find. That afternoon she dragged him—cursing and screaming—to Dr. Leonard’s office. The visits seemed to help. At least he had gone back to school and, in an odd way, seemed happier. He was tender and loving toward Danielle—a young Max, eager to please. As far as the drugs went, her secret forays into his room turned up nothing. That wasn’t to say, of course, that he hadn’t simply moved them to school or a friend’s house.
But, she thinks ruefully, recent events pale in comparison to what brings them here today. Yesterday after Max left for school and she performed her daily search-and-seizure reconnaissance, she discovered a soft, leather-bound journal stuffed under his bed. Guiltily, she pried open the metal clasp with a paring knife. The first page so frightened her that she fell into a chair, hands shaking. Twenty pages of his boyish scrawl detailed a plan so intricate, so terrifying, that she only noticed her ragged breathing and stifled sobs when she looked around the room and wondered where the sounds were coming from. Did the blame lie with her? Could she have done something differently? Better? The old shame and humiliation filled her.
The door opens and Georgia walks in. A tiny blonde, she sits next to Danielle and gives her a brief, strong hug. Danielle smiles. Georgia is not only her best friend—she is family. As an only child with both parents gone, Danielle has come to rely upon Georgia’s unflagging loyalty and support, not to mention her deep love for Max. Despite her sweet expression, Georgia has the quick mind of a tough lawyer. Their law firm is Blackwood & Price, a multinational firm with four hundred lawyers and offices in New York, Oslo and London. She is typically in her office by now—seated behind a perfectly ordered desk, a pile of finished work at her elbow. Danielle can’t remember when she has been so glad to see someone. Georgia gives Max a wave and a smile. “Hi, you.”
“Hey.” The monosyllabic task accomplished, he closes his eyes and slouches lower into his chair.
“How is he?” asks Georgia.
“Either glued to his laptop or on that damned phone of his,” she whispers. “He doesn’t know I found his…journal. I’d never have gotten him here otherwise.”
Georgia squeezes her shoulder. “It’ll be all right. We’ll get through this somehow.”
“You’re so wonderful to come. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.” She forces normality into her voice. “So, how did it go this morning?”
“I barely got to court in time, but I think I did okay.”
“What happened?”
She shrugs. “Jonathan.”
Danielle squeezes her hand. Her husband, Jonathan, although a brilliant plastic surgeon, has an unquenchable thirst that threatens to ruin not only his marriage, but his career. Georgia suspects that he is also addicted to cocaine, but has voiced that fear only to Danielle. No one at their law firm seems to know, despite his boorish behavior at the last Christmas party. The firm, an old-line Manhattan institution, does not look kindly upon spousal comportment that smacks of anything other than the rarified, blue-blooded professionals they believe themselves to be. With a two-year-old daughter, Georgia is reluctant to even consider divorce.
“What was it this time?” asks Danielle.
Her azure eyes are nubilous. “Came in at four; passed out in the bathtub; pissed all over himself.”
“Oh, God.”
“Melissa found him and came crying into the bedroom.” Georgia shakes her head. “She thought he was dead.”
This time it is Danielle who does the hugging.
Georgia forces a smile and turns her gaze upon Max, who has sunk even lower into his leather chair and appears to be asleep. “Has the doctor read his journal?”
“I’m sure he has,” she says wearily. “I messengered it to him yesterday.”
“Have you heard from the school?”
“He’s out.” Max’s principal had politely suggested to Danielle that another “environment” might be more “successful” in meet ing Max’s “challenges.” In other words, they want him the hell out of there.
Max’s Asperger’s has magnified tenfold since he became a teenager. As his peers have graduated to sophisticated social interaction, Max has struggled at a middle-school level. Saddled with severe learning disabilities, he stands out even more. Danielle understands it. If you are incessantly derided, you cannot risk further social laceration. Isolation at least staunches the pain. And it isn’t as if Danielle hasn’t tried like hell. Max had cut a swath through countless schools in Manhattan. Even the special schools that cater to students with disabilities had kicked him out. For years she had beaten