She shook her head again, spoke again, despite the uncomfortable naso-gastric tube scratching the back of her throat. “It won't work.”

“If you want it to, it will.” Everything inside him went tense. She couldn't afford to think like that. Not now.

“I'm going to reject.” She whispered again. But he doggedly shook his head, a muscle tensing in his jaw. Dammit, why was she giving up? … And how did she know? … It was what he had feared all day. But she couldn't give up the fight … couldn't … dammit, it was like Anne … why did they suddenly lose their grasp? It was the worst battle he fought. Worse than the drugs, the rejection, the infections. They could deal with them all, at least to a point, but only if the patient still had the will to live … the belief that she would live. Without that, all was lost.

“Sally, you're doing fine.” The words were determined and firm, and he sat by her bedside for over an hour, holding her hand. And then he went to make rounds, in each room, turning his full attention to the patient he saw, spending as much time as was needed to explain either surgical procedures that were going to be conducted soon, or what had already happened, what they felt, why they felt it, what the medications and steroids had done. And then at last, he went back to Sally's room, but she was asleep once again, and he stood for a long time watching her. He didn't like what he saw. She was right; he sensed it in his gut. Her body was rejecting the donor's heart, and there was no reason why it should. It had been a good match. But he instinctively sensed that it came too late for her, and as he left the room, he had a sense of impending loss which weighed on him like a lead balloon.

He went to the small cubicle he used for an office when he was there, and called his office to see if they needed him there.

“Everything's fine, Doctor,” the efficient voice said. “You just had a call from New York.”

“From whom?” He didn't sound overly interested in the call, it was probably another surgeon wanting to consult on a difficult case, but his mind was filled with Sally Block, and he hoped it could wait.

“From Melanie Adams, on Channel Four news.” Even Peter knew who she was, as isolated as he sometimes was from the world. He couldn't figure out why she had called him.

“Do you know why?”

“She wouldn't say, or at least not in detail. She only said that it was urgent, something about a little girl.” He raised an eyebrow at that, even television newswomen had kids, maybe this had to do with her own child. He jotted down the number she had left, glanced at his watch, and dialed.

They put him through at once, and Melanie ran halfway across the newsroom to pick up a phone.

“Dr. Hallam?” She sounded breathless, and at his end, his voice was deep and strong.

“Yes. I had a message that you called.”

“I did. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. Our research department gave me your name.” She had heard it often too, but as he was on the West Coast it hadn't occurred to her to call, and the four names she'd gotten from Grant had done no good at all. Not one of them would do the surgery for the little black child. The publicity frightened them too much, and the surgery had to be done for free. Melanie had also called a surgeon of some note in Chicago, but he was in England and Scotland doing a lecture tour. She explained to Hallam quickly about the little girl, and he asked her a number of pertinent questions that she knew how to answer now. She had already learned a lot in one day, from talking to the other four.

“It sounds like an interesting case.” And then he spoke bluntly. “What's in it for you?”

She took a quick breath, it was hard to say. “On the surface, Doctor, a story for my network, about a compassionate doctor, a desperately sick little girl, and how transplants work.”

“That makes sense. I'm not sure I like the publicity angle though. And it's damn hard to find a donor for a child. Most likely we'd try something a little more unusual with her.”

“Like what?” Mel was intrigued.

“It depends on how severe she is. I'd like to see her first. We might first repair her own heart and put it back in.”

Mel knit her brows, that could create quite a stir. “Does that work?”

“Sometimes. Do her doctors think she'd survive the trip?”

“I don't know. I'd have to check. Would you actually do it?”

“Maybe. For her sake, not yours.” He sounded blunt again, but Mel couldn't fault it. He was offering to do the surgery for the child, not to make a spectacle of himself on the news. She respected him for that.

“Would you give us an interview?”

“Yes.” He spoke up without qualm. “I just want to make it clear why I'd do it at all. I'm a physician, and a surgeon, committed to what I do. I'm not looking to turn this into a circus, for any of us.”

“I wouldn't do that to you.” He had seen her stories on television before, and suspected that that was true. “But I would like to interview you. And if you do the transplant on Pattie Lou, it would provide an opening for a very interesting piece.”

“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.