Read Online When the Bough Breaks by Jonathan Kellerman - Free Book Online Page A

placed a pair of reading glasses low on his nose, picked up the chart and flipped through it.
    “Let me see. Ah, yes. Hmm. ’Mother complains of severe behavioral problems.’” After thumbing through a few more pages: “‘Teachers report failure to complete school assignments. Difficulty in maintaining attention span for more than brief periods.’ Ah—here’s a later notation—’Child struck mother during argument about keeping room clean’ And here’s a note of mine: ’Poor peer relations, few friends.’”
    I was certain that the argument had something to do with giving away the giant walrus, Fatso. The gift from Daddy. And as for friends—itwas easy to see that M and M Properties wouldn’t truck with that kind of nonsense.
    “That sounds pretty severe to me, don’t you think?”
    What I thought was that it was horseshit. There’d been nothing resembling a thorough psychological evaluation. Nothing beyond taking the mother at her word. I looked at Towle and saw a quack. A nice-looking, white-haired quack with lots of connections and the right pieces of paper on his wall. I longed to tell him so, but that would do nobody—Melody, Milo—any good.
    So I hedged.
    “I can’t say. You’re her doc.” Faking the comradely grin was an exercise in moral self-control.
    “That’s right, Alex. I am.” He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Will Towle is a pill pusher. Stimulants are just another form of child abuse.”
    “I wouldn’t say that.”
    He waved away my objection.
    “No, no, I know. And I don’t hold it against you. Your training is behavioral and you see things behaviorally. We all do it, settle into professional tunnel vision. The surgeons want to cut everything out. We prescribe and you fellows like to analyze it to death.”
    It was starting to sound like a lecture.
    “Granted, drugs have risks. But it’s a matter of cost-risk analysis. Let’s consider a child like the little Quinn girl. What does she start out with? Inferior genes—both parents somewhat limited intellectually.” He made the word limited sound very cruel. “Lousy genes and poverty, and a broken marriage. Absent father—although in some of these cases the children are better off without the kind of role models the fathers provide. Bad genes, bad environment. The child’s got two strikes against her before she leaves the womb.
    “Is it any wonder then that soon we’re seeing all the telltale signs—antisocial behavior, noncompliance, poor school performance, unsatisfactory impulse control?”
    I felt a sudden urge to defend little Melody. Her genial doctor was describing her as some kind of total misfit. I kept silent.
    “Now a child like this—” he took off his glasses and put down the chart—“is going to have to do moderately well in school in order to achieve some semblance of a decent life for herself. Otherwise it’s another generation of P.P.P.”
    Piss-poor protoplasm. One of the quaint expressions dreamed up by the medical profession to describe especially unfortunate patients.
    Playing straight man to Towle wasn’t my idea of a fun afternoon. But I had a hunch it was some kind of ritual, that if I held out and let him smilingly browbeat me he might give me what I came for.
    “But there is no way a child like this can achieve with her genes and her environment working against her. Not without help. And that’s where stimulant medication comes in. Those pills allow her to sit still long enough and pay attention long enough to be able to learn something. They control her behavior to the point where she no longer alienates everyone around her.”
    “I got the impression that the mother was using the medication in a haphazard way—giving her an extra pill on days when there were lots of visitors at the apartment complex.”
    “I’ll have to check that.” He didn’t sound concerned. “You have to remember, Alex, that this child does