Saving Max. Antoinette Heugten van

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      Danielle is rooted to the floor as Dwayne drags Max down the hall. They come to a menacing red door that buzzes them through. Her last glimpse of Max’s contorted face is seared into her mind. He stares at her with the betrayed eyes of an old horse at the glue-factory gate. He is gone before she can utter the words that strangle in her throat.

      At the far end of what appears to be a TV room are four women dressed in jeans and T-shirts—undercover nurses in casual disguise. A large whiteboard hangs on the wall. It unnerves her that Max’s name is already there with ominous acronyms scribbled next to it—“AA, SIA, SA, EA, DA.” The black letters hang final, immutable. She sneaks a look at the typewritten sheet pasted on the board. “AA—Assault Awareness; SIA—Self-Infliction Awareness; SA—Suicide Awareness; EA—Escape Awareness; DA—Depression Awareness.” The words slice her heart.

      Danielle glances around the room and notices Marianne chatting with an older doctor. She smiles warmly at Danielle. Jonas plucks at his clothes and twitches his feet in an odd, disturbed way, as if he’s doing the flamenco sitting down. Then she sees Carla and her son go into one of the bedrooms. Her heart sinks. She would do anything to prevent Max from being on the same unit with a boy who would break his own mother’s arm and purple her eye.

      An older woman with a shock of short, white hair enters the room and walks up to Danielle. She exudes a calm authority. A conservative, navy suit matches feet shod in dark, sensible flats. Behind small, gold-rimmed glasses are very, very green eyes. Her doctor’s coat is Amway white. Red embroidery on her lapel says Associate Director—Pediatric Psychiatry, Maitland Hospital. She holds out her hand with a smile. “Ms. Parkman?”

      “Yes?”

      “Dr. Amelia Reyes-Moreno,” she says. “I’ll be Max’s primary doctor while he’s here.”

      “Nice to meet you.” Danielle stares as she shakes the woman’s hand. Her long, fine fingers are cool to the touch. Intensity and intelligence are evident in her gaze. Danielle’s research of Maitland revealed that Reyes-Moreno is one of Maitland’s most valued psychiatrists, nationally renowned in her field. She glances at the old doctor with Marianne, his veined hands folded as he listens. Both are smiling. Danielle wants him. Someone who looks as old as Freud and who’ll take one look at Max and say, “Of course! I see what they’ve all missed. Max is fine, just fine.” Then he’ll nod his head wisely and go on to his next miraculous cure.

      Dr. Reyes-Moreno catches the arm of a young, dark-eyed man who looks like a pen-and-ink rendering of Ichabod Crane. “Dr. Fastow,” she says, “would you mind my introducing you to Ms. Parkman? She is the mother of one of our new patients, Max.”

      He nods curtly and fixes Danielle with a milky stare. “Ms. Parkman.”

      “Dr. Fastow is our new psychopharmacologist,” says Reyes-Moreno. “He has just returned from Vienna, where he spent the last two years conducting exciting clinical trials of various psychotropic medications. We are honored to have him.”

      Danielle takes the hand he offers. It is cold and dry. “Dr. Fastow, are you planning to significantly change Max’s medication protocol?”

      His gray eyes are limpid. “I have reviewed Max’s chart and ordered extensive blood work. I plan to take him off of his current medications and put him on those I believe will better serve him.”

      “What meds are those?”

      “We will provide you with that information once we are more familiar with Max and his symptoms.” He gives her another cold stare and takes his leave.

      Put off by his antiseptic manner, Danielle turns to Reyes-Moreno, who nods reassuringly. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him.” Danielle panics as she watches Reyes-Moreno disappear through the malefic doors of Alcatraz. Only the dominating truth—that Max wants to kill himself—prevents her from breaking down those doors and fleeing with him back to New York. She takes a deep breath. There is nothing to do but go back to the hotel and work. She turns to go.

      “Who are you?” A muscular girl with thick, oily hair stands before her with clenched fists.

      Danielle tries to walk around her, but she blocks her path like a defensive back. “I’m a … mother.”

      “I’m Naomi.” Her eyes snap like a bird whose nest has been threatened. “You that new kid’s mom?”

      “Yes.”

      “He’s a real brat, that one. I can tell.” She swaggers her hips back and forth and smirks. “He just better stay out of my way, that’s all. I’m dangerous.”

      Danielle blinks, rooted where she stands. “What do you—”

      “I cut people.”

      “What?”

      Naomi lifts up a greasy lock of hair and reveals a ruby keloid the size of a fat caterpillar on the side of her neck. “I practice on myself first.” Her fingers let the fatty strands fall back into place. Coal-pot smudges under her eyes look like permanent bruises and are an odd contrast to her light eyes and gray skin. Danielle has one thought: this ghoul is going to be with Max every day.

      “Boundaries, Naomi.” It is big Dwayne. He inserts himself between Danielle and Naomi and points a large finger down the hall. “Move it.”

      “Yeah, right, Duh-wayne.” Her eyes glitter like a raccoon holding a silver spoon in the dark. “Why don’t you get your sorry fucking face out of my boundaries, okay?”

      “Get to your room. You know the drill.” Dwayne has the hardest soft voice Danielle has ever heard.

      “Fuck you.”

      “An hour. Solitary.”

      Naomi skulks down the hall.

      Dwayne turns to Danielle with a big grin. “Welcome to Fountainview, Mom.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Danielle spends an exhausting morning at the hospital giving Reyes-Moreno Max’s life history. It so debilitates her that she goes back to the hotel, takes off all her clothes and sneaks between the cheap sheets like a downtown hooker on a lunch break. Marianne, who is staying at the same hotel, rousts her after only twenty minutes and hustles her off to the Olive Garden on Main Street.

      Danielle settles into the fake leather booth, which exhales as she sits. The Olive Garden may be the only restaurant in Plano that actually serves wine with names on it, not just colors. Danielle is relieved to find that they have real knives and forks—not the antisuicide plastic of Maitland. The waitress takes their drink order and disappears.

      Danielle sneaks a sidelong glance at Marianne’s ensemble. She wears a crisp, navy pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse. A diaphanous scarf with paisley butterflies is wound loosely around her neck and is held in place by a simple gold pin. Her blond hair is freshly coiffed. Her short nails are painted a demure beige that matches her bag, which brims with needlepoint and vivid yarns. Marianne appears supremely calm and composed in her femininity. Danielle glances down at her own pantsuit. Is everything she owns black?

      They have been discussing their sons’ disabilities and disorders, their medications and Maitland. Danielle СКАЧАТЬ