The Lesson of Her Death

strictly timed, showed Sarah—a fourth grader—reading at a first-grade level. Without the stress of a clock she was slightly better.
    The scores were worse than the doctor had expected.
    Sarah now sat in front of her, struggling through the last of the diagnostic tests—the
Informal Test of WrittenLanguage Expression
. Dr. Parker saw the anxious behavior, the darting eyes, the quivering knees, the frosting of sweat. The psychiatrist, who had at one time been in daily analysis for six years, continually confronted her own anger and insecurity and the coldness with which they were manifest; she struggled to instill serenity in the child. “Take your time, Sarah.” Big smile. “There’s no rush.”
    She noted the process of internalizing. Sarah didn’t sound out unknown or difficult words. She stared at them without lip movement until she applied whatever phonetic skills she could muster and then wrote the words slowly in crude letters. Sarah leaned forward, an intense frown on her brow as she tried to conjure up the words. In her eyes the agony of repeatedly slamming into her limitations was clear.
    Children of policemen have a higher incidence of learning disabilities than those of other parents and Dr. Parker noticed in herself a kernel of resentment toward Bill Corde. It was a rancor that she would never reveal but that he would have to go a long way in rebutting. Diane Corde refined much of what she said through a very complex series of filters and Dr. Parker wondered just how much the man actually helped his daughter, in contrast to how much Diane believed, or wished, he did.
    The doctor also knew something else—how little the girl would ultimately improve and the immense effort and expense even that limited progress would require.
    “I’m afraid your time’s up,” Dr. Parker said, and took the notebook from the girl, who was sweating and nearly breathless. She examined the girl’s sad attempt to write a story about a simple illustration in the test booklet—a boy with a baseball. Sarah had started:
His naem was Freddie. And he watnted to play bsebale, baseball, only
.… The handwriting was abysmal. The story continued for a half page; an average child could easily fill three or four pages in that time. “All right, Sarah, very good. That’s the last of our tests.”
    Sarah looked mournfully as the written language test was slipped into the file. “Did I pass?”
    “You don’t pass these tests. They’re just to tell me about you so I can help you do better in school.”
    “I don’t want to go back to school.”
    “I understand, Sarah, but it’s not a good idea for you to stay back another year. You don’t want all your classmates to advance a grade while you’re left behind, do you?”
    “Yes,” Sarah answered without hesitation, “I’d like that.”
    Dr. Parker laughed. “Well, how about if I call Mrs. Beiderson and have her agree that you can take your tests out loud? Would that be all right?”
    “So I wouldn’t have to write out the answers?”
    “Right.”
    “Would she do that?”
    “I’m sure she would.” The call had already been made.
    “What about the spelling test? I’m ascared of spelling.” The voice grew meek. Manipulatively meek, the doctor noted. Sarah had tried this technique before, with success.
    “I’d like you to take it. Would you do it for me?”
    “I’ll be up in front of everybody. They’ll laugh at me.
    “No, you can do it by yourself. You and Mrs. Beiderson. That’s all.”
    The child’s instinctive sense of negotiation caught on that this was the best she could do. She looked at Dr. Parker and nodded uneasily. “I guess.”
    “Good. Now—”
    “Can I finish the story at home?”
    “The story?”
    “Freddie and the baseball.” She nodded at the booklet.
    “I’m sorry, Sarah, that’s all we had time for.”
    The girl’s face twisted with enormous disappointment. “But I didn’t get to write down the neat part!”
    “No?” Dr. Parker asked. “What’s the neat part?”
    Sarah looked up at the same diplomas the doctor had watched Diane Corde scrutinize so desperately the previous week. The girl turned back, looked into the doctor’s eyes and said, “What happens is Freddie hits the baseball into the street and it goes rolling down the sidewalk and into a drugstore. And there’s Mr. Pillsit …” Sarah’s eyes widened. “And he used to play for the Chicago Eagles. That was a ball team that had real eagles that would