Gray Matter

As they rounded the front, they heard children laughing and teachers talking. Through the windows, she could see young kids in chairs and adults working with them. In another room, children were at computer terminals.

“Is this my new school, Mom?”

How do you answer that? she thought. “It might be, if we like it.”

She wasn’t sure he understood, and he didn’t pursue it, captivated by the playground apparatus.

In spite of its early twentieth-century vintage, the building’s interior had been redone in bright modern, tasteful decor. A directory hung in the foyer. The only names she recognized were Denise Samson and Lucius Malenko. The receptionist said that Dr. Samson was expecting her and would be out in a moment. Meanwhile, Dylan headed for a small computer terminal with a video game, while Rachel sat and filled out a medical questionnaire asking the basics, including how she heard about the Nova Children’s Center. She entered Sheila MacPhearson’s name.

When she was finished, she picked up one of the glossy Nova brochures on the table. There were photos of the administration and staff, of students being instructed by specialists.

Inside was a note to parents:

If your child exhibits some of the following,

NOVA CHILDREN’S CENTER is a solution:Poor reading comprehension Slow reading Spelling problems Poor math skills Low self-confidence and self-esteem Poor handwriting, printing Delayed language skills Memory problems …

This list was a relentless description of Dylan. She read on:

What Can Be Done?

The NOVA CHILDREN’S CENTER provides help for dyslexia and other learning challenges. We offer a variety of diagnostic testing to identify the problems …

The brochure went on to describe how the center offered individualized learning programs for each child, all instruction given one-on-one. In bold was the statement: “Ninety percent of NCC students average one year or more improvement for every NCC semester.” This was probably the enhancement that Sheila meant.

Rachel flipped through the pages. They recommended from two to five sessions a week lasting from twenty- four to thirty-six weeks per year. There was a multistep assessment procedure that was essential to define the problem areas. Another few pages were dedicated to testimonials of success by parents, teachers, and former students:

When Diana first arrived at Nova Children’s Center, she could read words at her second-grade level, but she couldn’t comprehend the content. She had difficulty connecting to language she read or language she heard. Words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. People thought she was not trying, and she had been labeled a “motivation” or “attention” problem.

The report went on to explain the cause of Diana’s problem with language comprehension. Then there was an explanation of how the Nova Children’s Center approach improved language comprehension, reasoning, critical thinking, and language expression skills. At the end of that discussion, again in bold, was the claim that “most of the children at NCC gained one to three years in language comprehension in just four weeks on intensive treatment.”

Rachel let that sink in. He can be fixed. Maybe that was what Sheila had meant.

A photo gallery of the staff was included at the end of the brochure. Nearly every one had a Ph.D. after their name.

The chief neurologist and one of the directors of the center was an avuncular-looking gray-haired man named Lucius Malenko. He had both a M.D. and Ph.D. after his name.

In the photo, Dr. Denise Samson was a handsome-looking woman about thirty-five to forty with pulled-back dark hair and heavy dark-framed glasses.

“Mrs. Whitman?”

Rachel looked up.

It was Dr. Samson herself. She was a tall, statuesque woman with auburn hair tied into a thick bun behind her head. She was even more attractive in person. “And this must be Dylan.”

“Hi,” Dylan said, glancing up from the computer. On the screen were funny little creature heads that you could eliminate by shooting blips of light from a spaceship. Dr. Samson showed Dylan how to do it then walked Rachel to a small conference room beyond a glass partition so that they could talk while viewing Dylan.

“As I said on the phone, this is a multidimensional assessment to help determine Dylan’s various cognitive abilities—his information-processing strengths, problem-solving style, and problem areas. Since his problem areas seem to be language-based, we’ll assess his oral language—phonics, word associations, sentence formulation, and the like. Then we’ll do some visual/auditory diagnoses.” She sounded as if she were reading.

Because the assessments were long and tiring for a child, they would be spread over two days. Tomorrow would also include functional MRI scans.

“After the assessments are in, we’ll put together an individualized instructional program for him with one of our specialists.”

Rachel listened as the woman continued. When she was finished, Rachel said, “I’m wondering if I might also speak to Dr. Malenko.”

“Dr. Malenko?” Dr. Samson seemed surprised.

“I have some questions of a neurological nature that I’d like to ask him.”

There was a pregnant pause. “I’m sure I can answer most of your questions, Mrs. Whitman.”

“I have no doubt, but a friend recommended that I speak with him before we decide on a program. So I’d like to set up an appointment.”

“I see. Then you can check with Marie out front.”

Rachel could sense the woman’s irritation, but at the moment she didn’t care.

Rachel made the appointment for Thursday, and gave Dylan a kiss, telling him she was going to be right here in the waiting room. Dr. Samson then led him down the hall to the test rooms. He went willingly, looking back once to check that Rachel was still there.

Mommy’s so sorry for what she did to you, my darling.

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