took one last drag of her cigarette and tossed it to the ground where she stubbed it out with the toe of her sneaker. Time to go. She didn’t want to talk about herself. She wanted someone to remember Luke with happy memories. Someone who could tell her stories to make her smile. This guy wasn’t him.

She started to get up when he said, “Did you know Luke was painting a mural for me at the store?”

Reese sat down again. “No,” she answered astonished. She had no idea Luke was painting anything.

Gregory looked at her with a faint smile and puffed on his cigarette. “Talented boy, your brother.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “Luke didn’t paint. He couldn’t even draw.”

“Oh yes he could. You should come by the store later and I’ll show you. It’s not finished, but you’ll be surprised at how talented Luke was.”

“Really? He never said a word to me.” She wasn’t sure if she was excited about the piece of new information about her brother or sad he never shared it with her. She thought they told each other everything.  

“Come by and see it sometime. You’ll understand.” He tossed his cigarette butt and stood up, brushing the rear of his jeans. He smiled down at Reese. “You look like you could use a friend.” He held out his hand. She stood and they shook hands. “I’ll be at the store until seven. Come by, but this time, try a strawberry on a sugar cone with chocolate Jimmies. I promise you won't be disappointed.”