Frank's trip to Pennsylvania started off the same as countless other business trips. He dragged his suitcase to his car, cursing the loose wheel that kept sliding on the driveway and giving the remains of the pet pajamas tied to the handle one last tug to make sure the knot was still tight. Sam clung to him the entire time, forcing him to walk stiff-legged. "Okay, buddy," he said as he gently pried the fingers off his pants. "Daddy's gotta go to the airport before traffic gets ugly."

"But I don't want you to go." Sam buried his face against his dad as he wept and hiccupped.

Frank cast a pleading look at Harriet.

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes before sweeping up Sam in a maneuver that was half hug, half reverse football tackle. "He'll be back soon."

"Promise?"

"Unless the chocolate is too delicious." At his son's renewed sniffling, he hastily added, "Kidding! But I will make sure to bring you back a whole lot. I heard they even let you customize your own bar. Got any requests for fillings?"

"Marshmallows and caramel and peanuts and—"

Frank laughed. "A little bit of everything. Got it. As for your mom," he wrapped his arm around Harriet and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before whispering, "I've got a special dessert in mind for you."

"Sh, not in front of Sam!" She kissed him back and cupped his cheek in her hand. "But that does sound nice. Just make sure it stays special, okay? Don't go making this a regular thing."

"I won't. I promise."

As Frank drove off into the early morning, Harriet took Sam inside. "You didn't sleep too good either, huh?"

"Nope," he said with a yawn. "A T-Rex almost ate Dad, and then I woke up."

"Sounds like we both need a pick me up. How do pancakes sound?"

###

After she fixed them both stacks of blueberry pancakes piled high with strawberries and whipped cream, Harriet dropped Sam off at school. Inflatable ghosts wailing among dozens of pint-sized pumpkins greeted the kids as they gushed about their costumes and gossiped about which houses handed out the best candy. Sam looked ready for Halloween night already thanks to his slouching walk and typical Monday moaning.

Harriet figured she might as well embrace the holiday spirit too as she made her way to Walmart. Hopefully, she'd be able to help her dad find the sweet spot between spooky and scary. The last thing she needed was another dog skeleton incident. Poor Sam hadn't stopped sobbing until she'd taken him to every single house in the neighborhood to assure him all of his canine friends were still alive.

The grim reaper welcomed her to the Halloween section with a bright red flash from his eye sockets and a dip of his scythe. Even without Sam by her side, Harriet steered away from the ghouls leering out from the more intense aisles. She was more than five times Sam's age, yet even she shuddered at the sight of the decomposing zombie masks and the far too realistic-looking plastic rats snarling at anyone who dared to come near them.

Thank goodness for the tamer aisles aimed at kids and anyone else who'd rather not have nightmares until Christmas. Candy corn-toothed jack-o'-lanterns grinned at black cat candy bowls as the Monster Mash played from a handful of motion-detecting toys. Terrifyingly corny decorations flew into her cart alongside bloated bags of candy. Reese's cups, M&M's, and jolly ranchers sent the wheels squealing under the sugary burden.

The cashier gave Harriet an approving nod as she muscled the creaking cart to the checkout. "Somebody's getting in the holiday spirit," he said as his orange-painted nails scanned items faster than she could blink. "You planning a party or something?"

"Just helping my dad get ready for when my son and I visit."

"Dang, you looking to adopt? My family thinks Halloween is satanic."

Between the snarling werewolf on his shirt and his bat earrings, it was clear he didn't share their opinion. "Here," Harriet said as she tossed him a pack of ghoulishly green Kit Kats. "Treat yourself on me."

"Thanks!" He finished bagging everything she'd bought with a smile sweet enough to give anyone cavities. "Have a spooktacular day, and come back soon!"

With that smile on her mind, the heap of party supplies felt nearly weightless as Harriet loaded up the car for the next stop on her shopping agenda.

Unfortunately, whoever was calling her had other plans. "Who is this?" Harriet asked.

"Good morning, Mrs. Walker," said a voice Harriet immediately recognized as the school nurse. She'd know that disinterested drawl anywhere. "We need you to come pick Sam up."

Harriet paled. "What happened?"

"He puked. Bring a change of clothes." She sighed. "I swear you people will send kids to school even if they're a second and a half from spewing."

Harriet bit back a sharp retort. "I'll be over in a jiffy."

After making a pit stop to grab some clean clothes and cover the backseat in towels, she drove to Sam's school. The nurse greeted her by thrusting a clipboard at her. "Sign this so the front office will know he's out. He can come back once he's gone at least 24 hours without puking."

Sam groaned from where he lay on one of the sickbeds. "Sorry, Mom."

"It's okay, honey." She wrinkled her nose as the stench of partially digested strawberries and maple syrup hit her. "Do you think you can walk to the car or do you want me to carry you?"

He rolled onto his side. "I think I can— " He brought a hand to his mouth as his stomach let out an ominous rumble. The nurse shoved the trashcan under his nose, raising an eyebrow when he eventually waved it away. "I need a lift."

Once he changed into the clean clothes she'd brought, Harriet lifted Sam into her arms with a grunt. The walk to her car was slow and full of pit stops thanks to a handful of false alarms, but Sam eventually made it to the backseat without throwing up.

"Are you up for telling me what happened, or do you need to be quiet?"

"Mrs. Dawson had us talk about our parents using our vocab words," Sam said quietly. "Peter started crying."

Harriet winced. "Mrs. Dawson should have let him talk about somethin' else instead." Like how insensitive his teacher could be, bless her heart.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the car thudded over a speed bump. "Then it was my turn. I started talking about Dad, and my feelings kind of... exploded."

"I bet they did," Harriet muttered. "You can let 'em out some more if you have to. Momma's here for you if you need to vent." Although she'd do a fair bit of venting herself if he ended up throwing up in the car.

He shook his head and leaned back into the towels covering his seat. Despite his change of clothes, the scent of puke still permeated the air so thickly Harriet found herself swallowing bile of her own all the way home. The sickly stress burned at the back of her throat as she pulled into the driveway.

She got Sam situated with his usual sick day set up: a bowl of ice chips, a bag of goldfish crackers, a trashcan, and a cozy spot on the couch perfect for watching Spongebob yell his little yellow head off. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

Harriet cozied herself up in her favorite armchair with a cup of jasmine tea and a romance novel. If she was going to spend the day caring for Sam and listening to nautical nonsense on full blast, she might as well try to soothe the headache building behind her eyes. Halfway through her third chapter of the morning, she massaged her temples with a long sigh. If she heard one more sea creature scream about a secret formula, she was going to host a full-blown seafood cookout.

Sam lowered the volume of the TV a handful of notches, mercifully reducing the show to more easily ignored background noise. "You feelin' alright, honey?" Harriet asked.

Sam spoke so softly she had to lean forward to hear him. "Would you ever leave Dad?"

The question sucked Harriet's breath away, leaving her throat tight. Abandoning her book, she joined Sam on the couch. "Of course not, sweetie," she said before kissing his forehead. It was a bit warm, but nothing some ice chips and a damp washcloth couldn't fix. "Your daddy does really silly things sometimes, but me leaving him is about as likely as you suddenly hating dinosaurs. Why'd you ask?"

"Peter's mom and dad used to love each other, but then they started fighting, and you and dad..." Sam's voice trailed off as he sniffed.

Harriet squeezed her eyes shut to stop tears of her own from sneaking out. Had her marriage really become such a mess that even Sam could see it? "All grown-ups fight sometimes, honey, but that doesn't mean they don't love each other. Your daddy and I love each other very much, and we always will."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to fry."

"That's not how it goes!"

"Well if I break that promise, I'm gonna turn into a great big French fry!" Harriet forced herself to smile as Sam giggled. Thank goodness she knew how to cheer him up a bit, but he wasn't the only one with a lot on his mind lately. "Peter's been having a real rough time, hasn't he?"

"He left his homework at his dad's again." Sam tossed a handful of goldfish into his mouth. "Says he did it on purpose."

"Meanwhile I bet you wish you could throw yours in the garbage."

"Or flush it down the toilet," Sam said. "He's been weird at lunch, too. He keeps asking me to share my banana with him."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Harriet said. Still, since when did that little chocoholic care about fruit that wasn't covered in chocolate? She'd have to ask Carol what was going on next time they got together. "Maybe we can do a little something for him to cheer him up."

Sam yawned. "I'll think of somethin'," he said.

Apparently, whatever that was involved counting sheep. Sam snored softly as Harriet turned off the TV and draped a blanket over him. After making sure he was well and truly conked out, she tiptoed into the kitchen. Some surprise pie would be sure to cheer Peter up.

The scent of cinnamon wafted through the kitchen as Harriet whisked together a bowl full of pumpkin pie filling. "The last thing I needed today was for Sam to hurl all over himself," she muttered into the orange goop. "One of these days, I hope he at least manages to make it to the toilet. And poor Peter! No kid should have to be put on the spot about something like that. That stupid teacher should have known better."

The oven warmed the kitchen like one of Frank's increasingly uncommon hugs as Harriet readied a suitably festive plate for her trip to Carol's.