I keep my eyes on the road. --Because it's better than being the kid who killed Jess Ogilvy,|| I reply, and after that, we don't talk at all.
It figures; Henry's showed up on a day when the food is not noticeably Aspergian. Emma's made steak and baked potatoes and gravy and gluten-free brownies. If Henry notices the lack of a green vegetable--or anything on the plate that isn't brown, for that matter--he doesn't mention it.
--So, Henry,|| I say. --You do programming?||
He nods. --Right now I'm parsing XML for a point-and-click web app for the iPhone that'll spice up four hundred contemporary American ethnic dishes with Chinese herbs and sauces.|| He launches into a fifteen-minute discussion of esoteric computer programming that none of us can follow.
--Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,|| I say.
--Actually, I work for Adobe,|| Henry says.
Theo and I are the only ones who find that funny. I wonder if Henry's ever been diagnosed. --And you're remarried, right?|| I look at Emma when I say this.
--Yes. I've got two girls,|| he says, and then hurries to add, --in addition to the two boys, of course.||
--Of course,|| I answer, and I break a brownie in half. --So when are you leaving?||
--Oliver!|| Emma says.
Henry laughs. --Well, I guess that depends on how long the trial goes on.|| He leans back in his chair. --Emma, that was a great dinner.||
Just wait till Blue Friday, I muse.
--I'd better go find myself a hotel, since I've been up for about thirty-six straight hours and I'm bound to crash and burn soon,|| Henry says.
--You'll stay here,|| Emma announces, and both Henry and I look at her, surprised.
--Well, it's silly to have you stay a half hour away when we're all going to the same place tomorrow morning, isn't it? Theo, your father can sleep in your room and you can have the couch.||
--What?|| Theo yelps. --Why do I have to give up my room? What about Jacob?||
--Let me put it to you this way,|| Emma answers. --Do you want to sleep on the couch or do you want to help me when Jacob has a meltdown?||
He shoves away from the table, angry. --Where are the extra freaking pillows?||
--I don't want to put anyone out--|| Henry says.
--Emma,|| I interrupt, --can I have a few minutes?||
--Oh, right. You wanted to go over testimony?|| She turns to Jacob. --Honey, can you clear the table and load the dishwasher?||
He stands up and starts clearing as I drag Emma upstairs. --We need to go somewhere quiet,|| I say, and I lead her into her own bedroom.
I've never been in here. It's peaceful--all cool greens and sea blues. There's a Zen garden on the dresser with a rake and three black stones. In the sand, someone has written H-E-L-P.
--The only part I'm still nervous about is the cross-exam,|| Emma says, all she can manage to get out before I grab her and kiss her. It's not gentle, either. It's the physical equivalent of pouring into her all the feelings I can't put into words.
When she breaks away from me, her mouth is rosy and swollen, and that makes me take a step toward her again, but she puts her hand on my chest to hold me off. --Oh my God,|| she says, with a slow smile. --You're jealous.||
--Well, what the hell was that all about? It's silly to have you stay a half hour away
...'||
--It is. He's the boys' father, not some stranger who just came in off the street.||
--So he's going to be sleeping right on the other side of this wall?||
--Sleeping would be the operative word in that sentence,|| Emma says. --He's here for Jacob. Believe me, there's no ulterior motive for Henry.||
--But you used to love him.||
Her eyebrows shoot up. --Do you think I've been sitting here for fifteen years pining for him? Waiting for the moment he would walk through that door again so I could hide him in a bedroom upstairs and seduce him?||
--No,|| I tell her. --But I wouldn't put it past him. ||
She stares at me for a moment, and then she bursts out laughing. --You haven't seen his perfect little wife and his perfect little girls. Believe me, Oliver, I'm not the great love of his life, the one he'll never forget.||
--You are to me,|| I say.
The smile fades from her face, and then she rises up on her toes and kisses me back.
--Don't you need this?||
At the sound of Jacob's voice we jump apart, putting a few feet of space between us. He stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob and the other one holding my legal briefcase.
--Were you just ...|| He stumbles over his words. --Are you two ...|| Without saying anything else, he throws my briefcase hard at me, so forcefully that I grunt when I catch it.
He runs down the hallway into his room and slams the door.
--What did he see?|| Emma asks frantically. --When did he walk in?||
Suddenly Henry is standing in the doorway, looking quizzically down the hall where Jacob's gone and then at Emma. --Everything all right up here?||
Emma faces me. --I think maybe you ought to go home,|| she says.
Emma
When I walk into Jacob's room, he is hunched over his desk, humming Marley and writing furiously across his green blotter:
1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233
I take the pencil out of his hand, and he turns in his swivel chair. --Do I make you horny, baby?|| he says, bitter.
--No movie quotes,|| I tell Jacob. --Especially not Austin Powers. I know you're upset.||
--Let me think about that. My mother is supposed to be practicing her testimony with my lawyer and instead she has her tongue halfway down his throat? Yeah, that might make me a little upset.||
I tamp down the flash of anger that rises inside me. --First of all, I'm completely ready to testify. And second of all, I didn't expect to kiss him. It just happened.||
--Things like that don't just happen, || Jacob argues. --You want them to happen or you don't.||
--Well, all right then, I suppose after fifteen years of being alone I don't mind being attractive to someone.||
--Not someone, || he says. --My lawyer. ||
--He's completely focused on your trial, Jacob.||
--I don't care about him. I mean, if he isn't doing his job I can just fire him. But you, ||
he yells. --How could you do this to me right now? You're my mother!||
I stand up, toe to toe with him. --One who's given up her whole life to take care of you,|| I say. --One who loves you so much she would trade places with you in a heartbeat.
But that doesn't mean I don't deserve to be happy, too.||
--Well, I hope you're really happy when I lose this trial because you were too busy being a slut.||
And just like that, I slap him.
I don't know which one of us is more surprised. I have never struck Jacob in my life. He holds his palm to his cheek as the red print of my hand rises on his skin. --I'm sorry.
Oh, God, Jacob, I'm sorry,|| I say, the words somersaulting over each other. I pull his hand down so that I can see the damage I've done. --I'll get you some ice,|| I say, but he is staring at me as if he's never seen me before.
So instead of leaving, I sit him down on the bed and I pull him against me the way I used to when he was little and the world became too much for him to bear. I rock, so that he doesn't have to.
Slowly, he relaxes against me. --Jacob,|| I tell him. --I didn't mean to hurt you.|| It is only after he nods that I realize I've repeated the very same words Jacob said earlier to me about Jess Ogilvy.
In all the years that Jacob has had tantrums and meltdowns and panic attacks, I have restrained him; sat on him; held him like a vise--but I have never hit him. I know the unwritten strictures: Good parents don't spank. Reward works better than punishment. Yet it only took a single moment of frustration, of realizing that I couldn't simultaneously be whom he needed me to be and whom I wanted to be--for me to snap.
Is that what happened to Jacob, t
oo?
Oliver has called four times tonight, but I didn't pick up the phone when I recognized the number on the caller ID. Maybe this is my penance; maybe I just don't know what to say.
It is just after two in the morning when my bedroom door opens a crack. I sit up immediately, expecting Jacob. But instead Henry enters. He's wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt that reads THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE 127.0.0.1. --I saw your light on,|| he says.
--Can't sleep?||
Henry shakes his head. --You?||
--No.||
He gestures to the edge of the bed. --May I?||
I shift over. He sits down on my side of the bed, but I see him staring at the pillow beside me. --I know,|| I say. --It must seem a little weird.||
--No ... It's just that now, I sleep on the left side of the bed, like you. And I'm wondering how that happened.||
I lean back against the headboard. --There are lots of things I don't have the answers for.||
--I ... don't know exactly what all the yelling was about,|| Henry says delicately.
--But I did hear it.||
--Yeah. We've had better nights.||
--I owe you an apology, Emma,|| he says. --First of all, for showing up like this. I should have asked, at least. You've got enough on your plate without having to deal with me. I guess I was really only thinking of myself.||
--Luckily, I have a lot of practice with that.||
--That's the other thing I have to apologize for,|| Henry says. --I should have been here all the other nights there was yelling, or ... or tantrums, or anything else that was part of raising Jacob. I probably learned more about him today in that courtroom than I've known in the eighteen years he's been alive. I should have been here to help during all the bad times.||
I smile a little. --I guess that's the difference between us. I wish you'd been here for the good times.|| I look over his shoulder, into the hallway. --Jacob is sweet, and funny, and so smart he leaves me reeling sometimes. And I'm sorry you never got to know that part of him.||
He reaches across the quilt and squeezes my hand. --You're a good mom, Emma,||
he says, and I have to look away, because that makes me think of my argument with Jacob.
Then Henry speaks again. --Did he do it?||
I turn to him slowly. --Does it matter?||
I can only remember one concrete instance when I blew up at Jacob before. It was when he was twelve and had not acknowledged the fact that it was my birthday with a card or a gift or even a hug, although I had dropped enough hints in the weeks prior. So one evening when I made dinner, I slapped it on the table in front of him with more force than usual and waited in vain--like always--for Jacob to thank me. --How about a little gratitude?|| I exploded. --How about some recognition that I've done something for you?||
Confused, Jacob glanced at his plate, and then at me.
--I make your dinner. I fold your laundry. I drive you to school and back. Did you ever wonder why I do that?||
--Because it's your job?||
--No, it's because I love you, and when you love someone, you do things for them without complaining about it.||
--But you are complaining,|| he said.
That was when I realized Jacob would never understand love. He would have bought me a birthday gift if I'd told him explicitly to do so, but that wouldn't really have been a gift from the heart. You can't make someone love you; it has to come from inside him, and Jacob wasn't wired that way.
I remember storming out of the kitchen and sitting on the porch for a while, under the light of the moon, which isn't really light at all, just a pale reflection of the sun.
Oliver
--Jacob,|| I say, as soon as I see him the next morning, --we need to talk.||
I fall into step beside him as we move across the parking lot, putting enough space between us and his family to ensure privacy. --Did you know there's not really a term for a man-whore?|| Jacob asks. --I mean, there's gigolo, but that suggests money was exchanged--||
--All right, look,|| I sigh. --I'm sorry you walked in on us. But I'm not going to apologize for liking her.||
--I could fire you,|| Jacob says.
--You could try. But it's up to the judge, since we're in the middle of the trial.||
--What if he found out about your misconduct with clients?||
--She's not my client,|| I say. --You are. And if anything, my feelings for your mother only make me more determined to win this case.||
He hesitates. --I'm not talking to you anymore,|| Jacob mutters, and he increases his speed until he is nearly sprinting up the steps of the courthouse.
Ava Newcomb, the forensic shrink hired by the defense, is the linchpin of my case. If she cannot make the jury understand that some of the traits associated with Asperger's might have caused Jacob to kill Jess Ogilvy without really understanding why that was wrong, then Jacob will be convicted.
--Dr. Newcomb, what's the legal definition of insanity?||
She is tall, poised, and professional--right out of central casting. So far, I think, so good. --It states that, at the time an act was committed, the defendant was not able to know right from wrong due to a severe mental defect or illness.||
--Can you give us an example of a mental defect or illness that qualifies?||
--Something that suggests psychotic breaks from reality, like schizophrenia,|| she says.
--Is that the only kind of mental defect that constitutes legal insanity?||
--No.||
--Does Asperger's syndrome cause someone to have psychotic breaks?||
--No, but there are other symptoms of Asperger's that might prevent someone from distinguishing right from wrong at a particular moment in time.||
--Such as?||
--The intense fixation on a subject that someone with Asperger's has can be overwhelming and obsessive--to the point where it impedes function in daily activities or even crosses the boundary of the law. I once had a patient who was so focused on horses that he continually was arrested for breaking into a local stable. Jacob's current special interest is forensic analysis and crime scene investigation. It was evident in my interview with him, as well as in his obsession with the television show CrimeBusters and the detailed journals he kept about each episode's plot.||
--How might a fixation like that contribute to some of the evidence we've heard in this courtroom?|| I ask.
--We have heard that Jacob was increasingly popping up at crime scenes, thanks to his police scanner,|| the psychiatrist says. --And Jess Ogilvy's death was part of an elaborate crime scene. The evidence was arranged to look at first glance like a kidnapping, then eventually revealed the victim. It is possible that the opportunity to create a crime scene, instead of just observing fictional ones, led Jacob to act in a way that went against rules, laws, and morality. At the time, he would only have been thinking about the fact that he was creating a real crime scene that would be solved by law enforcement officials. In this way, an Aspergian fixation on forensic analysis led Jacob to the delusional belief that, at that moment, Jess's death was a necessary part of his study of forensic science. As chilling as it seems to us, the victim becomes collateral damage during the pursuit of a greater goal.||
--But didn't Jacob know that murder is illegal?||
--Absolutely. He is the poster child for following rules, for seeing things as either right or wrong with no mitigating circumstances. However, Jacob's actions wouldn't have been voluntary at that moment. He had no understanding of the nature and consequences of his actions, and he couldn't have stopped if he wanted to.||
I frown slightly. --But we've also heard that Jess Ogilvy and Jacob were extremely close. Surely that would have affected him?||
--Actually, that's another reason we can conclude that Asperger's played a role in what happened to Jess. People with Asperger's have a greatly impaired theory of mind--they can't put themselves into someone else's position to imagine what the other person might be thinking or feeling. To the layperson, i
t's a lack of empathy. So for example, if Jess were crying, Jacob wouldn't try to comfort her. He might know that people with tears in their eyes are usually sad, but he'd be making a cognitive judgment, not an emotional one. For someone with Asperger's, this lack of empathy is a neurobiological deficit, and it affects behavior. In Jacob's case, it would have lessened his ability to perceive the impact of his own actions on Jess.||
--But still, Doctor,|| I say, playing devil's advocate, --there's a big difference between not handing someone a hankie when she's crying and killing her so that she can be a pawn in a crime scene setup.||
--Of course there is.|| The psychiatrist turns to the jury. --And this is probably the hardest thing for the layperson to understand. We're always looking for motive in a crime that's as horrific as this one is. I've considered this from my discussions with Jacob and with Dr. Murano, and I think that the answer lies in the argument Jess and Jacob had the Sunday before her death.
--The calling card for Asperger's is impaired social interaction. To that end, someone with Asperger's has a very naive and limited understanding of relationships, which might lead him to seek contact in an inappropriate way. This leads to disappointment, and even anger, if a relationship doesn't work out the way he's anticipated.|| She looks at Jacob. --I don't know what was said between Jacob and Jess the afternoon of her death, but I believe Jacob had a crush on his tutor. Ironically, his rigid sense of right and wrong--which you'd think would deter criminal behavior--might actually have backfired here. If Jess rebuffed Jacob's advances, he would have felt that she'd done something wrong to him, that he was the victim.||
--And then what?|| I ask.
--He snapped. He lashed out without realizing what he was physically doing at the time he did it.||
--Nothing further,|| I say, and I sit down. I glance at Jacob, who is glaring at me.
Emma stares straight ahead. She seems determined to not acknowledge my existence today.
Helen Sharp stands up. --There are a lot of kids who've been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome. So are you telling us that the world's full of ticking time bombs?
That at any moment, if we look at one of those kids the wrong way, he might come after us with a carving knife?||
--No, in fact, it's the opposite. People with Asperger's aren't prone to violence.
Since they don't have an active theory of mind, they aren't motivated to hurt someone; in fact, they're not thinking about that person's feelings at all. If someone with Asperger's does become violent, it's during the single-minded pursuit of a special interest, during a state of panic, or during a moment of complete ignorance about appropriate social interaction.||