Danielle Steel - Rogue

“Yes?”

“I'm Charles West. The idiot who gave you a hard time about Jason Wexler a few weeks ago. I just thought I'd say hello.” She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, but she didn't want to be rude. He'd been nice enough to call and apologize, though, so she made an effort now.

“Sorry, it's been a long night. I just lost a patient in the ICU. A fifteen-year-old who overdosed. You never get used to it. It breaks your heart every time.” It reminded them both of what could have happened to Jason if she'd listened to him, and they were both glad she knew better and hadn't.

“I'm sorry. It doesn't seem fair, does it? I'm here to see a ninety-twoyear-old patient with a broken hip and pneumonia, and she's doing fine. And you lose a fifteen-year-old. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Maxine didn't even hesitate. “Maybe some other time.” He nodded, she thanked him again, and left. He watched her walk across the lobby. He was startled by how she looked. Somehow he had assumed that she was older than she appeared. He had expected a battle-ax of sorts. He had read about her on the Internet, but there was no photograph. She had never put one up. It didn't seem important to her. Her credentials and CV were enough.

Charles West got into the elevator thinking about her, and the kind of night she must have had. The look in her eyes said it all. He had been startled when he'd heard the nurse call out to her, and something had compelled him to wait and talk to her. And all he could think about as he got off the elevator was that he hoped that somehow destiny would cross their paths again.

Charles West was the last thing on Maxine's mind as she hailed a cab and rode home. She was thinking of Hilary and the Andersons, and the terrible loss they'd sustained, the unthinkable agony of losing a child. Maxine hated moments like this, and as a tragedy such as this always did, it made her that much more determined to save all the others from themselves.

Max wasn't in the mood to go out with Blake and the children on Friday night. He called her in the afternoon, and she told him what had happened the night before. He was sympathetic, and praised her again for what she did. She didn't feel deserving of it at the moment. He said he was taking the children shopping that afternoon, and invited her to come. He insisted they'd have a ball, but she resisted, and he could hear that she was down. In fact, he had been planning to take the children Christmas shopping for her, and Tiffany and Cartier were on their list, but he didn't mention it to her. Instead, he invited her to meet them for dinner, and she declined that too. He felt sorry for how upset she was about the death of her patient, and whispered to the children to be extra nice to her, when he passed the phone to them so they could speak to her too.

She spoke with Sam, and he was happy and doing fine. When Sam begged her to join them, she promised to go to dinner with them the following night. They were having a ball with Blake. He had taken them to 21 for brunch, which they always loved, and for a helicopter ride that morning, a favorite pastime with him. She promised to meet up with them the next day, and felt a little better when she hung up.

She called Thelma Washington then and told her how things had turned out, and her friend wasn't surprised. Maxine thanked her for her help, and then called the Andersons. Predictably, they were in bad shape, and still in a state of shock. They had funeral arrangements to make, friends and grandparents to call, all the nightmarish things one had to attend to when one lost a child. Maxine told them again how very sorry she was, and they thanked her for all her help. But even knowing she had done everything possible, Maxine still had an overwhelming sense of defeat and loss.

Blake called her again, as she was dressing to go out for a walk. He was checking up on her to make sure she was okay. He didn't tell her, but he and the children had just bought her a beautiful sapphire bracelet.

She assured him she was fine, and was touched by the call. Even if unreliable, he was always compassionate and thoughtful, just as he was now.

“Christ, I don't know how you do it. I'd be in a psych ward if I did what you do every day.” He knew she always took it hard when one of her patients died, which given the nature of her work, they sometimes did.

“It gets to me,” she admitted, “but it happens sometimes. I feel so sorry for the parents, she's an only child. I think it would kill me if anything ever happened to ours.” She had seen that special kind of grief too often, the loss of a child. It was what she feared most in life, the one thing she prayed would never happen to them.

“That's awful.” He worried about her. In spite of how well she handled it, he knew she didn't have an easy life, in part thanks to him. And he wanted to do whatever he could for her now. But there was nothing much he could do. And Hilary was her patient, not her child.

“I think I need a day off,” she said with a sigh. “I'll enjoy seeing you and the kids more tomorrow.” He was taking them to the opening of a play that night, and they were all going out to dinner the next night. “Besides, you should have time alone with them, without me tagging along.” She was always considerate about that.

“I like it when you tag along,” he said, smiling, although he loved being alone with his children too. He always came up with fun things for them to do. He was planning to take them skating the next day, and she said she might do that with them. But today, since the children were busy and in good hands, she wanted to be alone. Blake said to call if she changed her mind, and she promised she would. It was nice having him in town, to give her a breather for a change.

She went for a walk in the park and then hung around the house for the rest of the afternoon, and made herself some soup for dinner.

Sam called her before they went to the play, and he was excited about seeing it with his father.

“Have fun with Daddy tonight, and I'll come skating with you tomorrow,” she promised. She was actually looking forward to it, and felt better, although every time she thought of the Andersons and their overwhelming loss, her heart ached for them. She was thinking of them, as she ate her soup in the kitchen, and Zelda walked in.

“Is everything okay?” Zelda looked at her with worried eyes. She knew her well.

“Yeah, fine. Thanks, Zellie.”

“You look like someone died.”

“Actually, one of my patients did. A fifteen-year-old. It was very sad.”

“I hate what you do,” Zelda said fiercely. “It depresses me. I don't know how you do it. Why can't you do something cheerful like deliver babies?” Maxine smiled at what she said.

“I like being a shrink, and I actually manage to keep them alive sometimes.”

“That's a good thing,” Zelda said, and sat down next to her at the kitchen table. Maxine looked as though she needed company, and Zelda wasn't entirely wrong. She had good instincts about when to talk to her, and when to leave her alone. “How are the kids doing with their dad?”

“Fine. He took them on a helicopter ride, shopping, out to lunch and dinner, and the opening of a play tonight.”

“He's more like Santa Claus than a dad,” Zelda said accurately, and Maxine nodded as she finished her soup.

“He has to be, to make up for all the times he's not around,” she said matter-of-factly. It wasn't a criticism, it was a fact.

“You can't make up for that with a helicopter ride,” Zelda said wisely.

“It's the best he can do. He doesn't have it in him to stick around, for anyone. He was like that even before he made all that money. He just got worse once he had the means to indulge it. There have always been men like him in the world. In the old days, they became sea captains, adventurers, explorers. Christopher Columbus probably left a bunch of kids at home too. Some guys just aren't made to hang around and be normal husbands and dads.”

“My father was kind of like that,” Zelda admitted. “He walked out on my mom when I was three. He joined the merchant marine and disappeared. Years later she found out he had another wife and four kids in San Francisco. He had never bothered to divorce her, or even write to her. He just took off, and walked out on her, my brother and me.”

“Did you ever see him, later, I mean?” Maxine asked with interest. Zelda had never previously shared this part of her history. She was fairly private about her own life, and respectful of theirs.

“No, he died before I could. I meant to go out to California and meet him. My brother did. He wasn't too impressed. Our mom died of a broken heart. She drank herself to death when I was fifteen. I went to live with my aunt, and she died when I was eighteen. I've been a nanny ever since.” It explained why she had found her place working in families. They offered the stability and love she had never had as a child growing up. Maxine knew that her brother had died in a motorcycle accident years before. Zelda was essentially alone, except for the family she worked for, and the other nannies she had befriended over the years.

“Did you ever meet your half-brothers and -sisters?” Maxine inquired gently.

“No, I kind of figured they were why my mother died. I never wanted to meet them.” Maxine knew she had worked for the previous family for nine years, until the kids left for college. It made her wonder if Zelda regretted not having children of her own, but she didn't want to ask.

They sat at the kitchen table and chatted while Maxine ate dinner, and then they each went back to their own rooms. Zelda very seldom went out in the evening, even on her days off. And Maxine was kind of a homebody too. She went to bed early that night, still thinking about the patient she had lost that morning, and the agony her parents must have been in. It was a relief to try and put it out of her mind and go to sleep.