The morning before Halloween, I opened the front door and stopped dead. My car looked like it had come down with the world’s stickiest flu—egg yolk sliding down the windows, toilet paper streaming off the antenna like haunted bunting.

“Mommy… is the car sick?” Noah whispered, wide-eyed.

I swallowed the laugh that wanted to come out because it was either that or swear. “A little,” I said. “We’ll fix it.”

Continues…