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.

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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 abbreviated excerpt only...

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

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Recommended to book clubs by 8 of 9 members.

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