Every Fifteen Minutes (55 page)

Chapter Sixty-eight

It was December, and Eric was pleased to see that the visiting room had been decorated for the holidays, though it wasn't easy to make a juvenile detention center look cheery. Artwork by the residents lined the walls, painted Christmas trees, crayoned Santa Clauses, plus Hanukkah dreidels and Kwanzaa Unity cups drawn with varying degrees of skill; juveniles from ages ten to eighteen lived in the center's secured detention wing, which contained thirty-six rooms, one of which was Max's.

The visiting room was modern, clean, and medium-sized, with thin blue carpeting and large glass windows that let in indirect light even on an overcast morning, with snow in the forecast. Ten small tables with heavy-duty plastic chairs filled the room, and Eric took his customary table and waited for Max. He kept his coat on because there was nowhere to hang it. In the corner of the visiting room stood a decorated Christmas tree, festooned with colored lights and inexpensive ornaments, and beneath it sat wrapped presents on a cottony carpet of pretend snow. This wouldn't be the happiest Christmas for Max, but the boy was lucky to be here, not in a state prison for adults.

Max had been sentenced as a juvenile as a result of a plea agreement orchestrated by his lawyer, his motion supported by three psychological assessments: the pre-trial evaluation from the psychiatric staff at the detention center, a risk-assessment and evaluation by a psychiatrist hired by Marie, and a substantial report by Eric himself. All three mental health professionals had agreed that Max suffered from OCD and depression with suicidal ideation, which had impaired his decision-making at the time of the offenses.

The federal government had dropped its charges under the terrorism statutes, and the district attorney of Montgomery County had dropped the kidnapping charge in view of the fact that Max had no intent to inflict bodily injury on the hostages, as he'd been unarmed. In return for being sentenced as a juvenile, Max had pleaded guilty to counts of unlawful restraint, reckless endangerment, and terroristic threats, and received a sentence of a year in the detention center and three years' probation thereafter, the maximum possible so-called “long tail” sentence. The judge had accepted the deal and ordered the sentence despite opposition from King of Prussia business groups, who wanted Max tried as an adult, if not burned at the stake.

Eric looked over to see the door to the visiting room opening, and Max was brought in by a uniformed detention officer. The boy had no handcuffs on or anything of that sort, and the detention officer remained by the door as Max crossed the room toward him, with a smile. Eric rose, thinking the boy looked better than he had last visit, two weeks ago. His aspect seemed brighter, his brown hair cut away from his eyes, and he'd put on some weight, which made him look stronger in his gray sweat suit, the winter uniform here. He seemed taller, too, but that could have been Eric's imagination.

Eric extended his hand. “Max, are you
growing
?”

“Little bit.” Max grinned, shaking his hand firmly. “The doc said I'm in a growth spurt. Can you believe that?”

“Ha!” Eric sat down. “Good to see you. How're you doing?”

“Good, thanks.” Max sat opposite him, meeting his eye with a new animation. “Guess what, my mother's getting married.”

“That's great,” Eric said, meaning it. He had visited Marie and Zack recently, at their invitation. Marie had gotten out of rehab two months ago, landed a job, and Zack had moved in with her.

“I'm getting a dad for Christmas.” Max rolled his eyes.

Eric chuckled. “When's the date?”

“December, next year. They're waiting 'til I'm out.”

“Great. So, how do you feel about it?”

“I'm happy about it.” Max nodded. “It's a good thing. I like him. He's a nice guy and he's a good influence on my mom. I don't think she would've gone to rehab without him pushing her.”

“You're probably right.” Eric remembered Laurie's saying that she thought Zack was too good for Marie, but he pushed that from his mind. “How's school?”

“Boring and easy, but that's okay.” Max shrugged. “I'm tutoring fifth-graders in math. They need the help.”

“That's nice of you.”

“You know what I like? The Language Arts class. I never liked it at Pioneer, but I like it here. How weird is that?”

“Not weird, good. Good for you.”

“They make you do what they call ‘reflective writing,' which is like writing in a journal, but you can write whatever you want, like, free-form. It sounds stupid, but I like it. I'm trying poetry.” Max shrugged, sheepishly. “Only because there's nothing else to do, since they don't allow video games.”

“Poetry is better than video games.”

“I knew you would say that. It's such a dad-thing to say.”

“There's a reason I say dad-things.” Eric smiled, though since the summer, he'd clarified his relationship to Max in his own mind. Eric no longer felt so paternal toward Max and was clear now that the only person he parented was Hannah. He had his hands full with her, since she was currently lobbying to repaint the entire house pink. Outside.

“Therapy's going good, too.” Max smiled, happily. “I really like Dr. Gold.”

“She's terrific.” Eric had been happy to refer Max to one of his old friends, Jill Gold, an OCD expert affiliated with the Beck Institute in Philly, which was on the cutting edge of cognitive behavior therapies. The juvenile detention center had cooperated in coordinating its treatment of Max with Dr. Gold's private treatment, which would aid in Max's progress not only now, but after he left their care.

“She's been talking to me a lot about Gummy, and that's sad.”

“I'm sure.” Eric could see Max's face darken when he thought about his grandmother, his grief evident.

“It's like, I see these good things happening now, like my mom quitting drinking, and I think, why didn't she do that before? Like, when my grandmother was alive? It would've made her really happy.”

“Right, of course. But you know, sometimes people grow up only after their parent passes. I'm not saying that's the case with your mother, but it might be.”

Max pursed his lips, sighing. “Anyway, I'm doing better with my OCD. Dr. Gold's been working with me, doing the flooding techniques. I'm down to tapping once an hour, on the hour.”

“Good for you.”

“It takes forever, though. It took all this time to get it down just that much.”

“I know, but it works if you stay with it.”

“I'm good 'til ten o'clock.” Max's gaze shifted to the wall clock, which read 9:10.

“It will get easier, you'll see.”

“That's what she says.” Max met Eric's eye, with new animation. “You know, she's single.”

“Dr. Gold? No she's not, she's married.”

“No, she got divorced. It was final last month. I heard her talking to one of her friends on the phone.” Max cocked his head. “Are you ready to, like, date?”

“No, I'm not, Max.” Eric was still processing the fact that Laurie had turned out to be a sociopath, and she was currently in prison, awaiting trial. He prayed that she was getting the help she needed, but he was in no position to help her. Paul had never spoken to him again, which he understood.

“Dr. Gold reminds me of you, and you guys have a lot in common. She has a daughter, too, about Hannah's age. Maybe you should give her a call, like, for a date.”

“I'll think about it.” Eric still felt so sorry that all of this had happened because someone was trying to ruin him, leaving so many lives in pieces and so many people in grief, including Max. He had said as much to Max, Marie, and Zack, as well as to Anthony and Peg Bevilacqua, who had accepted his apology with grace and courage. Linda Perino had filed suit against the hospital, but she had pointedly not named Eric as an individual defendant, and HGH had already offered her a substantial settlement.

“Dr. Parrish, you should do more than think about it. I think Dr. Gold's
hot,
for someone, like, her age.”

Eric smiled. “Her age is my age.”

“I know. See, that's another thing you have in common. You can be olds together.” Max laughed.

“Enough. I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“Merry Christmas.” Eric reached in his coat pocket, pulled out a present, and placed it on the table in front of Max. It had been wrapped by Hannah in giftwrap from
Frozen.
He didn't have time to get any proper holiday paper, between his job as Chief, his private practice at home, and being a hands-on dad, which he loved. He was even getting along better with Caitlin. His life felt as if it were finally falling into place, even though he was, well, crazy busy.

“What's this?” Max smiled, picking up the gift. “You didn't have to do anything.”

“It's something little. Open it.”

“Aw.” Max tore the wrapping paper off to reveal a black Eveready flashlight. “Ha!”

“Remember what I said about the flashlight?”

“That it's a phallic symbol?”

“No!” Eric laughed.

Max laughed, too, then it subsided. “I'm joking. I remember.”

“So, this is your flashlight. You're just at the beginning of exploring the cave. Keep it with you at all times.”

“But you're supposed to be with me.” Max grew serious, his face falling.

“You don't need me, not anymore. You can do it yourself and you're doing a wonderful job. If you need a hand to hold on to, you have Dr. Gold's. She's right there with you.”

Max swallowed hard. “So what are you saying?”

“I've been visiting you every week, but I'm thinking that from now on, you should call me when you want me to visit. Whenever you want me to come, just call. I'll be in your life as long as you want. How's that?”

“Okay.” Max blinked, nodding. “Just so you're not ditching me.”

Eric's throat caught. “No, I'm not ditching you.”

“Good. Because Dr. Gold will be here any second.”

“Here? Why?”

“I told her you wanted to take her to brunch.”

“You did
what
?” Eric looked over to the door of the visiting room, and it was swinging wide open.

 

Acknowledgments

I'm a big fan of thanks-yous. Here's where I thank the experts and kind souls who helped me with
Every Fifteen Minutes
. It should go without saying, but doesn't, that any and all mistakes in the novel are mine.

First, I'm indebted to my best friend, Sandy Steingard, whom I knew well before she grew up to be one of the most well-respected psychiatrists in the country. She's brilliant, compassionate, funny, and generally wonderful, and she helped me understand how psychiatrists think, and in particular, how the fictional psychiatrist in this book might think. I am forever in her debt, for this and many other reasons. That's why this book is dedicated to her, with gratitude and much, much love.

Thanks to Dr. Marc Burock, Medical Director of the Inpatient Psychiatric Unit at Bryn Mawr Hospital, part of the Main Line Health System. Dr. Burock took time out of his busy day to answer all of my questions, not only about psychiatry but about practice and procedures in a typical suburban hospital. Though the hospital in this novel is completely fictional, it was during my interview with Dr. Burock that I heard the hospital's delivery lullaby, which plays in the novel, so even though that custom may be hard to believe, it's true.

Thanks so much to Tom Mendicino, Esq., senior counsel of Main Line Health System, who took time to meet with me and helped me understand the legalties of life in a large hospital system. Tom was invaluable in getting the facts and law right, and I thank him very much. Thanks, too, to his colleagues Jane Herling, Esq.; Della Payne, Esq.; and Sharon Sorokin James, Esq., who met with me as well, so I was brainstorming with a crack legal team. Last but not least, thanks to Terry Dougherty, Director of Human Resources at Bryn Mawr Hospital, and here's a big hug of thanks to the hardworking and adorable Mary Kate Coghlan, who helped facilitate the interviews!

Thanks to psychiatrist Dr. Lisa Goldstein, who spent hours with me, answering all my questions about adolescent psychiatry, and in particular the treatment of OCD. Dr. Goldstein is a sweetheart, and she helped me construct the treatment and understand other facts that underline the fiction of this book.

Finally, I read a lot about the life of a psychiatrist, a patient, sociopathy, and other mental illnesses. Here are a few of the sources I used, and I heartily recommend them: Simon Baron-Cohen,
The Science of Evil
; Judith Beck,
Cognitive Behavior Therapy
; Louis Cozolino,
The Making of a Therapist
; Kevin Dutton,
The Wisdom of Psychopaths
; James Fallon,
The Psychopath Inside
; Peter and Ginger Ross Breggin,
Talking Back to Prozac
; Robert D. Hare,
Without Conscience
; Kent Kiehl,
The Psychopath Whisperer
; Jane McGregor and Tim McGregor,
The Sociopath at the Breakfast Table
; J. Reid Meloy,
The Psychopathic Mind
; Dinah Miller, Annette Hanson, and Steven Roy Daviss,
Shrink Rap
; Daniel Smith,
Monkey Mind
; Scott Stossel,
My Age of Anxiety
; Martha Stout,
The Sociopath Next Door
; M. E. Thomas,
Confessions of a Sociopath
; and Robert Whitaker,
Mad in America.

Thank you to the Radnor Police Department, which is real, but again, the personnel and characters in the novel are fictional. Still, I needed help to get the procedure right and for that I want to thank Lieutenant Christopher Flanagan, who patiently answered all of my questions. Thanks, too, to Chief/Superintendent William Colarulo, Detective Christopher Four, and Corporal Walt Sherman. And a hug to Mary Ann Donnelley, who helped so much! Thanks to the Upper Merion Police, too.