Introduction

Max Parkman—autistic and whip-smart, emotionally fragile and aggressive—is perfect in his mother's eyes. Until he's accused of murder.

Attorney Danielle Parkman knows her teenage son Max's behavior has been getting worse—using drugs and lashing out. But she can't accept the diagnosis she receives at a top-notch adolescent psychiatric facility that her son is deeply disturbed. Dangerous.

Until she finds Max, unconscious and bloodied, beside a patient who has been brutally stabbed to death.

Trapped in a world of doubt and fear, barred from contacting Max, Danielle clings to the belief that her son is innocent. But has she, too, lost touch with reality? Is her son really a killer?

With the justice system bearing down on them, Danielle steels herself to discover the truth, no matter what it is. She'll do whatever it takes to find the killer and to save her son from being destroyed by a system that's all too eager to convict him.

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

CHAPTER TWELVE
Today is the day.
Apparently the collective has finally arrived at a diagnosis.
The last week has passed without incident—at least nothing
that anyone saw fit to tell her. Max seems so much better. In
so many ways, his sweet nature has returned. There have been
no incidents of violence and he has shown no resistance to the
completion of the assessment. His behavior has so improved
that Reyes-Moreno has been able to complete her testing
and conclude the evaluation. Even though he seems, at times,
terribly sedated and somewhat disoriented, Danielle’s guess is
that Fastow has finally gotten his act together and fine-tuned
Max’s medication protocol. Georgia’s background check
on him turned up nothing at all. In fact, all she found was
further evidence of his excellence and creativity in his field.
Although Danielle’s personal dislike of him has not abated,
Fastow seems to have done a laudable job of straightening out
Max’s medications.
Danielle follows a path through the maze of white sidewalks
to the administrative building. She looks up. The sky
is a cobalt paint stroke, a piercing, hypnotic blue. The clear
crispness of it slices straight through her. Her heart lifts.
“Ms. Parkman, will you come with me?” Reyes-Moreno’s
secretary, Celia, greets her with a brief handshake. She safeguards
her boss like a trained Doberman, never saying whether
Reyes-Moreno is there or not when Danielle calls—making it sound like she’s always in the restroom or in session. Psychiatrists
must have copyrighted employee-training software.
They’re all the same.
Danielle follows her down the hall that houses the psychiatrists’
offices. Celia looks happy. She wouldn’t be smiling if
Danielle were about to get bad news, would she? She leads
her into Reyes-Moreno’s sanctum sanctorum. It is smaller than
Danielle had imagined, especially with the obligatory couch
and swivel chair. Toys are lined up on a series of shelves.
Danielle turns one of them over gently in her hands, wondering
if each represents something incredibly psychiatrically
telling. She wonders what Max has said and done in this
room.
Reyes-Moreno’s diplomas and medical certifications hang
in thick, black picture frames. An undergraduate degree from
Pasadena, California. What is this? Doesn’t everyone who
reaches Mecca springboard from Stanford or Yale? At least
UCLA? Her heart beats faster as she peers at the other squares
of calligraphy displayed upon the wall. There it is—Harvard
Medical School. She is relieved. Not that she has anything
against Pasadena, but good God, if you’re paying for top
drawer, you damned well want a thoroughbred.
Danielle settles into one of the two wicker chairs that seem
to be reserved specifically for parent consultations. Like her,
they feel out of place. She thinks about Tony, wishing she
had been able to see him again. After she cancelled their
dinner, he left a note at the desk that said he had to go back to
Des Moines. He wrote down his cell number, but she hasn’t
used it. Her life is far too uncertain right now to add him to
the mix. The note is still in her purse, a hopeful talisman.
She turns her mind to plane reservations. If they leave early
tomorrow, she can get Max back to their apartment and still
have time to unpack his things. Even the thought of doing his laundry makes her smile. Maybe Georgia, who has returned
to Jonathan, can stop by Danielle’s apartment tonight, open
the windows, and get a few groceries in so it won’t seem so
deserted. Then maybe Max won’t remember they’ve been
gone so long.
Celia returns and hands her a lukewarm coffee. Reyes-
Moreno is running a few minutes late. Probably still meeting
with Max’s team, she thinks. They work in packs here. No one
shrink, neurologist, or psychiatrist—no one doctor responsible
for anything. She takes a sip of the bitter brew. She’ll have to
try and square things at the office as soon as she gets home—
big-time. She feels a f leeting panic and then pushes it out of
her mind. First things first.
So, what will Reyes-Moreno tell her? She’ll probably
confirm all of the old diagnoses, tell her that the other doctors
were mistaken, that they had him on the wrong medications.
She smiles to herself. Max seems so much better. He looks
more like, well, like Max.
The door opens and Celia comes in. Her eyes don’t quite
meet Danielle’s. She is reminded of jurors who don’t look her
in the eye when they file back into the courtroom after deliberations.
Reyes-Moreno walks in and closes the door. She
gives Danielle a broad smile and squeezes her shoulder. The
knot of tension Danielle has felt growing somewhere around
her neck just as suddenly disappears.
“Good morning, Danielle.” Her voice is soft and controlled.
“How are you today?”
What appropriate niceties does one exchange with the
person who holds your child’s life in her hands? “Fine, Doctor.
And you?”
“Let’s sit, shall we?” She rolls the black swivel chair around
until she faces Danielle, Celia slightly behind her. Danielle
wonders what Celia is doing there, but doesn’t want to ask.
Instead, she crosses her legs and puts her hands on her lap.
Ready.
Reyes-Moreno sits erect in her chair, eyes intent and
focused. “Danielle, I know you’ve waited very patiently for
us to have this meeting, and I’m happy to report that Max’s
team has reached a definite consensus on his diagnoses and
treatment protocol.”
Danielle discovers that she’s been holding her breath. She
forces oxygen into her lungs. Reyes-Moreno begins in a
singsong voice. “It probably won’t surprise you to learn that
we are confirming a number of diagnoses Max has been given
over the years.”
Danielle relaxes back into her chair. Same old stuff.
Dr. Reyes-Moreno continues, her rhythm unbroken. “We
confirm that Max is autistic—Asperger’s—and suffers from
an unfortunately wide spectrum of learning disorders and
disabilities,” she continues in her soft, melodic voice. “He has
both a receptive and expressive communication disorder, an
auditory processing disorder…” Her voice drones on.
Nothing in the litany gets Danielle’s attention. She has a
legal pad in front of her. As Reyes-Moreno talks, she dutifully
writes it all down, as if she’s at a deposition getting boring
background on an inconsequential witness. As the list of disorders
wears on, though, she feels very sad—probably because
all she wants to hear is that all the other well-meaning but
misguided professionals not only made mistakes about the
medications, but also about the autism diagnosis and underlying
neurological differences. It would have been wonderful if
Max didn’t have to face all of these problems. Well, she thinks,
as Reyes-Moreno ticks off the list—obsessive-compulsive
disorder, fine motor difficulties, tactile defensiveness—she
can deal with all of it.
“We recommend a new protocol of antidepressants to
combat Max’s suicidal tendencies,” says Reyes-Moreno.
Danielle goes down a mental list of tricyclic antidepressants,
SSRI’s, SNRI’s and their potential side effects, as well
as those contained in the black box warnings. “What are you
thinking of? Effexor? Cymbalta? Zoloft?”
Reyes-Moreno looks at Danielle, but doesn’t say anything.
Danielle turns abruptly and stares at Celia, who starts to say
something, but catches a vague signal from Reyes-Moreno
and looks away. Danielle’s heart is beating too fast, a wild,
caged thing struggling to get out.
Reyes-Moreno rolls her black chair closer, takes Danielle’s
hand and squeezes it. Her voice is baby-blanket soft. “There’s
more, I’m afraid.”
Danielle pulls back. Reyes-Moreno’s viridian eyes lock on
hers. If she smiles at me, it means he’s all right. Danielle smiles
first—a small, desperate invitation.
Reyes-Moreno has no smile for her. “I’ll just say it, and
then I want you to know that we’re all here for you.”
Danielle has no body now. She is only her eyes, which see
Reyes-Moreno and nothing else in the universe.
“Unfortunately, our testing has resulted in the diagnosis
of a grave psychiatric illness. Max has an extreme form
of psychosis, called schizoaffective disorder.” She pauses.
“Fewer than one percent of all psychiatric patients fall into
this category.”
Danielle is stunned. “Max is schizophrenic?”
“In part. However, schizophrenia does not have the mooddisorder
component that the schizoaffective label carries.”
She points to a stack of literature on her desk. “I’ve selected a
series of articles that will better help you understand the challenges
Max faces. Brief ly, the onset of schizoaffective disorder
peaks during adolescence and early adulthood. The severe disruptions to Max’s social and emotional development—
compounded by Asperger’s—will continue over his lifetime.
He will, in all probability, always pose a risk to himself and
others, and involuntary hospitalizations will be frequent.
Unfortunately, Max displays virtually all of the symptoms
under the DSM-IV-TR: delusions, hallucinations, frequently
derailed speech, catatonic behavior, anhedonia, avolition—”
Danielle forces herself to breathe. “This is crazy! He’s never
had any of the symptoms you’re describing.”
Reyes-Moreno shakes her head. “Perhaps not when he
is with you. However, our daily charts clearly ref lect Max’s
symptoms. You must have seen some of these signs. Parents
often live in denial until, as here, the child breaks down completely.”
“I do not live in denial.” Danielle feels her cheeks f lare. “Are
you sure that these symptoms aren’t a result of the overdose
you gave him?”
“No.” Reyes-Moreno shakes her head sadly. “These issues
are far more pervasive and long-standing.
“What we don’t know is if there is a history of psychosis
or mood disorder in your family or his father’s family.”
Reyes-Moreno’s lips keep moving—like one of those Japanese
cartoons where the red mouth looks like a real person’s, but
the rest of the body is a stiff, poorly drawn animation of a
human being and the words come out long after the mouth
has stopped. Danielle tries to absorb what Reyes-Moreno is
saying, but her thoughts are a silent, deafening scream.
“As I mentioned, Max will require frequent, lengthy hospitalizations
over the course of his lifetime due to recurrent
psychotic breaks and the extreme incidents of violence we
have observed and anticipate. I must tell you that with each
successive break, Max’s memory and his ability to assess
reality will deteriorate exponentially, which unfortunately will compound the severity of his schizophrenia. It will most
likely be impossible for him to hold a job or live independently
as a result of these breaks. We must also be ever-vigilant with
respect to the possibility of future suicide attempts. Unfortunately,
Max is fully aware that his mind is compromised. We
believe that this knowledge has driven him to consider suicide
as the only option.” She looks at Danielle. There seems to be
real sadness in her eyes. “As such, we strongly recommend that
Max be remitted to our residential facility for at least a year,
probably longer. He will undergo extensive psychotherapy so
we can help him accept his condition.”
Danielle struggles to absorb what Reyes-Moreno is telling
her, but it’s like trying to process the news that you’ve got
terminal cancer. Her mind is frozen, unavailable. She shakes
her head.
“Danielle,” Reyes-Moreno says softly, stretching out her
hand. “Please let us help you deal with this.”
She jerks back and stares bullets into Reyes-Moreno. “Leave
me alone. I don’t believe it. I’ll never believe it.”
Reyes-Moreno’s gentle voice is relentless. “…so hard
at first…terribly severe in his case…long-term residential
options…some medications…Abilify, Saphris, Seroquel…
new electroshock therapies…”
All she can think of is that she has to get out of there. She
runs to the door without a backward glance, but can’t find
the knob. She needs the knob.
“Danielle, please listen—”
“Not to this, I won’t,” she snaps. She opens the door, strides
into the hallway, finds a restroom, and slams the door. She
grabs the thick, curled edge of the washbasin and sinks to
her knees. The cold porcelain feels white and holy on her
forehead. Her mind is in a wild panic. If she believes what
they say, then everything black and horrible that has crept into her mind at the bleakest moments—and passionately denied—
has come true. If she believes what they say, Max will have
no life at all.
For one impossible moment, she lets herself feel that. What
f lows is a thick rush of hot lava, a keening that roils from her
soul, dark and sick. She forces herself to stand up and stare at
this woman with black tar under her eyes, this blotched face
made ugly by knowledge and fear, this….mother of a crazy
child. Mother of a child with no hope. She curses God for the
beautiful blue light He gave her this morning. She curses Him
for what He’s done to her boy. Stones, stones—all stones.
“Stop it,” she hisses. She has to think, be clear, find a
solution. She splashes cold water on her face and tries to
breathe, but psychiatric hospitals are vacuums. You’re not
supposed to breathe fresh air or feel the sun on your face.
You’re supposed to be in a place where other people aren’t.
A place where you can be controlled every minute. Where
you can be watched and drugged—kept away from normal
people and the entire normal world. In a place that is always
painted white. The color of a blank. The wiped slate. A place
that reduces you, erases the sick part of you and, along with
it, the part that makes you human and precious—the part that
permits you to feel joy and give joy in return. A quiet, unchallenging
world, hermetically sealed with a thick, black ring
around it. A place that doesn’t keep the dangers of the world
from you, but your dangers from the world. A place where
you can look at yourself in the mirror and see the truth—one
that imprisons you for life.
She grasps the cool sink and stares once more into the
mirror. She will not give in to this. She can’t. Max needs
her.
But the mirror tells her there’s no way back. No way back
to the time when she believed that someone could put it all back together and make it right. When she believed that even
if everyone in the world told her it could never be made right,
she would still find a way. No way back to the perfect, soft
skin of his tiny, precious body, or the joy in his eyes when
she first held him in her arms; his exquisitely gleeful gum
smile; his obvious perfection in innocence—limitless in his
possibilities. As the mirror blurs and blackens in front of her,
the woman she is and the quintessence of that child disappear.
The baby is shattered, splintered in the darkness. Cover the
glass with a black shawl.
There’s been a death in the family.
... view entire excerpt...

Discussion Questions

From the Publisher:

1.) What is the novel about?
Does the book have a central theme? If so, what? Does it
have many themes? If so, how do you think they interlink?
Is one theme more dominant than others? What do you
think the author is trying to get across to the reader?
2.) How important is the setting to the story?
Does the author provide enough background information
for you to understand the events in the story? What
is unique about the setting of the book and how does it
enhance or take away from the story?
3.) Do the characters seem real and believable?
Can you relate to Danielle’s predicament? To what extnet
does she or the other characters remind you of yourself or
someone you know?
4.) How did the book affect you?
Do you feel “changed” in any way? Did it expand your
range of experience or challenge your assumptions? (For
example, did it deepen your understanding of autism and
what it means to raise an autistic child?) Did reading it
help you to understand someone better—perhaps a friend
or relative, or even yourself?
5.) What do the characters do?
Do they react the way you think you would in a similar
situation? Are their actions consistent with their characters?
If not, perhaps ask yourself if it is reasonable for
anyone to be expected to act consistently in the situation
confronting Danielle.
6.) What do you know about the author?
The novel is parly based upon the author’s experience in
raising an autistic child. Does she effectively convey the
emotions you would expect her to have in the novel?
7.) Did certain parts of the book make you uncomfortable?
If so, why did you feel that way? Did this lead to a new
understanding or awareness of some aspect of your life or
the world you might not have thought about before?
8.) Discuss the mystery aspect of the plotline?
How effective is the author’s use of plot twists and red
herrings? Were you able to predict certain things before
they happened, or did the author keep you guessing until
the end of the story?
9.) How do characters change or evolve throughout
the course of the story?
What events trigger such changes?
10.) How is the book structured?
Does the author use any narrative devices like f lashbacks
in telling the story? How did this affect your reading of
the story and your appeciation of the book? Do you think
the author did a good job with it?

Weblinks

»	Official Web Site for Saving Max

Book Club Recommendations

Recommended to book clubs by 8 of 9 members.

Member Reviews

Rate this book