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“On what? On me?” He sounded shocked, as though he'd never thought of that before, and at her end Mel smiled. Was it possible that he didn't realize how well known he was? Maybe he was so involved in his work that he really didn't know. Or care. The possibility of that intrigued her.

“On heart surgery and transplants in general, if you prefer.”

“I would.” She heard a smile in his voice, and went on.

“That could be arranged. Now what about Pattie Lou?”

“Give me her physician's name. I'll call and see what I can find out from here. If she's operable, send her out, and we'll see.” And then he had another thought. “Will her parents agree to this?”

“I think so. But I'd have to speak to them too. I'm kind of the matchmaker in all this.”

“Apparently. Well, at least it's for a good cause. I hope we can help the child.”

“So do I.” There was an instant's silence between them, and Mel felt as though miraculously she had fallen into the right hands, and so had Pattie Lou. “Shall I call you back, or will you call me?”

“I've got a critical case here. I'll get back to you.” And suddenly he sounded desperately serious again, as though he were distracted. Mel thanked him again, and a moment later he was gone.

That afternoon she went to see the Joneses, and their desperately ill child, but Pattie Lou was a game little thing, and her parents were thrilled at even the faint shred of hope Mel offered them. There was enough in their meager fund to pay for plane fare to L.A., for one of the parents at least, and the child's father was quick to urge his wife to go. There were four other children at home, all older than the child with the ailing heart, and Mr. Jones felt sure that they could all manage on their own. Mrs. Jones cried, and her husband's eyes were damp when they said good-bye to Mel, and two hours after she returned to her office, Dr. Peter Hallam called again. He had spoken to Pattie Lou's physicians and in their estimation, it was worth taking the risk of the trip. It was the only hope she had. And Peter Hallam was willing to take the case.

Having seen Pattie Lou that afternoon, tears instantly filled Mel's eyes, and her voice was husky when she spoke again. “You're a hell of a nice man.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “How soon do you suppose you could arrange to have her on the plane?”

“I'm not sure. I'll have the network work out the details. When do you want her there?”

“From what her doctors said, I don't think tomorrow would be too soon.”

“I'll see what I can do.” She checked her watch, it was almost time to do the evening news. “We'll call you in a few hours … and Dr. Hallam … thank you …”

“Don't. It's part of what I do. And I hope we understand each other about all this. I will do it gratis for the child, but there will be no cameras in surgery with us. And what you get is an interview after it's all done. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” And then she couldn't resist stretching it a bit. She had an obligation to the network and her sponsors too. “Could we interview you about some other cases too?”

“In what regard?” He sounded fairly suspicious of her now.

“I'd like very much to do a story of heart transplants as long as I'll be out there with you, Doctor. Is that all right?” Maybe he had some preconceived prejudice about her. She hoped not, but one never knew. Maybe he hated the way she did the evening news. It was broadcast in California after all, so she couldn't be totally unknown to him, and of course she was not. But her fears were ill founded, as he nodded at his end.

“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

The plane left Kennedy airport with Mel, the camera crew, Pattie Lou, the nurse, and Pattie's mother all safely ensconced in a segregated first-class section. Pattie had an I.V., and the nurse seemed highly skilled in the care of cardiac patients. She had been recommended by Pattie's own physician, and Mel found herself praying that nothing untoward would happen before they reached Los Angeles. Once there she knew that they would be in the competent hands of Dr. Peter Hallam, but before that, Mel's idea of a nightmare was having to land in Kansas with a dying child, suffering from cardiac arrest before they could reach the doctor in California. She just prayed that that wouldn't happen, and as it turned out they had a peaceful flight all the way to Los Angeles, where Hallam had two members of his team and an ambulance waiting, and Pattie Lou was whisked off to Center City with her mother. By previous agreement with Dr. Hallam, Melanie was not to join them. He wanted to give the child time to settle in without disruption, and he had agreed to meet Mel in the cafeteria at seven o'clock the following morning. He would brief her then on Pattie Lou's condition, and how they planned to treat her. She was welcome to bring a notepad and a tape recorder, but there was to be no camera crew at that meeting. The official interview would come later. But Mel found that she was grateful for the reprieve from the medical tension, and she went to her hotel and called the twins in New York, showered, changed, and walked the area around her hotel in the balmy spring air, her mind constantly returning to Peter Hall am. She was desperately curious to meet him, and at six the next morning, she rose swiftly, and drove her rented car to Center City.

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.

There were tables of nurses having coffee and breakfast between shifts, residents taking a break, interns finishing a long night with a hot meal or a sandwich, and one or two civilians sitting bleakly at tables on the sidelines, undoubtedly people who had been up all night watching for news of critically ill relatives or friends. There was one woman crying softly and dabbing at her eyes with a hankie as a younger woman dried her own tears and tried to console her. It was an odd scene of contrasts, the silent fatigue of the young doctors, the mirth and chatter of the nurses, the sorrow and tension of people visiting patients, and behind it all the clatter of trays, and steaming water being splashed on dirty dishes in efficient machines. It looked like the operations center of a strange modern city, the command post of a spaceship floating through space, totally divorced from the rest of the world.

As Melanie looked around, she wondered which white-coated figure was Peter Hallam. There were a few middle-aged men in starched white coats, conferring solemnly at one table over donuts and coffee, but somehow none of them looked the way she expected him to, and none of them approached her. At least he would know what she looked like.