“I was afraid I'd get too technical or too involved.” He knit his brows and she shook her head.

“It was just right.” As had been, in its own way, the interview with Pearl. She had cried and laughed, and then soberly explained what the child's life had been like for the past nine years. But if the surgery was as successful as he thought it would be, Peter's prognosis for her was very good. And viewers' hearts would undeniably go out to her as Mel's had, and Peter's too. Sick children were impossible to resist anyway, and Pattie Lou had a magical kind of light to her, perhaps because she had been so sick for so long, or maybe that was just the way she was. And over the past nine years, a great deal of love had been lavished on her.

Peter watched Mel as she instructed her crew, and there was frank admiration in his eyes, much as there had been in hers whenever she watched him. But his train of thought was interrupted as one of his nurses came in. She spoke to him in a low voice, and he immediately frowned, just as Mel turned, and she felt her heart sink. She couldn't stop herself from walking toward them and asking if something had happened to Pattie Lou.

But Peter was quick to shake his head. “No, she's fine. One of my associates saw her an hour ago, this is something else. Another transplant case just came in. A red hot. She needs a donor now, and we don't have anything for her.” He was instantly enveloped by the new problem to solve. He glanced quickly at Mel. “I have to go.” And then, on impulse he turned to Mel. “Do you want to come?”

“To see the patient with you?” She was pleased that he would ask, and he was quick to nod.

“Sure. Just don't explain who you are. I can always explain you as visiting medical personnel from a hospital in the East.” He smiled briefly. “Unless they recognize you. I just don't want the family to get upset, or think that I'm exploiting the case.” It was one of the reasons why he had always been gun-shy about publicity.

“Sure. That's fine.” She grabbed her handbag, said a few words to the crew, and hurried out to his car with him. And moments later, they were back at Center City, on the sixth floor, hurrying down the hall to the new patient's room.

As Peter opened the door for Mel, she was startled at what she saw. A remarkably beautiful twenty-nine-year-old girl.

She had pale, pale blond hair and huge sad eyes, the most delicate milky blue-white skin that Melanie had ever seen, and she seemed to take in each one of them as they were introduced, as though she had to remember each face, each pair of eyes. And then she smiled, and suddenly she seemed younger than she was, and Melanie's heart went out to her. What was this lovely girl doing in this terrifying place? She already had a thick bandage on one arm, covering where they had had to cut down to reach her veins to take extensive amounts of blood, and the other arm was black and blue from an intravenous she had received only a few days before. And yet somehow one forgot about all that as one listened to her speak. She had a soft lilting voice, and it was obviously hard to breathe, and yet she seemed happy to see them all, said something funny to Mel when they were introduced, and she bantered easily with Peter as they all stood around. And Melanie suddenly found herself praying for a heart for her. How could all these people be in such desperate need, and what was wrong with the world to strike all these people down, dying slowly with their weak hearts, while others dug ditches, climbed mountains, went dancing, skied? Why had they been so cheated, and while still so young. It didn't seem fair. And yet there was no resentment in the girl's face. Her name was Marie Dupret, and she explained that her parents had been French.

Peter smiled. “It's a beautiful name.” But more than that, she was a beautiful girl.

“Thank you, Dr. Hallam.”

And on those words, Mel noticed that she had a slight Southern drawl, and a moment later Marie mentioned that she had grown up in New Orleans, but she had been in L.A. now for almost five years. “I'd like to go back to N'Orleans someday”—the way she said the words delighted the ear, as she smiled up at Peter again—“after the good doctor here patches me up.” And then she looked searchingly at him as her smile faded and one began to glimpse her worry and pain. “How long do you think that will be?” It was a question no one had an answer to, save God, as they all knew, including Marie.

“We hope soon.” Just the tone of his voice was reassuring, and he went on to reassure her about other things, and to explain to her about what they would be doing to her that day. She didn't seem frightened about the endless tests, but she kept wanting to come back to the big questions again, her enormous blue eyes turned up to him in a pleading way, like a prisoner on death row, seeking a pardon for a crime she did not commit. “You're going to be very busy for the next few days, Marie.” He smiled again and patted her arm. “I'll stop in again to see you tomorrow morning, Marie, and if there's anything else that comes to mind, you can ask me then.” She thanked him, and he and Mel left the room, but once again Melanie was struck with the enormity of each circumstance, the terrors that each one faced, alone, in the end. She wondered who Marie would have to hold her hand, and she somehow sensed that the young woman was alone in life. If not, wouldn't her husband or her family have been there? In other rooms there was evidence of spouses or at least friends, but not here, which was why she seemed so much more dependent on Peter than the others had, or perhaps it was because she was new. But as they walked slowly down the hall, somehow Melanie felt as though they were abandoning her. And Mel looked sadly up at Peter as they went downstairs.

“What'll happen to her?”

“We have to find a donor. And soon.” He seemed preoccupied as well as concerned, and then he remembered Mel. “I'm glad you came along.”

“So am I. She seems like a nice girl.” He nodded, to him they all were, the men, the women, the children. And they were all so desperately dependent on him. It would have frightened him if he had dwelled on it too much. But he seldom did. He just did what he could for them. Although sometimes there was damn little he could do. Mel had wondered for days how he bore the burden of it. With so many lives with so little hope in his hands, and yet there was nothing dismal about the man. He seemed almost a vehicle of hope himself, and once again Melanie was aware of how much she admired him.

“It's been quite a day, hasn't it, Mel?” He smiled at her as they walked outside, still side by side.

“I don't know how you do this every day. I'd be dead in two years. No”—she smiled up at him—“make that two weeks. My God, Peter, the responsibility, the strain. You go from operating room to sickbed to office and back again, and these aren't just people with bunions, each one is a matter of life and death …” She thought of Marie Dupret again.” … like that girl.”

“That's what makes it worthwhile. When you win.” They both thought simultaneously of Pattie Lou, the last report of the day had still been good.

“Yeah, but it's incredibly rough on you. And on top of everything else, you gave me a two-hour interview.”

“I enjoyed that.” He smiled, but his mind was still half engaged with Marie. He had checked the charts, and his colleagues had her well in hand. The main issue was whether or not they would find a donor in time, and there was nothing he could do about that, except pray. Mel found herself thinking of that too.

“Do you think you'll find a donor for Marie?”

“I don't know the answer to that. I hope we do. She doesn't have much time to spare.” None of them did. And that was the worst of it. They sat waiting for someone else to die and give them the gift of life, without which they were doomed.

“I hope so too.” She took a deep breath of the spring air and glanced over at her rented car. “Well”—she stuck out her hand—“I guess that's it for today. For me anyway. I hope you get some rest after a day like this.”

“I always do when I get home to my kids.”

She laughed openly at that. “I don't know how you can say that, if they're anything like mine. Invariably, after an absolutely bitching eighteen-hour day, I crawl home, and Val is torn between two boys she absolutety has to discuss with me, and Jess has a fifty-page science project I have to read that night. They both talk to me at once, and I explode and feel like a total bitch. That's the hard part of being alone, there's no one else to share the load, no matter how tired you are when you get home.”

He smiled. It had a familiar ring. “There's some truth to what you say, Mel. At my house, it's mostly Matt and Pam. Mark is pretty independent by now.”

“How old is he?”

“Almost eighteen.” And then he suddenly had an idea. He looked at Melanie with a small smile as they stood in the parking lot. It was six fifteen. “How about coming home with me now? You could have a quick swim, and eat dinner with us.”

“I couldn't do that.” But she was touched by the thought.

“Why not? It's no fun going back to a hotel room, Mel. Why not come home? We don't eat dinner late, and you could be home by nine o'clock.”

She wasn't sure why, but she was tempted by the idea. “Don't you think your kids would rather have you to themselves?”

“No. I think they'd be very excited to meet you.”

“Don't overestimate that.” But suddenly, the idea really appealed to her. “You're really not too tired?”

“Not at all. Come on, Mel, it would be fun.”

“It would for me.” She smiled. “Shall I follow you in my car?”

“Why not just leave it here.”

“Then you'll have to drive me back. Or I could take a cab.”