Reid sat on the roof of his mom's house and watched the Dial Cleaners guy pull into his dad's driveway across the street. A blue duffel bag stuffed with dirty clothes hung on his front door knob.

His mom didn't know Reid sat on the roof. He was small for fourteen, light, and she thought the creaking noise was squirrels. They invaded her bird feeders. She mixed pepper in the seed, and greased the poles so they'd slide down like fireman, but nothing worked. Reid wished the jays would take charge and peck their rodent eyes out.

It was the middle of the summer. Reid's four-year-old sister had drowned in their backyard pool in April. His dad had said he needed time to think and wanted his own place, but close by, so Reid traveled between the two houses. Breakfast at mom's for cinnamon rolls. Lunch at dad's. Dinner was wherever the food was best that night. His dad mostly ordered takeout. Sweet and sour pork, pizza, tamales. He kept the freezer stocked with tubs of ice cream you didn't have to spoon in bowls, because with him there were no rules. His dad wasn't going to yell, even if Reid made Ds. "No pressure here," he told his son. "Lightning doesn't strike twice." He told Reid, daily, to do what he wanted, live full.

His mom believed take out food had no vitamins. There were new lines in her face. She walked differently, like taking steps required thinking. She stood at the window when Reid cut the neighbor's grass, and had panicked the other night when he went to Putt-Putt with friends and got home late because they were in the arcade and winning.

The cleaner guy pulled his dad's shirts out of the duffel bag, counting by throwing them on the ground. His mom used to iron his dad's shirts. She'd spray starch in the air and let the mist fall, roll the damp shirts into tubes and store them in the fridge until his father needed to wear one. When she ironed, the steam smelled good.

The van backed out making loud beeps. Reid imagined a year from then, when they wouldn't miss Katie as much. She'd be like a friend's little sister who moves away because the dad's been transferred, and it doesn't matter anymore that you knew her because you won't see her again.


:::

Reid had a summer job at Yummy's Sno-Balls. The stand belonged to the Catalanotto family. Three generations of them crowded in there, leaving not much room, but the place was organized. A hundred bottles sat on three graduated shelves, with special plastic spouts to make the pour smooth. They all kept up with drips and spills so ants didn't invade.

The line was always ten deep. When the pretty girl stepped up, Frank Catalanotto let Reid wait on her and he took the three kids who couldn't see over the counter.
She said, "I want to start at the top and work my way down."

Reid knew the list by heart. "Almond. Barney."

"Purple?" she said. Her lips were slick, with tiny flecks of silver.

"We have a flavor called cake batter," Reid said, and her eyes got round.
He leaned over the counter, touched her arm with his, and pointed at the
handwritten sign. Frankie, Jr. had drawn igloos and shivering penguins in the empty spaces.

"Popeye," she said. She wanted a flat head, which was a sno-ball that was even with the cup, no peak.

"You sure? There's less ice and syrup," he said.

She pointed at her new T-shirt. "I don't want to drip green."

He liked her shirt. He liked her pants. He asked Frank the third if he could take a break. She sat beside him at the picnic table.

"What is your name?" he said. Every word sounded stupid and separate. Like.
Translating. From. Indian.

"Calais."

"How do you spell that?"

"C-A-L-A-I-S."

"French?"

"Lebanese."

"I was close."


:::

His mom wanted Reid over early Saturday to move things around.

"I have to work," he reminded her.

"The house is screwed up," she said. His dad had taken things to his place and the rooms had weird spaces. There was a couch in the den with no chairs, and divots in the carpet.

"What can we put over these?" she said.

"Plants?" Reid said.

The bookshelf was half full, and books had toppled over in sloppy piles. Reid straightened them and placed photos in silver frames next to the stacks to hold them still. In his parent's bedroom, one of the twin dressers was gone, so the room looked off balance. The small TV that had been there was on his dad's kitchen counter.

"How does his place look?" his mom said.

"Okay."

"He blames me," she said, and went to the kitchen to smoke a cigarette.

Reid walked into Katie's room. Her things were where she'd left them. Some artwork from Pre-K. Some pretend homework, just numbers on paper. The bed had not been made.

His mom watched him from the doorway. "I want your dad's winter clothes put in the garage," she said.

Reid hugged armfuls of wool jackets and sweaters and coats, and filled a damp huge box she'd been saving.



:::

"Nectarine," Calais said over the head of a little kid Reid was waiting on. Today she wore a purple shirt. Reid over poured a coconut and Frank, Sr. smacked him on the back of the arm. "That's my profit on the floor," he said. Reid asked if he could take his break early.

He sat at the picnic table with Calais.

"This is good," she said, sucking on the straw. She pressed her fingers into her forehead.

"Brain freeze," he said. "Give it a second."

Yummy's customers had to park at Temple Drugs across the street. Reid watched them cross, checking the traffic left, right, left again, holding their kids' hands.

"That was my little sister you read about in the newspaper," he said. He was eating a cup of plain ice.

"I didn't." Calais leaned against his arm for a second, then swayed away, interested. "What'd she do?"

Reid explained how his mother had answered the phone and a telemarketing person caught her, how Katie had squeezed through the black mesh Angel Fence his parents had bought at Metairie Pool and Spa after the sales lady explained that over 300 children died every year in private swimming pools.

Calais put her arm around him.

"It only takes 17 seconds to drown."

She looked at Reid and her eyes filled with tears.

"That doesn't count splashing for help."

Calais sloshed the ice in her melting drink and put the cup down. "I don't want any more." She got off the picnic table and pulled him by the hand. "You should get back to work. The line got long."



:::

He could hear his mother calling him inside the house. She walked around the front yard to look for him. He watched her from the roof. She called his name over and over until his father came out of his house and asked if everything was okay.

"Is Reid with you?" she said.

"I thought he was at your house."

She flinched like something had flown too close to her face.

"You can't keep your eye on him?" his father said.

"What are you saying?"

Reid climbed down the back of the house, slipped into the kitchen window and walked through the front door.

"I was around the block helping Mr. Schlottman bag leaves. Everything's okay," he said.



:::

Miss Gail was at Reid's dad's, giving him a haircut. She was the mom of his friend, Turner, and pretty. She had on cut offs and white sandals.

"How's work?" his dad said.

"We sold 186 so far," Reid said.

"I wish you'd brought me one." Gail brushed his dad's neck with powder.

"Is Turner home?" Reid asked.

She nodded yes. "Bored stupid."

He rode his bike to their house. Turner was in the driveway, lighting fireworks left over from Memorial Day.

"Is my mom still at your dad's?" he said.

"Yeah." Reid tied the wicks together on four packs of Black Cats.

"You think they're getting together?"

"No," Reid said. He lit the thing with an incense stick and they went off like a hundred gunshots, bouncing around the driveway. Turner handed him some Mega Missiles. "Watch you don't blow your fingers off."

"Never happen," Reid said. He took his time and glanced over at his friend. "I'm bullet proof." He lit the missile and waited until the fuse was almost all ash to move out of the way of the launch, but the firework took off toward his face. He put his hands up to protect his eyes. His right hand stung, felt ice cold for a second, until the air hit the burn.



:::

His mother drove him home from the hospital, left him in the kitchen, went to her room and closed her door.

He looked at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said to no one. She was slamming drawers in there, probably looking for more stuff to throw out. This week the garbage cans in her driveway overflowed with magazines, towels, still-good bottles of shampoo.

Reid used the ladder in the back and climbed on the roof. The lady next door was pulling weeds from her garden. Gumbo, her dog, sunned himself in the driveway.
His dad opened his front door and stood there, staring at their house. He crossed the street and dug in their cans, pulled out a few things, then went in his house to put them away. He walked back over to look some more.

"Dad," Reid said.

His father looked up, shading his eyes. "Nice view."

Reid raised his bandaged hand. "I burned myself."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Reid said. "Do you wanna come up?"

"Where's your mom?"

"In her room."

His dad climbed up the ladder and tiptoed over the roof. He held Reid's hand in both of his.

"Firecrackers," Reid said.

"How's she doing?" his dad asked.

"Not so good."

They watched Mr. Bolton push his lawnmower around the pine trees in his yard.

"I see Katie all day," Reid said. "Out of the corner of my eye, especially when I'm not thinking about her."

"You're lucky," his dad said.

"She's always running."

His mom's window was open and she was crying. "Maybe you should check on her," his dad said.

Reid sat on his mother's bed and patted her hair like she used to do to him when he was sick. When she fell asleep, he snuck into Katie's room and stole Barbie from her Dream House. He stuffed her in his shirt and brought her to his dad's, sat her down straight-legged, with perfect strange hair, on the desk between the pencil cup and calculator.

His dad was watching the baseball game in the other room. "Reid?" he said, "wanna watch the Yankees with me?"

"I just ran over for my soccer shorts," Reid said. There were brownies on the kitchen table, and he wrapped two in an unused KFC napkin to bring to his mother.
He took his time crossing the street. It felt safest when he was standing in the middle of Blue Jay Lane, not gone yet from either parent, but also not with one instead of the other. If he had a choice, he'd sit all night on the warm black asphalt.


:::

While his mother was at church on Sunday, Reid changed into swim trunks and sat on the edge of the pool. Brown leaves from the pecan tree floated on the surface. He found the skimmer, held it in his good hand and picked them up, dumped them into a Hefty bag. Green mold bloomed on the floor of the pool. Reid scraped it away with the long-handled brush. Katie?s pool toys had been deflated, folded into colorful squares and moved to a corner of the patio, but he saw a purple My Pony in the deep end and left it alone.

He walked out until the water hit his neck, kept his bandaged hand in the air while he ducked under to wet his hair.


:::

Calais held out two dollars. "Choose for me."

Reid took the money and touched her hand. He turned around and scanned the bottles.

He wanted to tell Calais he was listening to Incubus when Katie drowned. His mother had carried her, dripping, up to his room and asked him to help. He knew CPR from health class, but when he put his mouth over his sister's it felt too small, too soft. There was nothing he could do to make her breathe.

The machine sprayed ice into the cup, and some dusted over the bandage on his hand. On his break he would show her the burn. He would kiss her on the picnic bench and find her cool tongue.

"This time make mine high," she said.

Reid flattened the cone and poured in Green Lagoon, then filled a silver funnel with more ice. He turned it over to make a beauty, this packed, perfect cone. He liked her so much.