The HOA President appeared genuinely offended.
“I oversee this entire community.”
The boy pointed at the candy bowl.
“Does that mean you can steal candy?”
The word hit hard.
Steal.
The woman lowered her voice.
“I already told you I am not stealing.”
“Then put it back.”
Behind them, two more families had begun walking toward the porch.
Children in costumes.
Parents carrying flashlights and travel mugs.
One father noticed the argument.
He slowed.
The HOA President noticed the audience too.
Her tone changed.
Not softer.
More official.
“This homeowner was warned.”
The little boy blinked.
“About candy?”
“Yes.”
“Candy.”
The father approaching the porch almost laughed.
He caught himself.
The HOA President turned toward him.
“You find something amusing?”
“No.”
The man smiled politely.
“Just trying to figure out what’s happening.”
“Nothing.”
She adjusted the handbag on her arm.
The father looked at the orange bowl.
Then at the large unopened bags of cheap candy on the floor.
Then at the bulging handbag.
“Looks like something.”
The HOA President pointed toward the sidewalk.
“Please continue with your children.”
The father stopped.
“No.”
Something about adults refusing her directions was becoming a pattern that evening.
The woman crossed her arms.
“I am handling an association matter.”
“During trick-or-treating?”
“Yes.”
“Regarding candy?”
She sighed.
“Regarding neighborhood standards.”
The father looked toward the children.
His daughter whispered:
“Can I still get candy?”
The father almost smiled.
“Hold on.”
The woman turned back toward the first little boy.
“You children need to leave.”
The boy did not move.
Instead he said something unexpected.
“You already did this at our house.”
The HOA President froze.
Only for half a second.
The father noticed.
The homeowner inside noticed too.
The little boy continued.
“My dad bought big candy too.”
The woman’s expression hardened.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You came to our porch.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
The little boy pointed toward her purse.
“You had that bag.”
His sister nodded.
“And those glasses.”
The HOA President laughed.
“For goodness’ sake.”
The boy’s voice grew stronger.
“You took ours.”
The father standing nearby lowered his phone from his pocket.
Now he was listening carefully.
The boy continued.
“My dad thought older kids took everything.”
The HOA President shook her head.
“I was never at your house.”
“You were.”
“Enough.”
The front door behind her unlocked.
CLICK.
Everyone turned.
The homeowner opened it slowly.
He stood beneath the porch light wearing jeans, a dark sweatshirt, and house slippers.
Nothing intimidating.
Nothing theatrical.
He held only his phone.
The HOA President turned toward him.
For the first time all evening, she looked uncertain.