The Lesson of Her Death

is for us to pay her a hundred and ten dollars—my
word
, a hundred and ten dollars—an hour just—”
    “I got my insurance.”
    “… to give Sarah some tests.…” She crossed her arms and paced some more. “I mean, she was practically looking me in the eye and saying she’s got learning disabilities.”
    “Does she?” Corde asked. Diane stared at him. He added, “Have learning disabilities, I mean?”
    “Oh, okay!” Diane thundered. “You’re taking her side? Fine.”
    Corde sighed. “I’m not taking sides.” He retreated. “You’d think a hundred ten dollars’d buy you more than that.”
    “I’d say you would.” Two potatoes crashed into the sink.
    Sarah appeared in the doorway and Diane’s pacing slowed. The little girl watched her and said cautiously, “Mommy, it’s time for my pill.”
    Two more potato hand grenades were lobbed into the sink. “No,” Diane said. “You’re not taking them anymore. Give me the bottle.”
    “I’m not?”
    Corde asked, “She’s not?”
    “No.”
    “Good, I don’t like them. They taste pukey and they give me tummy squabbles.”
    “Now you and your father are going to work on your spelling for the test next week and—”
    “I’m not going to take—”
    “You’ll do as you’re told, young lady!” Diane pulled onions out of the refrigerator.
Thunk
, into the sink. “And on Saturday I’m taking you to see Dr. Parker. She’s a nice lady and she’s going to help you in school.”
    “Okay.” Sarah caved, fear of tests having a heavier specific gravity than fear of an angry mother.
    “Honey,” Corde told her, “you run into the den. I’ll be there in a minute.” When she left, Corde cocked his head and said to his wife, “Excuse me?”
    Diane looked exasperated. “Excuse me what?”
    “I thought … I mean, what you just said. I thought you weren’t going to take Sarah to see her.”
    “Meat loaf?” Diane asked.
    “Uhm, sure.”
    “Of
course
I’m taking her.” Diane aimed a bunch of carrots at him and whispered harshly, “That woman is a bitch and she’s a fashion plate and if she doesn’t help my daughter then heaven help
her.”
    Philip Halpern nervously carried the paper bag as he wound through the cluttered backyard to a greasy stone barbecue pit piled high with cinders and burnt steak and chicken bones. The boy set the bag in a cone of ashes and dug through pockets compressed by his fat body. Finally he took a book of matches from his shirt pocket. He did this with the reverence of someone who’s afraid not of the fire itself but of unguessed risks that he’s been warned fire holds. The match ignited with a burst of pungent sulfur. He lit the bag. It began to burn. Philip wondered if the smoke would be poisonous. He wished he had asked his friend Jano to do this—
    Oh no
…
    Philip heard the footsteps. He looked up and in the dusk he saw the vague form of his father, a heavy manwith a crew cut, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. The only distinct thing about the lumbering shape was the red dot of his cigarette held between his fingers at his side. Philip felt his heart freeze.
    “Whatcha doing, son?” asked the benign voice.
    “Nothing.”
    “You ask me if you could burn something?”
    “No, sir.”
    “You lit the matches yourself?”
    “I was just fooling around.”
    “Fooling around with matches?”
    “It’s in the barbecue,” Philip said, trying to keep his voice steady.
    “I can
see
it’s in the barbecue. Did you ask me if you could light a match?”
    “No, sir.”
    “What’d it be?”
    “Huh?”
    “What’d I say about answering me that way? You forget the rules?”
    “I’m sorry,” Philip said quickly.
    “So what is it? That you’re burning?”
    “Just some paper I found.”
    “More of those magazines?”
    “No, sir.”
Please, please, please. Just leave me be. Please
. Philip felt tears dribbling down his cheek. He was thankful for the darkness; the surest way to get smacked was to cry. “Just some paper.”
    “Where d’you get those magazines?”
    “It wasn’t magazines.”
    The bag flared suddenly as the contents caught fire. Philip believed he sensed a terrible smell. A human smell. He had an image of a small space creature enveloped in swirls of flames. He swallowed. In the flickering light he saw his father’s face, a frown etched into the matte skin.
    “You were out Tuesday night,” the man said. “I looked in your room and you were out.”
    Philip’s voice