Max doesn’t respond but just stares at and beyond her, and I realize he’s drifted off again. I wonder what the cause is this time. When he’s had these moments before, I’ve asked him afterward what he was thinking about, and he always mumbles nothing. It’s almost as if he loses time for a few seconds, his brain fast-forwarding past a bad memory.

“What’s up with you, freak?” Willow says.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” I say to my niece. Then I touch Max’s arm. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

When he doesn’t reply, I give his arm a little squeeze, just short of a pinch. This stirs him from his reverie and he looks up to me. “Her blood looks real.”

“You know it’s not, though, right? It’s all make believe.”

He blinks, and in his eyes, I don’t see reassurance. I see fear. “I know,” he says.

This is not usual for him. Max loves Halloween, gory costumes and all. But somehow the sight of Willow’s weak attempt at horror has him on edge.

Cora claps her gloved hands together and beams a plastic smile. “Well, then, this should be fun. Shall we start?”

I kneel in front of my son. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

This is the first Halloween without his father, a reality that has to be swirling inside him.

“Okay, let’s go get some candy,” I say.

“You don’t need to come,” he says, and before I can even argue, he runs off to the nearest house, his plastic pumpkin candy pail jostling in his right hand. One moment, he seems scared; the next, he runs off into the night without me. I try so hard to understand him, and just as I think I’m getting close, something happens to make us feel more disconnected than ever.

Willow starts to follow Max when Cora says, “Did you even bring anything to put candy in?”

Willow turns to her mom, cups her hands together for a second, then continues after Max.

Cora watches her walk up to the house and says to me, “If she’s this bad at thirteen, what will the next five years be like?”

“Hell,” I say, meaning it. Kind of hoping it.

It’s just after seven and trick-or-treating is in full force in Arlington Estates. Squeals, screams, and laughter come from all directions and distances, and roving packs of costumed kids litter the streets and sidewalks. About half the packs have adults with them, many of whom have wineglasses.

“Did you bring anything to drink?” Cora asks.

“No, I didn’t even think about it.”

“Great.”

The air is still but cold on my cheeks. I tug on my wool hat, bringing it further down over my ears.

Max comes racing back from the house and nearly runs into me. His fangs are bared, which is good because that means he’s smiling.

“What’ya get?” I ask.

With a heavy lisp from his fake teeth, he mumbles, “Full-size Snickers.”

“Wow,” I say. “Good stuff.” He seems to be past whatever fear he was having a few minutes ago.