Rogue (7 page)

“I thought you hid the bottles in the closet,” Daphne complained.

“I did.” They were all near tears. It was the first time they had done anything like it, but surely not the last. Maxine knew that better than they did.

“She must have checked.”

The girls were dressed and gone in under ten minutes, and Daphne went looking for her mother. She found her in the kitchen, talking quietly to Zelda, who looked at Daphne with stern disapproval and didn't say a word. It was up to Maxine how she chose to handle this.

“I'm sorry, Mom,” Daphne said, bursting into tears.

“So am I. I trusted you, Daff. I always have. I don't want anything to screw that up. What we have is precious.”

“I know …I didn't mean to … we just thought …I…”

“You're on a month's restriction. No phone calls for the first week. No social life for the month. You go nowhere alone. And no allowance. That's it. And don't let it happen again,” she said sternly. Daphne nodded silently and slunk back to her room. They both heard the door close softly behind her. Maxine was sure she was crying, but she wanted to leave her alone for now.

“And this is only the beginning,” Zelda said glumly, and then both women laughed. It didn't seem like the end of the world to either of them, but Maxine wanted to make a big impression on her daughter so it didn't happen again anytime soon. Thirteen was too young for them to be having beer parties on the sly in her bedroom, so she had made her point.

Daphne stayed in her room for the rest of the afternoon, after turning her cell phone in to her mother. The phone was her lifeline, and giving it up was a major sacrifice.

Maxine picked up both boys by five o'clock, and when he got home, Daphne told Jack what had happened. He was startled but impressed, and told her what she already knew, that it was a really dumb thing to do, and that their mother had been bound to find out. According to Jack, their mother knew everything and had radar of some kind and X-ray vision implanted in her head. It was part of the options package that came with moms.

The four of them had a quiet dinner in the kitchen that night, and all of them went to bed early, since the next day was a school day. Maxine was sound asleep at twelve o'clock when the nurse at Silver Pines called her. Jason Wexler had made another suicide attempt that night. He was in good condition and stable. He had taken off his pajamas and tried to hang himself with them, but the nurse assigned to him had found him and revived him. Maxine realized they had moved him out of Lenox Hill in the nick of time, and thank God his mother hadn't listened to the pompous, idiotic Dr. West. She told the nurse she'd be out to see Jason the following afternoon, and she could only imagine how his mother would take the news. Maxine was grateful he was alive.

As she lay in bed afterward, she realized that it had been a busy weekend after all. Her daughter had gotten drunk on beer for the first time, and one of her patients had attempted suicide twice. All things considered, matters could have been a lot worse. Jason Wexler could have been dead. She was relieved he wasn't, although she would have liked to give Charles West a piece of her mind. He was an utter fool. Maxine was happy that Jason's mother hadn't listened to him, and had trusted her. All that mattered was that Jason was alive. She just hoped he would stay that way. With each attempt he was at greater risk. Compared to that, Daphne's little beer party on Saturday night was child's play, which was all it was anyway. She was still thinking about it when Sam padded into her room in the dark and came to stand next to her bed.

“Can I sleep with you, Mom?” he asked solemnly. “I think there's a gorilla in my closet.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” She slid over and made room for him, as he cuddled up next to her. She was wondering if she should explain to him that there wasn't a gorilla in his closet, or just let it go.

“Mom?” he was whispering next to her, cozy beside her.

“Yeah?”

“About the gorilla …I made it up.”

“I know.” She smiled at him in the dark, kissed his cheek, and a moment later, they were both asleep.

Chapter 3

Maxine was in her office at eight o'clock the next morning
. She saw patients back to back until noon, then drove to Long Island to see Jason Wexler at Silver Pines, and was there at one-thirty. The only thing she'd eaten was half a banana while driving, and she returned calls from the speakerphone in her car. She was pretty well caught up and on schedule when she got there.

She spent an hour alone with Jason, met with the attending psychiatrist about the events of the night before, and talked to Jason's mother for half an hour. They were all grateful he was at Silver Pines, and that his third suicide attempt had been foiled. Helen was quick to give Maxine credit, and say that she'd been right. She shuddered to think what would have happened if she'd insisted on taking him home. More than likely, this time, he would have succeeded. Unlike what Helen's internist had suggested, these were not bids for attention. Jason wanted out. He was profoundly convinced he had killed his father. He had had conflicting feelings about him all his life, and given that and the argument they'd had the night before, Jason remained convinced that the combination of those facts had killed him. It would take months, or even years, to show him otherwise, and assuage his guilt. Both Helen and Maxine knew now that it was going to be a long haul for Jason. And contrary to his mother's initial hopes, he would not be home in time for Christmas. Maxine was now hoping that they would keep him there for six months to a year, although it was still too soon to say that to his mother. She was badly shaken by his near success at hanging himself the night before. And he had told his mother that morning that if he wanted to kill himself, he would. Nothing could stop him. And much to her chagrin, Maxine knew from experience, he was right. What they had to do now was heal his wounded soul and spirit, and that was going to take time.

Maxine was back on the freeway at four o'clock, and in her office, after some traffic on the bridge, just after five. She had a patient scheduled at five-thirty, and was checking her stack of messages when she got a call from Helen's internist, Dr. West. She thought about not taking the call, assuming she was in for more of the same pompous crap she'd heard from him the day before, and she wasn't in the mood. Although she always remained professional about her patients, and had good boundaries, she was profoundly sad about Jason, and for his mother. He was a lovely boy, and they'd had enough heartache for a lifetime. Reluctantly, she took the call, and braced herself for the arrogance in his voice.

“Yes? Dr. Williams speaking.”

“This is Charles West.” Unlike her, he did not preface it with his title, and she thought he sounded chagrined, which wasn't what she had expected. The voice was smooth and cool, but nearly human as he went on. “I had a call from Helen Wexler this morning, about Jason. How is he?”

Maxine remained aloof and distant. She didn't trust him. He was probably going to find fault with something she'd done, and insist she send Jason home, as insane as that sounded, but she thought him capable of it, after his comments the previous day. “About what you'd expect. He was sedated when I saw him, but coherent. He remembers what he did, and why. I was fairly certain he'd try it again, although he promised his mother he wouldn't. He has a lot of guilt about his father.” It was about as much as she was willing to say to him, and more than enough to explain her actions. “That's not unusual, but he needs some more constructive ways to deal with it, suicide not being one.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I called you to say that I'm really sorry I was such a jerk yesterday. Helen's very close to him, and always has been. Only son, surviving child. I don't think their marriage was great.” Maxine knew that but didn't comment. What she knew was none of his business. “I just figured he wanted attention, you know how kids are.”

“Yes, I do,” Maxine said coldly. “Most of them don't commit suicide to get attention. They usually have compelling reasons, and I think Jason believes he does. It's going to take a lot of work to convince him otherwise.”

“I have every faith that you can do that,” he said kindly. Much to her amazement, he sounded almost humble, which was a far cry from how he'd sounded the day before. “I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I looked you up on the Internet. That's some list of credentials you've got behind you, doctor.” He had been enormously impressed, and embarrassed at having dismissed her as some garden-variety Park Avenue shrink who was taking advantage of the Wexlers, and blowing their problems out of proportion. He had read her CV, schools, degrees, noted her books, lectures, committees she had served on, and knew now that she had advised schools all over the country on trauma in younger children, and that the book she had written on suicide in teens was considered the definitive work written on the subject. She was a major force and authority in her field. It was he who looked like nobody compared to her, and although he had a fair amount of self-confidence, he couldn't help but be impressed by her. Anyone would be.

“Thank you, Dr. West,” Maxine said coolly. “I knew Jason was serious about his second attempt. This is what I do.”

“To say the least. I just wanted to apologize to you today for being such a fool yesterday. I know how wound up Helen can get, and she's on the edge these days. I've been her physician for fifteen years, and I've known Jason since he was born. Her husband was a patient of mine too. I never realized that Jason was so troubled.”

“I think it precedes his father's death. His sister's death shook them all up, understandably, and he's at a tough age. Sixteen-year-old boys are very vulnerable, and there are a lot of expectations in that family, academically and otherwise. Surviving only child, all of that. It's not easy for him. And his father's death blew him right off the map.”

“I get that now. I'm really sorry.” He sounded sincerely contrite, which impressed her.

“Don't worry about it. We all misjudge things. It's not your field. I wouldn't want to be making diagnoses about meningitis or diabetes. That's why we have specialties, doctor. It was nice of you to call.” He had eaten humble pie, and he was the last person she would have guessed would do that. “You should probably keep an eye on Helen. She's pretty shaken up. I referred her to a psychiatrist who does very good grief work, but having Jason in the hospital for the next several months, particularly over the holidays, won't be easy for her. And you know how it is with things like that, sometimes that kind of stress hits the immune system.” Helen had already commented to Maxine that she'd had three bad colds and several migraines since her husband's death. Jason's three attempted suicides and hospitalization were not likely to improve her health, and Charles West knew that too.

“I'll keep an eye on her. You're right, of course. I always worry about my patients after the death of a spouse or a child. Some of them come down like a house of cards, although Helen's pretty tough. I'll give her a call and see how she's doing.”

“I think she's in shock after last night,” Maxine said honestly.

“Who wouldn't be? I don't have kids myself, but I can't imagine anything worse, and she's already lost one, and now almost lost another, after being widowed. It doesn't get much worse than that.”

“Yes, it does,” Maxine said sadly. “She could have lost him too. Thank God she didn't. And we're going to do everything we can to see that that doesn't happen. That's my job.”

“I don't envy you. You must deal with some pretty tough stuff.”

“I do,” she said calmly, glancing at her watch. Her next patient was due in five minutes. “It was nice of you to call,” she said again, trying to wrap things up, and she meant it. A lot of physicians wouldn't have bothered.

“Now I'll know to whom to refer my patients with troubled kids.”

“A lot of what I do is in trauma, with younger kids. As a therapist, it's less depressing than just working with suicidal teens. I deal with long-term effects of major situational traumas, like nine-eleven.”

“I saw your interview in
The New York Times
on the Internet. It must be fascinating.”

“It was.” Her second book had been on national and public events that had traumatized large groups of children. She was involved in several studies and research projects, and had testified numerous times in front of Congress.

“If you think there's anything I need to know in terms of Helen, or about Jason, let me know. People don't always tell me what's going on. Helen is pretty good about that, but she's also very private. So if you pick up anything important, give me a call.”

“I will.” Her buzzer sounded. Her five-thirty patient was there, on the dot. A fourteen-year-old anorexic who was doing better than she had the year before, after a six-month hospitalization at Yale. “Thanks again for your call. It was nice of you to do that,” Maxine said pleasantly. He wasn't such a bad guy after all. Calling her to acknowledge his mistake had been a decent thing to do.

“Not at all,” he said, and they hung up. Maxine got up from her desk and let a pretty young girl into her office. She was still extremely thin and looked far younger than she was. She looked ten or eleven, although she was about to turn fifteen. But she had nearly died of her anorexia the year before, so things were looking up. Her hair was still thin, she had lost several teeth during her hospitalization, and there would be some question for years to come about her ability to have children. It was a serious disease.

“Hi, Josephine, come on in,” Maxine said warmly, motioning to the familiar chair, which the pretty teenager curled up in like a kitten, with huge eyes that sought out Maxine's.

Within minutes, she had confessed, of her own volition, to stealing some of her mother's laxatives that week, but after careful consideration, she hadn't used them. Maxine nodded and they talked about it after that, among other things. Josephine had also met a boy she liked, now that she was back in school, and was feeling better about herself. It was a long, slow road back from the terrifying place she had been, when she weighed barely more than sixty pounds at thirteen. She was up to eighty-five now, still light for her height, but no longer as disastrously emaciated. Their current goal was a hundred. And for the moment, she was still gaining a pound a week, and hadn't slipped.