The two techs helped Aly from the fMRI tube. She blushed with pleasure the way she did the day the nurses put her newborn in her hands. She joined us in the booth, a little wobbly. Currier whistled. “You sure know how to drive that thing.”
My wife came and put her hands around my neck, as if my body alone might keep her small craft afloat in a large sea. We made it home still clutching at each other and paid off the babysitter. We fed our boy and tried to distract him with his favorite Star Wars Legos. Robin knew something was up and chose that moment to turn clingy. I reasoned with him.
“Your mother and I have a few things to take care of. You play quietly, and we’ll go see the sailboats, later.”
This worked long enough for Aly and me to barricade ourselves in the bedroom. She had me half undressed before I could whisper my first fierce words. “What were you thinking of, back there? I need to know!”
She ignored every sound from me but my pulse. Her ear was up to my chest and her hands everywhere below. Oh, my poor little guy. You looked like you were about to cry, in that nasty machine!
Then she towered above me, upright, alert, and huge. Lifting off, she cried out a little, like some nocturnal thing. I reached up to shush her, and the thrill doubled. It took only seconds for the knock on the door. Is everybody okay in there?
My wife, vigilant ecstatic, took all her will to keep from laughing. So okay, honey! Everybody’s so okay.
ON A WEDNESDAY MORNING IN NOVEMBER, I walked across campus to Currier’s building. It was a good long hike, but I didn’t send a heads-up. I didn’t want a paper trail. Martin seemed perplexed to see me. The closest emotion on Plutchik’s wheel was probably Apprehension.
“Theo. Huh. How’ve you been?” He sounded almost like he wanted to know. That came from years of studying human emotions. “I felt miserable about missing Alyssa’s service.”
I lifted my shoulders and let them fall. Two years ago; ancient history. “Honestly? I couldn’t tell you who was there and who wasn’t. I don’t remember much of it at all.”
“How can I help you?”
“I need to ask something confidential.”
He nodded and took me down the hall and out of the building. We sat in a cafeteria in the School of Medicine, each with a hot beverage that neither of us wanted.
“This is a bit embarrassing. I know you’re not a clinician, but I have nowhere else to go. Robin’s in trouble. His grade school is threatening me with the Department of Human Services if I don’t dope him up.”
He took an instant to place Robin. “Has he been diagnosed with something?”
“So far the votes are two Asperger’s, one probable OCD, and one possible ADHD.”
He smiled, bitter and sympathetic. “This is why I dropped out of clinical psych.”
“Half the third-graders in this country could be squeezed into one of those categories.”
“That’s the problem.” He looked around the cafeteria, scanning for colleagues who might overhear us. “What do they want to put him on?”
“I’m not sure his principal cares, so long as Big Pharma gets their cut.”
“Most of the common meds are pretty normalized, you know.”
“He’s nine years old.” I caught myself and calmed down. “His brain is still developing.”
Martin raised his hands. “That’s young, for psychoactive drugs. I wouldn’t want to experiment on my nine-year-old.”
He was a clever man. I could see why my wife liked him. He waited me out. At last I confessed, “He threw a thermos at a friend’s face.”
“Huh. I broke my friend’s nose once. But he deserved it.”
“Would Ritalin have helped?”
“My father’s treatment of choice was the belt. And it turned me into the exemplary adult you see before you.”
I laughed and felt better. Quite a trick on his part. “How do any of us make it to adulthood?”
My wife’s friend squinted into the past, trying to remember her son. “How bad would you say his anger gets?”
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
“He did peg that boy.”
“That wasn’t entirely his fault.” Nothing was ever entirely anyone’s fault. His hands got confused.
“Are you afraid he might hurt someone? Has he ever come after you?”
“No. Never. Of course not.”
He knew I was lying. “I’m not a doctor. And even doctors can’t give you a reliable opinion without a formal consult. You know that.”