Danielle Steel - Changes

“I hope so. It all depends on how soon we find a donor.” Melanie didn't ask the obvious question, “And if you don't?” because the answer to that was too easily guessed from the condition of the patient. She was the frailest, most delicate girl Melanie had ever seen, and it seemed miraculous that she was still alive at all.

“I hope she makes it.”

Peter looked at her intently, and then nodded. “So do I. Sometimes the emotional factors help. I'll come back and see her again later, and the nurses are keeping a very close watch on her, not just through the monitors. The problem is that she has no family or relatives at all. Sometimes people so alone have less reason to hang on. We have to give them that reason as best we can. But in the end, what happens is not our decision.” Was it hers then? Was it up to this frail girl to will herself to live? It seemed a lot to expect of her, and Melanie was silent as she followed Peter to the nurses' station again, almost dragging her feet. There was no further reason to linger here. Peter had his work to do and she had to move on, no matter how little the project appealed to her. Somehow she wanted to stick around now, to watch Pattie Lou, talk to Pearl, pray for Marie, drop in on the others she'd seen. But the issue was none of them, as she suspected now. It was Peter himself. She really didn't want to leave him. And he seemed to sense that too. He left the nurses and the charts and walked to where she stood.

“I'll take you downstairs, Mel.”

“Thank you.” She didn't decline. She wanted to be alone with him, but she wasn't even sure why. Maybe it was just his style that had gotten to her, the bedside manner, the warmth, yet she knew that it was something more. She was remarkably drawn to the man, but to what end? She lived in New York and he lived in L.A. And if they had lived in the same town? She wasn't even sure of that as he walked her to her car in the parking lot, and she turned to face him again. “Thank you for everything.”

“For what?” He smiled gently down at her.

“For saving Pattie Lou's life.”

“I did that for Pattie Lou, not you.”

“Then for everything else. Your interest, your time, you cooperation, dinner, lunch …” She was suddenly at a loss for words and he looked amused.

“Anything else you want to add? Coffee in the hall?”

“All right, all right …” She smiled at him and he took her hand.

“I should be thanking you, Mel. You did a lot for me. You're the first person I've opened up to in two years. Thank you for that.” And then, before she could respond, “Could I call you in New York sometime, or would that be out of line?”

“Not at all. I'd like that very much.” Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt like a very young girl.

“I'll call you then. Have a good trip back.” He squeezed her hand once more, and then turned, waved, and was gone. As simple as that. And as she drove toward Rodeo Drive, she couldn't help wondering if she would ever see him again.

CHAPTER 8

While Mel finished her shopping that afternoon, she found that she had to push Peter Hallam from her head again and again. It wasn't right that she should think so much about him. What was he to her after all? An interesting man, the subject of an interview, nothing more, no matter how appealing he was. She tried to fill her mind with thoughts of Val and Jess, and suddenly he would crop up. She was still thinking of him as she threw her suitcase into the back of a cab and headed for the airport at eight o'clock that night, and suddenly in her mind's eye, she saw a crystal-clear vision of Pam, a troubled, brokenhearted, lonely little girl.

“Shit.” She muttered out loud, and the driver glanced at her.

“Something wrong?”

She had to laugh at herself, and shook her head. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else.”

He nodded, nonplussed. He had heard it all before anyway, as long as she gave him a decent tip, that was all he cared about, and she did. That was good enough for him.

Once there, she checked her bag at the curb, she went in and checked in, bought three magazines, and sat down near the gate to wait for her flight. It was already nine o'clock, and in twenty minutes they would board. She looked around and realized that the flight would be full, but as usual, she would be traveling first class, so it probably wouldn't be too bad. And she flipped through the magazines waiting for the flight to be called, keeping one ear alert to the flight number. It was the last flight of the day headed for New York, familiarly termed “the red eye,” because that was how one would arrive at six o'clock the next morning, red-eyed and exhausted, but at least one didn't lose an entire day flying.

And as she listened, she suddenly started. She thought that she had heard her name, but decided that she had been mistaken. They called the flight, and she waited for the first crush of passengers to get on board, and then picked up the briefcase and handbag she was carrying and got on line with her ticket and her boarding pass in her hand, and again she heard her name. But this time she was certain it was not her imagination.

“Melanie Adams, please come to the white courtesy phone … Melanie Adams … white courtesy phone, please … Melanie Adams …” Glancing at her watch to see how much time she had, she dashed for a white phone on the far wall and picked it up, identifying herself to the operator who answered.

“Hello, this is Melanie Adams. I believe you were paging me a moment ago.” She set her bags down on the floor next to her feet and listened intently.

“You had a call from a Dr. Peter Hallam. He wants you to call him back immediately if you can.” And with that, she gave Mel his home number. She repeated it to herself, as she ran to the nearest phone booth, digging in her bag for a dime, and keeping one eye on the large clock hanging above. She had five minutes left to board her flight, and she couldn't afford to miss it. She had to be in New York by the next morning. The dime found, she slipped it into the slot in the phone and dialed the number.

“Hello?” Her heart pounded as he answered, wondering why he had called her.

“Peter, it's Mel. I only have a couple of minutes to catch my flight.”

“I don't have much more than that either.” His voice sounded terse. “We just got a donor for Marie Dupret. I'm leaving for the hospital now, and I just thought I'd let you know on the off chance that you'd want to stay.” Her mind raced as she listened, and for only the flash of a second she was disappointed. She had thought he had called her to say good-bye, but now she felt the adrenaline course through her system as she thought of the transplant. Now Marie had a chance. They had found a heart for her. “I didn't know if you'd want to change your plans, but I thought I'd let you know, in case. I wasn't even sure what airline you were on and I took a wild guess.” His guess had been a good one.

“You just caught me.” And then she frowned. “Could we film the transplant?” It would be a sensational addition to the story, and it would give her justification for staying another day.

There was a long pause. “All right. Can you get a camera crew there right away?”

“I can try. I have to get clearance from New York to stay.” And the time it would take to call could cost her her flight. “I don't know what I can do. I'll leave a message at the hospital for you either way.”

“Fine. I've got to go now. See you later.” His voice was businesslike and brusque and he hung up without saying more, as Melanie stood in the phone booth for a second gathering her thoughts. The first thing she had to do was talk to the ground supervisor at the gate. She had done this before, and with any luck at all, they would hold the flight for five or ten minutes, which would give her time to call New York. She just hoped that she could reach someone of sufficient rank in New York to get clearance. And grabbing her briefcase and handbag, she took off at a dead run for the gate, where she found a supervisor, and explained who she was, flashing her press card from the network.