“Of course. That's fine.”

There was a moment of silence between them, and then he spoke up, his voice thoughtful. “It's odd to think of a human life in terms of a story.” He was thinking of Sally, hovering on the verge of a massive rejection. She wasn't a “story,” she was a twenty-two-year-old girl, a human life, as was this child in New York.

“Believe it or not, after all these years, it's hard for me to think of it that way too.” She took a deep breath, wondering if she seemed callous to him. But the news business was that way sometimes. “I'll get in touch with you later, and let you know when we're coming out.”

“I'll make arrangements here to receive her.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“This is what I do, no thanks necessary, Miss Adams.”

To Mel it seemed a far more noble task in life than reporting news “stories,” and as she hung up, she thought of what he had said as she went about making the arrangements to get Pattie Lou Jones and her mother to California. In less than an hour, she had taken care of everything from the ambulance from their home to the airport, special service on the flight, a nurse to travel with them, to be paid for by the network, a camera crew to join them from point of departure all the way to California, a similar crew to continue with them to L.A., and hotel accommodations for herself, the crew, and Pattie Lou's mother. All that remained was to let Peter Hallam know, and she left a message with his service. Apparently, he was not available when she called him several hours later, and that night she told the twins that she was going to California for a few days.

“What for?” As usual, Jessica was the first to ask her, and she explained the story to both girls.

“Boy, Mom, you're turning into a regular paramedic.” Val looked amused, and Mel turned to her with a tired sigh.

“I feel like it tonight. It ought to be a good story though.” That word again, a “story,” as weighed against a human life. What if it were Valerie or Jessie? How would she feel then? How much of a “story” would it be to her? She cringed inwardly at the thought, and understood again Peter Hallam's reaction to the term. She wondered too what it would be like to meet him, if he would be pleasant, easy to work with, or terribly egocentric. He didn't sound it on the phone, but she knew that most heart surgeons had that reputation. Yet he had sounded different. She had liked him, sight unseen, and she had deeply respected his willingness to help Pattie Lou Jones.

“You look tired, Mom.” She noticed that Jessica had been staring at her.

“I am.”

“What time do you leave tomorrow?” They were used to her comings and goings, and were comfortable with Raquel in her absence. She always stayed with them when Mel went away, and she was seldom gone long.

“I should leave the house by six thirty. Our flight's at nine, and I'm meeting the camera crew outside the Jones house. I'll be up by five, I guess.”

“Urghk.” Both girls made a face, and Mel smiled at them.

“Exactly. Not always as glamorous as it seems, eh girls?”

“You can say that again.” Val was quick to answer. Both girls knew the truth about Mel's career, what hard work it was, how often she had stood outside the White House, freezing in snow storms, covering hideous events in distant jungles, political assassinations and other horrendous moments. Both of them respected her more for it, but neither of them envied what she did, or longed for the same career. Val thought she'd just like to get married, and Jess had her heart set on becoming a doctor.

She went upstairs with them after dinner, packed her bag for the trip to the West Coast, and went to bed early. Grant called her just after she turned the light out, and asked her how his list of doctors had worked out that morning.

“None of them would help, but research gave me Peter Hallam's number. I called him in L.A. and we're all flying out tomorrow.”

“You and the kid?” He sounded surprised.

“And her mother and a nurse, and a camera crew.”

“The whole circus.”

“I think that's how Hallam felt about it.” In fact he had even used the same word.

“I'm surprised he agreed to do it.”

“He sounds like a nice man.”

“So they say. He certainly doesn't need the publicity, although he keeps a lower profile than the others. But I think that's by choice. Will he let you film the surgery on the kid?”

“Nope. But he promised me an interview afterward, and you never know, he may change his mind once we get there.”

“Maybe so. Call me when you get back, kiddo, and try to stay out of trouble.” It was his usual warning and she smiled as she turned off the light again a few minutes later.

At the opposite end of the country, Peter Hallam wasn't smiling. Sally Block had gone into massive rejection, and within an hour, she had slipped into a coma. He stayed with her until almost midnight, emerging from her room only to speak to her mother, and at last, he allowed the sorrowing woman to join him at Sally's side. There was no reason not to. The fear of infection no longer mattered, and at one o'clock that morning, L.A. time, Sally Block died without ever regaining consciousness to see her mother or the doctor she had so greatly trusted. Her mother left the room in bereft silence, with tears pouring down her cheeks. Sally's war was over. And Peter Hallam signed the death certificate, and went home to sit in his study in total darkness, staring out into the night, thinking of Sally, and Anne, and others like them. He was still sitting there two hours later when Mel left her apartment to go to the Jones apartment in New York. Peter Hallam wasn't even thinking of Pattie Lou Jones at that moment, or Mel Adams … only of Sally … the pretty twenty-two-year-old blond girl… gone now … gone … like Anne … like so many others. And then, slowly, slowly, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, he walked up to his bedroom, closed the door, and sat on his bed in the silence.

“I'm sorry …” The words were whispered, and he wasn't even sure to whom he spoke them … to his wife … his children … to Sally … to her parents … to himself … and then the tears came, falling softly as he lay down in the darkness, sorrowing in his soul for what he hadn't been able to do this time … not this time … but next time … next time … maybe next time … And then at last, Pattie Lou Jones came to mind. There was nothing to do but try again. And something deep within him stirred at the prospect.





CHAPTER 4

Melanie's heels clicked rhythmically on the tiled floor as she turned left down an endless hall, and passed two maintenance men dragging wet mops behind them. They watched her back recede into the distance with an appreciative glance, until she stopped outside the cafeteria, read the sign, and pushed open the double doors. Her nostrils were assailed with the rich aroma of fresh coffee. And as she looked around the brightly lit room, she was surprised at how many people there were at that hour of the morning.