“Even though we’re outside, we still have to work, okay? . . . You have to say what I tell you to, or we go back to the living room, to your chair. You don’t want to do that, do you?”

Kyle didn’t like his chair. Once strapped in, he couldn’t get away, and no child-Kyle included-enjoyed something like that. Still, Kyle moved the toy airplane back and forth with measured concentration, keeping it aligned with an imaginary horizon.

Denise tried again.

“Say, ‘I don’t see any boats.’ ”

Nothing.

She pulled a tiny piece of candy from her coat pocket.

Kyle saw it and reached for it. She kept it out of his grasp.

“Kyle? Say, ‘I don’t see any boats.’ ”

It was like pulling teeth, but the words finally came out.

He whispered, “I don’t see any boats.” (Duh see a-ee boat)

Denise leaned in and kissed him, then gave him the candy. “That’s right, honey, that’s right. Good talking! You’re such a good talker!”

Kyle took in her praise while he ate the candy, then focused on the toy again.

Denise jotted his words in her notebook and went on with the lesson. She glanced upward, thinking of something he hadn’t said that day.

“Kyle, say, ‘The sky is blue.’ ”

After a beat:

“Owpwane.”

In the car again, now twenty minutes from home. In the back she heard Kyle fidget in his seat, and she glanced in the rearview mirror. The sounds in the car soon quieted, and she was careful not to make any noise until she was sure he was sleeping again.

Kyle.

Yesterday was typical of her life with him. A step forward, a step backward, two steps to the side, always a struggle. He was better than he once had been, yet he was still too far behind. Would he ever catch up?

Outside, dark clouds spanned the sky above, rain fell steadily. In the backseat Kyle was dreaming, his eyelids twitching. She wondered what his dreams were like. Were they devoid of sound, a silent film running through his head, nothing more than pictures of rocket ships and jets blazing across the sky? Or did he dream using the few words he knew? She didn’t know.