They were still laughing as they went out onto the street. It was nearly Halloween. Tad had wanted a Storm Trooper costume—he was crazy about the Star Wars films—but they couldn’t afford one. So he settled for a cobbled together Jedi Knight costume, consisting of an old hooded cloth coat that had belonged to their grandfather and a homemade lightsaber—a long stick wrapped in aluminum foil and crepe paper. It didn’t look at all bad, Clancey thought.

“What are you going to dress up for at Halloween, Clancey?” Tad asked as they walked toward home in a brisk breeze that swirled dead leaves up from the sidewalk. She shivered a little. She’d only worn a sweatshirt with her jeans. She wished she’d worn her ratty old jacket. At least Tad was wearing his.

“A fairy princess,” she told him facetiously.

“Come on,” he persisted. “What are you going as, really?”

“A clerk for the Texas Rangers, I guess,” she sighed, looking down at her worn jeans and sneakers and gray sweatshirt, all found at a thrift store.

“We could make you a costume, too,” he said.

She smiled at him. “We made you one. That’s going to have to do, this year.”

“Cal said he’d drive us around, if we wanted him to. Not many people where we live give out candy.”

“When did he say that?” she asked curiously.

“He came by the school to give a talk on drug prevention,” he told her with a grin. “It was just before lunch, so he stayed and talked to me for a little while. He wanted to know if you were doing okay.”

She laughed softly. “He’s a worrywart,” she said with affection.

“Well, you get sick a lot when it’s autumn,” he replied, worried.

She drew him close to her side. “I don’t go outside much,” she said.

“You walk to and from work. And we’re outside now, and it’s windy and cold and you don’t even have on a jacket,” he murmured.

She grimaced. She only had a ratty old coat. It was too hot for cool days like this. Her sweatshirt wasn’t quite warm enough in late afternoon. But her chest seemed okay. She had preventive medicines and she did use them—when she remembered.

“Stop worrying,” she chided, planting a kiss on his blond hair. “I’m indestructible.”

He drew in a long breath. “Clancey, what if he gets out soon?”

Her face tightened. “We’ll figure out something.”

“He owns the house. Doesn’t he? I don’t want to live with him. I’m afraid of him,” he added in a small voice.

She stopped on the sidewalk and looked down at him. “I’m afraid of him, too,” she confessed. “We’ll do something before he’s released. There are government apartments. I’ll ask Cal if he’ll help us find one.”