Martin leaned toward his microphone.

“No contract has been approved.”

Karen slowly turned toward him.

“The chair has discretion for limited safety expenditures under emergency conditions.”

Martin blinked.

“That is not an emergency.”

Karen turned back toward the room.

“We hope it will not become one.”

That was Karen's greatest talent.

She could create the threat, then present herself as the only person capable of controlling it.

The Parents Speak

The discussion lasted nearly an hour.

Julie explained that her daughter, Emma, had anxiety and carefully planned her Halloween route every year.

Priya Shah explained that many parents worked late and couldn't start trick-or-treating before six-thirty.

Luis argued that teenagers participating in Halloween was healthier than teenagers wandering around bored and unsupervised somewhere else.

Then Mrs. Bell stood.

She had been handing out caramel apples for twenty-seven years.

“I have never once felt endangered by a child in a costume,” she said.

Karen listened with the expression of someone waiting for bad weather to pass.

Martin finally promised that the board would review the concerns.

Karen said nothing.

That worried me more than an argument would have.

Halloween

Halloween arrived on a Friday.

By four in the afternoon, the children were restless.

My son Noah had been wearing parts of his astronaut costume since breakfast.

Rachel made chili because, according to her, every Halloween dinner had to be something children could ignore quickly.

I checked the porch lights.

Rachel filled two bowls with candy.

One was for the little kids.

The other contained full-size chocolate bars for children who said thank you without being prompted.

At 5:30, the first toddlers appeared.

Tiny pumpkins.

Tiny dinosaurs.

One baby was dressed as a loaf of bread.

Rachel nearly stopped functioning.

By six, Briar Hollow was alive.

Orange lights blinked.

Fog drifted across lawns.

Children shouted for friends.