With Sam still snoozing off his stress back home, Harriet nudged Carol's doorbell with her elbow. The aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon filled the air around the pie topped with a dollop of whipped cream as she held the Halloween-themed plate in both hands. She hoped the Jack-o'-lantern flashing a gap-toothed grin at a black cat would bring an extra smile to the family's faces once they polished off the pie.

Nobody came to the door. Harriet shifted from foot to foot as the pie grew heavier in her hands. She rang the doorbell again.

"Coming!" Carol threw open the door, her eyes as wild as the tangled hairs peeking out of her messy bun. "Close the door behind you," she snapped as she bolted to the kitchen.

Harriet set the pie on top of a half-decorated table. A disheveled stack of paper napkins bore dark brown stains, and a rubber zombie lay sprawled in the center of the table as if it had passed out from gorging on the other half of the chocolate bar lying beside it. She rescued the forgotten snack from the ants crawling across it and tossed it in the trash.

"Is everything okay?" Harriet asked. She flicked the last of the insects off her hand with an annoyed huff.

Carol didn't respond. She pulled a pan of bread pudding filled with cinnamon, raisins, and maple syrup out of the oven before returning her attention to the lump of dough in front of her.

The soft shuffle of slippers on the carpet announced Peter's arrival. His messy blond bangs hung partially over his red-rimmed eyes as he snuck toward the fridge, only to do a double-take at the sight of Harriet. His eyes darted to the pie she'd brought, only to return to the fridge as he stood on his tiptoes.

"Whatcha doing, buddy?" Harriet said.

"Making dinner." He rummaged around in the freezer before pulling out a box of frozen chicken nuggets.

"That's really sweet of you, honey, but shouldn't your mom be taking care of that?" Harriet gave Carol a pointed nudge.

She received an eye roll in response. "He knows what to do."

"It's okay," Peter said. "I can do it myself."

She'd never heard anyone so little sound so defeated. "Hang on a sec," Harriet said.

A blast of cold air hit her as she opened the fridge. Where on earth were the vegetables? Butter, milk, and eggs crowded the fridge, with packets of ready-to-bake cookie dough sitting in the back. Carol never used that stuff, yet there it was as if it belonged in the kitchen just as much as the oven mitts embroidered with daisies or the éclair-shaped magnet pinning Peter's latest self-portrait to the fridge.

The freezer presented her with ingredients she could actually work with. Her fingers brushed against frosty boxes of microwaveable meals as she took out a bag of potstickers and a medley of frozen vegetables. "Does stir-fry sound good?"

Peter's stomach growled.

Harriet took that as a yes. She grabbed one of the many bottles of vegetable oil cluttering the countertops and soon had a spoonful sizzling atop the stove. Frozen potstickers and veggies clattered into the pan, momentarily drowning out Carol's grumbling about her ex-husband.

As expected from a kid his age, Peter avoided one uncomfortable topic by dragging Harriet into another. "Is Sam okay?"

"He will be." Harriet prodded the potstickers with a wooden spoon to separate them. "He just needs to rest for a bit." And to not think about his dad not being around. She risked a glance at the boy beside her. He stared at the pan with rapt attention, licking his lips. "I heard you had a rough day yourself. Feeling better?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess." He opened his mouth, closed it again, then whispered, "Dad loved making stir-fry. He always let me add the soy sauce."

Harriet couldn't imagine why after Peter doused the mixture in a salty downpour. He remained practically glued to her leg as she finished cooking his dinner, only reluctantly leaving her side when she plated the stir-fry.

"There's plenty for you, too," Harriet told Carol as she snuck a potsticker for herself. It was a bit heavy on the ginger and way too salty from the soy sauce, but still juicy enough to make her taste buds sing.

"Box some up for me, 'kay?" The heel of Carol's hand thudded against the countertop as she kneaded the dough. "Look what that woman made me do," she said more to herself than either of them. "She's got me so worked up I can't even make my own kid's dinner."

Harriet's fingers itched as she watched Carol's unclench against the dough. Longing to press her hands against the floured mass with an intensity that frightened her, she folded her hands on the table in front of her. "Suit yourself. You're really missing out."

"Thanks a bunch, Mrs. Sam's Mom," Peter said as he shoveled carrots and broccoli into his mouth. He crunched on the vegetables as if they were the only thing he'd eaten all week. "This is delicious!"

"I'm glad you think so, sweetie," she said as she scooped another helping onto his plate. The way he crammed the vegetables into his mouth sent a pang through her stomach. What had Carol been feeding this poor kid, nothing but the finest in microwave cuisine? The little guy looked at his potstickers the same way Frank looked at her after returning home from a long flight with a chatterbox on one side, a naptime lumberjack on the other, and a seat kicker behind him. "Would you like some pie after you're done with that?"

Peter winced. "No thanks." He held his stomach and gestured at the countless goodies piled throughout the kitchen. "I never ever want to see another pie ever again, not even double chocolate."

"Why don't you take it over to your dad instead? I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"Harriet," Carol said as she slammed the dough against the countertop, "do not mention that man in this house."

Of course she was listening now, not when her little boy was fixing to cook his own dinner. Peter sighed before whispering, "I can give it to Dad when he picks me up on Friday."

After thanking her again, he wandered off to go do his homework or whatever else six-year-olds normally did after school. At least, that's what Harriet hoped as she discreetly covered the pie with saran wrap. Even refrigerated, it wouldn't last long, but at least they'd get a day or two out of it before they had to toss it out.

Carol gave Harriet a knowing look as she sidled up beside her. "How's it been working out for you? Feelin' any better?"

"Good! Really good." Harriet bit her lip. It clearly hadn't been working out so great for Carol, who was starting to look as unkempt as her house. But the divorce had been so hard on her, and she practically lived in the kitchen now. Harriet wasn't like that, not at all!

She just needed a quick fix.

"I don't suppose you're done with that?" she asked as she leaned over the dough.

"It's about ready for the pan, but another minute or two won't hurt it."

Harriet dusted her hands with flour before sinking her palms into the moist dough. "Mrs. Dawson has all the emotional intelligence of a rhinoceros." Thud. "Frank is never around when Sam needs him." Thud. "Meanwhile, I can barely even help my own friend!" Thud.

Carol rested her own flour-coated hands on top of Harriet's. "That'll do it." She plopped the dough into a bread pan and slid it into the waiting oven. "Would you like a loaf?"

It was impossible to resist the delicate warmth practically begging to comfort her churning stomach. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you, okay?" Harriet wrapped her friend in a hug. "It hurts to see you so upset."

"Don't worry about me." Carol patted her back awkwardly before passing her the loaf that had finished cooling while Peter had been stuffing his face. "Now don't be a stranger, you hear? You will always be welcome in this kitchen."

Freed from the embrace, Carol's attention went right back to the cookbook. Harriet felt as if she had lost something, although she wasn't sure what.

Peter waved goodbye to her through the window as she left, his face streaked with fresh tears.