Rogue

“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.

Maxine had one more patient after that, a sixteen-year-old girl who cut herself, had scars up and down her arms, which she covered, and had attempted suicide once at fifteen. Maxine had been called in by her family physician, and they were making slow but steady progress.

Maxine called Silver Pines before leaving her office, and was told that Jason had put jeans on and joined the other residents for dinner. He hadn't said much, and had gone back to his room right afterward, but it was a beginning. He was still on close suicide watch, and would be for a while, until the attending physician and Maxine felt more comfortable about him. He was still very depressed, and very much at risk, but at least he was safe at Silver Pines, which was why she had sent him there.

Maxine was in the elevator of her apartment building at seventhirty, exhausted. As she walked into the apartment, Sam flew by her at full speed, dressed as a turkey and gobbling loudly, and she grinned. It was good to be home. It had been a long day, and she was still sad about Jason herself. She cared a lot about her patients.

“Halloween is over!” she called out to him, as he stopped, grinned, and ran back her way to throw his arms around her waist and hug her. He nearly knocked her down when he did. He was a solid little kid.

“I know. I'm the turkey in the school play,” he said proudly.

“They got that part right,” Jack commented as he sauntered by in soccer shorts and cleats, making marks and leaving clumps of dirt on the carpet, which didn't concern him in the least. He was carrying a stack of video games he had borrowed from a friend.

“Zelda's going to have a fit,” his mother warned him, glancing at the carpet, and as soon as she said it, the nanny appeared scowling at them all.

“I'm going to throw those shoes out the window, if you don't park them at the door, Jack Williams. You're going to wreck all our rugs and floors! How many times do I have to tell you?” She hmphed loudly and stomped back into the kitchen, as he sat down on the floor and took his shoes off.