The Lesson of Her Death

took
aspirin
. All you had to do was read the science and health section of the
Post-Dispatch
or
Register
or even
Reader’sDigest
, for heaven’s sake, and you knew how to behave when you were pregnant.
    Drinking liquor? No sane pregnant woman would drink.
    Unless, unless …
    Unless, for instance, someone you loved had perhaps done something very bad. Your husband maybe. And after word got out—in the newspapers—the neighbors would look at you funny or not look at you at all. And people would call late at night and just listen for a moment before hanging up as if they were curious to hear if your breathing was more monstrous than theirs.
    Unless that person, your husband maybe, kept doing nothing and saying nothing nothing nothing until the money ran out and the only solution was to move from a nice shipshape suburb to a small, tired rural town and start life over again.
    His
life.
    And yours, in the process.
    So even if you were pregnant wasn’t that reason enough to take a drink now and then? Just to kill the silence of a man doing nothing, the heaviest silence that there is? A pill now and then. A few more drinks. And a few more.… To break the mournful web surrounding the seven A.M. breakfast table? To help you sleep, even if you woke up with a dogjaw pressure in the back of your head every other morning? Nobody drinks when they’re pregnant.
    Oh, Sarah
…
    Diane Corde looked at the cheap door separating herself from her injured daughter and focused on the magazine again. She read every word of an article about a boat trip down the Loire as if she were going to be tested on the subject in the morning.
    “I don’t like her,” Sarah announced in the car on the way home.
    “Why not?”
    “She gave me all this stupid stuff to do. Drawing pictures and answering questions. I did it at school already.”
    “Wasn’t she nice to you?”
    “Mrs. Beiderbug—”
    “Beiderson.”
    “Mrs. Beiderson’s nice to me and
she
makes me feel all yucky. I felt yucky when I did those tests in Dr. Parker’s office.”
    “She’s trying to help you.”
    “I hate her!”
    “Sarah, don’t talk that way.”
    “She’s going to make me take the spelling test at school. I saw you talking with her after. That’s what she told you, isn’t it?”
    Yes, it was
. Diane hesitated then said, “Dr. Parker wants you to keep studying. Next time you see her she’s going to give you some tricks to help you take tests.”
    “I’m
not
going back to school.”
    Diane’s patience had just about evaporated and she said nothing.
    “I hate it. I feel stupid in school. The Sunshine Man …” Her voice faded.
    “We all hated school. That’s what your father and I keep telling you. Everybody does.” This was spoken through firmly clenched teeth. “You remember what a good job you did on your story this spring? About the birds.”
    Sarah got a C plus, her highest grade ever in English, and had written a single page. Other students had filled four or five.
    Sarah whined, “I don’t want to take the tests. Don’t make me!”
    “I’m going to work with you on the words tonight. Then we’re going to Jamie’s match.”
    “No,” she announced. “I want Daddy to help me.”
    “Your father’s working late.” Diane pulled the car into the driveway. She waved at the deputy in the cruiserparked in front of the house. He nodded back and returned to the newspaper. Diane braked to an angry stop.
    Sarah said, “He’s always working.”
    They got out of the car and walked through the garage to the back door.
    “No, he isn’t. He spends a lot of time with you. He’s missing Jamie’s match too tonight.”
    “Wrestling’s stupid.”
    “Don’t criticize your brother! He’s doing just fine in school.…” Diane was horrified at these words. She glanced at Sarah surreptitiously but the girl hadn’t noticed the unintended slight. “Mommy, look, there’s something on the back steps.”
    Diane saw a small white envelope. Sarah scooped it up eagerly and looked at it. She frowned then handed it to her mother. They continued into the house. Diane paused in the hallway, the sunlight pouring through the open door. It fell on her hands, turning them blood red. “Go on upstairs and get your books.” The little girl gave an extended sigh and clomped up the stairs.
    The envelope was addressed to
Officer Corde
. Red ink, sloppy handwriting. Diane tore it open, lifted out the contents.
    “What is it?” Sarah yelled.
    Diane