Saving Max. Antoinette Heugten van

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СКАЧАТЬ but does not reveal that Dr. Reyes-Moreno did her level best to persuade Danielle to go back to New York until the assessment is concluded. She cited the needs of the “process”—observation, transference, medication, testing—all of which apparently cannot take place effectively with her in the wings. Danielle had smiled politely, but has no intention of leaving.

      As Marianne goes on with the litany of medical minutiae only mothers of these children find remotely interesting, Danielle hears something that catches her attention. “What did you say?”

      Marianne snaps open a starched red napkin and fans it on her lap. “I was talking about a new drug Dr. Fastow, the über-psychopharmacologist, has prescribed for Jonas. I’m very excited about it, even though the potential side effects are disturbing.”

      “What are they?”

      Marianne shrugs. “Liver damage, heart problems, tardive dyskinesia.”

      Danielle is alarmed. Long-term use of some antipsychotics—even the newer atypicals—can result in permanent physical problems, like irreversible rigidity of the extremities. Danielle imagines Max with his tongue stuck out in a frozen sneer or his arm jutted at a permanent right angle to his body. “Aren’t you scared?”

      Marianne runs her finger down to a menu selection and holds it there. “Not really. It’s more important to be willing to take risks when you’re at this level.”

      Danielle isn’t sure what she means. Maybe Max isn’t at the same level—whatever that is.

      “So, tell me,” says Marianne. “Has Max ever been violent? I know that’s an issue for so many special-needs boys.”

      Danielle feels her face flush. “No, not really. A few incidents at school.” And tearing at her arms.

      Marianne squeezes her hand. “It’s okay. Jonas has been violent, too, but more in the nature of self-infliction. You know. Clawing at his arms, biting his knuckles— all perseverative behaviors.” She shrugs. “Besides, Jonas has had such severe problems since the time he was born that it’s a miracle we’ve made it this far. He was cyanotic as an infant—turned blue, you know. I had to sleep next to him night and day. One minute he’d be fine, and the next he’d be purple and cold as ice. I can’t tell you how many nights we spent in the emergency room.” She looks up. “Not exactly lunch conversation—sorry.”

      “Not at all. How often do you see him? I get short visits in the morning and afternoon.”

      Marianne’s eyes widen. “You’re joking, right?”

      Danielle frowns. “No, Max’s psychiatrist says that anything more will interfere with his assessment.”

      “Well, Dr. Hauptmann gives me unlimited access.”

      “Dr. Hauptmann?”

      “You saw him with me the other day.” Marianne gives her a surprised look. “He’s the foremost child psychiatrist in the country. I’m sure you researched all the doctors here, as I have.” Marianne accepts a white wine from the waitress with a big smile. “Dr. Hauptmann and I have been in contact for some time, and he agrees on the nature of my involvement in the assessment.” She shrugs. “I think it’s because I’m a doctor. We talk about things he can’t discuss with just any parent. If it were up to the staff—especially that Nurse Kreng—I’d never see Jonas.”

      Danielle feels the effects of the wine. She sits back, finally unwinding. “Where are you from, Marianne?”

      “I was born in a little Texas town called Harper—way up in the hill country. My daddy was a rancher.” Marianne laughs at Danielle’s raised eyebrows. “He said I was just like his cattle. I matured early, with a high carcass yield and nicely marbled meat. So I wouldn’t end up in a hayloft with one of those Harper boys, he shipped me off to the University of Texas.” She shrugs. “When I graduated, I applied to medical school and got in.”

      “Where?” Danielle can’t help it. Pedigree means a lot to her.

      “Johns Hopkins.”

      “That’s very impressive.”

      Marianne gives her an amused look. “Southern girls do have brains, you know.”

      Danielle blushes. “What happened to your plans to practice medicine?”

      “A month before I had Jonas, my husband, Raymond, had a massive coronary and passed away.”

      Danielle grasps her hand. “How awful for you.”

      Marianne gives Danielle’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you. It was difficult, but I have Jonas. He’s such a blessing.” Danielle nods, but can’t help thinking how blessed she would feel if her husband had died right before she gave birth to such a damaged, fractured child.

      “So,” she says, “once I began to appreciate the extent of Jonas’s challenges, it became clear that I had to give up my dream of becoming a doctor. I couldn’t justify that path if it meant turning over my son’s care to a stranger, no matter how qualified.” She smiles at the waitress as she serves the entrées. After she leaves, she looks at Danielle with her beautiful blue eyes. “So I took on part-time jobs as a pediatric nurse. It hasn’t been easy, but it gives me the flexibility I need.”

      Danielle tries to think of something meaningful to say. Her respect for Marianne has grown commensurate with her quiet, dignified tale of self-sacrifice and love. She feels a stab of guilt. Would Max have had all these problems if she had stayed home? She looks at Marianne. No matter what her difficulties with Max, they are child’s play compared to this poor woman’s lot.

      Her face must reflect her dismay. Now it is Marianne who reaches over to pat Danielle’s hand. “It’s not so bad. We all have our trials and joys.”

      “I just want you to know how much I admire you,” says Danielle. “You seem so strong and … balanced.”

      “You’re stronger than you think.” She flashes her brilliant smile. “And we’re going to be great friends—I can tell.”

      Danielle smiles back. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she does need a friend.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Danielle looks up. Marianne catches her eye and smiles. They sit in companionable silence in a secluded area of the Fountainview unit called the “family room”—a misnomer if Danielle’s ever heard one. It is, however, the only place where they have any privacy and can avoid the daily traffic of nurses and patients going to and from their rooms. It is the only hideaway where they can pretend that everything is normal. Danielle closes her laptop for a moment. She is seriously behind in e-mailing a draft brief to E. Bartlett Monahan, her senior partner and the bane of her existence. He is the head litigation partner and a member of the management committee—one of the firm’s five powerhouses who rule them all. “King Prick,” as he is referred to by the associates, is forty-eight, a bachelor and a not-so-secret misogynist. E. Bartlett, as he insists on being called, doesn’t believe that women have the balls to be litigators, much less partners. Women are secretaries, mothers, other men’s wives and—when the urge strikes—to be slept with and discarded.

      He has not taken kindly to her absence—not that she expected a whit of understanding from him. He has no experience with kids—and he certainly has no СКАЧАТЬ