“Last year I was a dinosaur, and this year I’m an astronaut,” he said.

“You need your helmet,” Josie said, and placed it on his head.

“It’s hot.”

“You can just hold it then,” she said, and took it from his head. “Put your candy in it.”

He held it in both hands and stared down at the empty insides.

“Say trick or treat.”

“Trick or treat,” he said, and she emptied a handful of Pixie Stix into the helmet.

“Candy,” he said.

“Yes, and when someone gives you candy, you have to say thank you. Let’s practice. You go first.”

“Trick or treat.”

Josie took two Pixie Stix from the bag and dropped them in his helmet. “Happy Halloween,” she said.

“Are you going to come trick-or-treating with us?” he asked.

“You forgot to say thank you.”

“Are you going to come trick-or-treating with us?” he repeated.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Josie opened a Pixie Stix and poured the green dust into her hand.

“Because why?”

“Just because.” She licked the dust from her palm.

“But you came last year.”

“Yes.” But last year everything had been different. Last year they had gone first to the mall with Phillip and Katie, and later that night out with Mary. The night had been warm and windy, and Tyler dragged his dinosaur tail from house to house collecting candy while Mary pushed the sleeping baby in the stroller.

The streets were dotted with ballerinas and cowboys and skeletons, and the buzz of the night had made Josie brave. She rested her hand atop Mary’s, and Mary leaned her head on Josie’s shoulder, and Josie wondered if there was ever a more perfect night.

“When I was little,” Mary had said, “my mom would cover the trees with masses of spiderwebs. I wouldn’t walk under them without someone holding my hand.”

Josie smiled. “What else?”

“We would have a pre-trick-or-treating party every year, and my mom made this punch she called Witches Brew that I’m convinced had brandy in it.”

“What else?”

“Ummm … I was a cat for four years straight, and then a gypsy, and then a cheerleader.”

Josie tickled her cheek with Mary’s hair.

“What about you?” Mary asked.

“My dad had a haunted house built on our property each year.”

“A real house?”

“All these workmen would show up in the morning with a giant tent, and by the time I came home from school it had turned into a real house—with turrets and everything,” Josie said.

“Wow.”

“Every year there was some different theme. Once he had two dozen animated zombies programmed to raise their arms and howl when he flipped a switch. It was his own personal Dawn of the Dead.”

“Where did he get all that stuff?” Mary asked.

“Some prop shop in Hollywood.”

Mary looked at her. “That must have cost a fortune.”