The Lesson of Her Death

Corde believed his boy would grow up to be Gary Cooper.

Detouring through the Rototilled earth of the side yard, Corde turned on the sprinkler, which began to saturate the patch of mud that the seed package had promised four weeks ago would be luxurious green in six. Corde watched the wave sweep back and forth for a minute, then walked toward the split-level house, aluminum-sided bright yellow. Corde had an acre of land, all of it grass (or soon to be, Ortho assured him), punctuated with juniper bushes and saplings that in fifty years would be respectable oaks. The property bordered the panhandle of a working dairy farm to the north, beyond which was a forest. Surrounding houses, all modest split-levels or colonials, sat on similar plots along Route 302.

He heard a chug of a diesel engine. Up the road the driver of a White semi, hauling a Maersk Line container, started shifting down through his many gears as the truck rolled over the crest of the highway probably right on the posted speed. Corde watched the majestic truck for a moment then started toward the house.

A motion caught his eye and smiling still he glanced to the corner of his yard. Something nosing out of the bushes toward the road. A dog?

No!

"Sarah!"

His daughter stood up and looked at him in panic – a deer spotting a hunter. She turned and ran at top speed toward the truck, whose driver was oblivious to the girl.

"Sarah, stop!" Corde shouted in astonishment. "No!" He ran after her.

She was squealing with terror, ru

"Oh, honey, stop! Please!" he gasped, and ran flat out, the Mace canister and a Speedloader falling from his Sam Browne belt, handcuffs thwacking his back.

"Leave me alone!" Sarah wailed, and plunged ahead toward the truck's tires.

She dropped the backpack and made a frantic spring for the truck. It seemed like she was going to leap right for the huge thundering disks of tires, firing pebbles into the air behind the trailer.

Sarah was three feet from the wheels when Corde tackled her. They landed, skidding, in a pile on the messy shoulder as the truck rumbled past them, the stack burping as the engine revved and the driver upshifted, unaware of the struggle he left behind.

Sarah squealed and kicked. Panicked, Corde rolled to his knees and shook her by the shoulders. His hand rose, palm flat. She squealed in terror. He screamed, "What are you doing, what are you doing?" Corde, who had spanked Jamie only once and Sarah not at all in their collective twenty-four years on earth, lowered his hand. "Tell me!"

"Leave me alone!"

Diane was ru

Corde stood. The panic was gone but it had left in its place the sting of betrayal. He stepped back. Diane dropped to her knees and held the child's face in her hands. She took a breath to start the tirade then paused, seeing the despair in her little girl's face. "Sarah, you were ru

Sarah wiped her tears and nose with her sleeves. She didn't respond. Diane repeated the question. Sarah nodded.

"Why?" her father demanded.

"Because."

"Sarah -" Corde began sternly.

The little girl seemed to wince. "It's not my fault. The wizard told me to."

"The wizard?"

"The Sunshine Man…"

This was one of the imaginary friends that Sarah played with. Corde remembered Sarah had created him after the family attended the funeral of Corde's father and the minister had lifted his arms to the sun, speaking about "souls rising into heaven." It was Sarah's first experience with death and Corde and Diane had been reluctant to dislodge the apparently friendly spirit she created. But in the past year, to the parents' increasing irritation, the girl referred to him more and more frequently.

"He made Redford T. Redford fly out to the forest and he told me -"

Diane's voice cut through the yard. "No more of this magic crap, do you hear me, young lady? What were you doing?"

"Leave me alone." The tiny mouth tightened ominously.

Corde said, "It's going to be okay, honey. Don't worry."

"I'm not going back to school."

Diane whispered in a low, menacing voice, "Don't you ever do that again, Sarrie, do you understand me? You could've been killed."

"I don't care!"

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that!" Mother's and daughter's strident tones were different only in pitch.

Corde touched his wife's arm and shook his head. To Sarah he said, "It's okay, honey. We'll talk about it later."

Sarah bent down and picked up her knapsack and walked toward the house. With boundless regret on her face, she looked back – not however at the ashen faces of her parents but toward the road down which the silver truck was hurrying away without her.

They stood in the kitchen awkwardly, like lovers who must suddenly discuss business. Unable to look at him, Diane told him about Sarah's incident at school that day.

Corde said contritely, "She didn't want to go today. I drove her back this morning and made her. I guess I shouldn't have."

"Of course you should have. You can't let her get away with this stuff, Bill. She uses us."

"What're we going to do? She's taking the pills?"

"Every day. But I don't think they're doing any good. They just seem to make her stomach upset." She waved vaguely toward the front yard. "Can you imagine she did that? Oh, my."

Corde thought: Why now? With this case and everything, why now? He looked out the window at Sarah's bike, standing upright on training wheels, a low pastel green Schwi

A more frightening concern: some man offering a confused little girl a ride home. Corde and Diane had talked to her about this and she'd responded with infuriating laughter, saying that a wizard or a magic dog would protect her or that she would just fly away and hide behind the moon. Corde would grow stern, Diane would threaten to spank her, the girl's face became somber. But her parents could see that the belief in supernatural protectors had not been dislodged.

Oh, Sarrie…

Although Bill Corde still went to church regularly he had stopped praying. He'd stopped exactly nine years ago. He thought if it would do anything for Sarah he'd start up again.

He said, "It's like she's emotionally dis -"

Diane turned on him. "Don't say that! She has a high IQ. Beiderson herself told me. She's faking. She wants to get attention. And, brother, you give her plenty…"

Corde lifted an eyebrow at this.

Diane conceded, "Okay, and so do I."

Corde was testy. "Well, we've got to do something. We can't let that happen again." He waved toward the yard, like Diane reluctant to mention his daughter's mortality.

"She's got her end-of-term tests in two weeks."

"We can't take her out of school now," Corde said. "We can't hold her back another grade." He looked out the window. Why did the sight of a bicycle standing upright bother him so?

It encouraged him that she could read some books by herself.