Jaq With a Q (Kismet) by Jettie Woodruff

a new roof, some paint, and a brush hog with a thirty-foot mower deck,” I said, my mind on the hay field that had taken over the yard, “but other than that, it’s in good shape.”
    “The gutters are falling off.”
    The open concept gave us full view of the cabin, the kitchen and dining area flowing right into the living room. I couldn’t wait to sit in front of the fireplace with a good book and cup of hot chocolate. I hadn’t had hot cocoa in years. “I’ll replace them with the roof.”
    “What the hell are you doing, Oliver?”
    “Wow. That was faster than I thought it would be. Come on. Let’s go check out our room.”
    Silas followed me to the east side of the lodge where he and I had once shared a room, the living area that separated ours from the master suite, Jaq’s room. “You’ve lost your mind little brother. I’m serious. You’re not using your head.”
    I walked into our room, the door already opened, observing the space I had occupied with him for thirteen years, every summer, Christmas vacation, spring break, and many, many weekends. It was just like we had left it, me thirteen and Silas fifteen. A poster of Napoleon Hill, a photo of Silas and me at a Red Sox game, and my one and only trophy. Ten years old, summer camp, potato sack race. The only reason I beat Silas to the finish line was because he tripped, a cute little redhead off to the side killing his mojo.
    I scanned the room, calculating square footage in my head and turned to Silas. “The bunk beds have to go.”
    Silas wasn’t even paying attention. “Remember how obsessed I was with these things?”
    “How could anyone forget? You took that shit serious.”
    Silas laughed and placed the stack of Yugio cards back into an old shoe box. “Yeah, but you don’t know the secret big XY breakpoint.”
    My phone and Jaq calling for the third time kept me from commenting on the dumb card collection. I figured that shit out six months before he did. I just didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to ruin it for him. “Hello.”
    “I don’t have measuring spoons.”
    “What?”
    “Measuring spoons. I don’t have any. You told me to cook. I need them.”
    My eyes slowly looked up to Silas staring at me with content while I searched my mind for something to say. Something that didn’t make her look like a total crazy.
    “You can guess, it’s a recipe. It doesn’t have to be exact.”
    “But I don’t know how to guess what a half tablespoon is.”
    I narrowed my eyes and walked out of our bedroom to the bathroom with crusted orange in the toilet, the shower, and the sink. Jaq didn’t need to call me for that. There was something hidden going on here, I just didn’t know what.
    “Just use a teaspoon, Jaq.”
    “I don’t have measuring spoons. Hello, didn’t you hear me?”
    Yup, there was definitely an underlining reason for the call. “Use the same spoon you eat oatmeal with. What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Jaq didn’t say a word, her quietness surrendering to my suspicion. “Jaq?”
    “I feel like something’s wrong.”
    I turned right into Silas, and ignored his stern look, stepping around him and continuing to calm her down. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
    “Like, I don’t know. My fingers are numb, my chest hurts, and—and, I can’t breathe.”
    “Jaq, listen to me. Slow you’re breathing, your fingers are numb because you’re hyperventilating.”
    “No, it’s not that. This is different.”
    “No, it’s not. Listen to me. Breathe in,” I coaxed, “Think about a bowl full of Skittles.”
    “What? I’m dying of a heart attack and you want me to think about Skittles?”
    “You’re not dying, and yes. Think about the candy. Tell me what color you see.”
    Jaq’s breathing was too quick, her tone panicked, and her words raspy. “This is dumb and I can’t. I can barely even talk.”
    “What color Skittles do you see? Breathe in. What color, Jaq?”
    “I don’t see