Danielle Steel - Changes

“It's going to be a great piece, guys. You'll see.”

“Agreed. It'll be good to see you back, Mel.” But she didn't entirely agree. She wasn't anxious to leave L.A., or Peter, there seemed to be so many reasons to stay here. Pattie Lou, Peter, Marie … all excuses, she knew, but she just didn't want to go.

She put down the phone and dressed and then left her room to find Mrs. Hahn. She found her in the kitchen, making pot roast for that night. Mel thanked her again for the breakfast she'd brought her when she arrived and apologized for sleeping all day.

Mrs. Hahn looked unimpressed. “The doctor said that was why you were coming here. Would you like something to eat?” She was efficient but not warm, and there was something intimidating about the way she spoke and moved. She was definitely not the kind of woman Mel would have wanted around her kids, and wondered that Peter did. He seemed wanner to her than that, and with no mother around … but again Mel remembered that she had been hired by Anne. Sacred Anne.

Mel declined the offer of food, and settled for a cup of black coffee, and then made herself a piece of toast. She sat in the bright garden room filled with white wicker chairs.

To Mel, it seemed the sunniest room in the house, and the one she was most comfortable in. The formality of the other rooms put her off, but this one did not, and she lay down on a chaise longue and ate her toast, looking out at the peaceful view of the pool. She didn't even hear footsteps and had no idea she wasn't alone until she heard the voice.

“What are you doing here?”

She jumped up with a start, spilling some of her coffee on her leg, but thanks to her black gabardine pants, she didn't get burned. And as she turned, she saw Pam. “Hello. You surprised the hell out of me.” She smiled, but Pam did not.

“I thought you were in New York.”

“I almost was. But I stayed to watch your father do a transplant last night. It was fabulous.” Her eyes lit up again as she remembered Peter's deft hands, but his daughter looked unimpressed and disgruntled.

“Oh yeah.”

“How was school, Pam?”

She stared at Mel. “This was my mother's favorite room.”

“I can understand that. I like it too, there's so much sunshine here.” But the comment had increased the awkwardness between them, just as Pam had intended.

Pam sat down slowly across the room from Mel, and glanced outside. “She used to sit here every day and watch me play in the pool.” It was well set up for that and just a pleasant place to be. Mel watched the girl's face and the sadness she saw there and she decided to take the bull by the horns.

“You must miss her a lot.”

Something hardened in Pam's face, and she didn't answer for a long time. “She could have had an operation, but she didn't trust my dad to do it.” It was a brutal thing to say, and inwardly Mel cringed if that was what Pam thought of Anne's decision.

“I don't think it was as simple as that.”

She jumped to her feet. “What do you know about it, except what he told you?”

“It was a choice she had a right to make.” But Mel knew she was treading on delicate ground. “Sometimes it's difficult to understand why other people do things.”

“He couldn't have saved her anyway.” She walked nervously around the room as Mel watched. “She'd have been dead by now, even with a transplanted heart.” Mel nodded slowly, most likely it was true.

“What would you have liked her to do?”

Pam shrugged and turned away and Mel saw her shoulders shake. Without giving it a second thought she went to her. “Pam …” She turned her slowly around and saw the tears running down the young girl's face, she gently took her in her arms and let her cry. Pam stood there for a few minutes leaning against Mel, as Mel gently stroked her hair. “I'm so sorry, Pam …”

“Yeah. Me too.” She pulled away at last and sat down again, wiping her face on her sleeve. She looked at Mel with misery in her face.” I loved her so much.”

“I'm sure she loved you too.”

“Then why didn't she try? She'd have at least been here till now.”

“I don't know the answer to that, maybe no one does, I think your father asks himself the same thing all the time, but you have to go on. There isn't anything else you can do, as much as it hurts.” Pam nodded silently, and looked at Mel.

“I stopped eating for a while. I think I wanted to die too.” At least it was what the psychiatrist had said. “Mark thinks I did it just to bug Dad, but I didn't. I couldn't help it.”

“Your father understands that. Do you feel better about things now than you did then?”

“Sometimes. I don't know …” She looked desperately sad, and there was so little Mel could say to help. All one could do was be there for her. She had two brothers, neither of whom could be of much help to her, a hardboiled German housekeeper who offered no warmth at all, and a father who was busy saving other people's lives. There was no doubt that this child needed someone else, but who? For a minute Mel wished that she could be there for her, but she had her own life to live three thousand miles away, her own children, problems, job.

“You know, Pam, I wish you'd come to visit me in New York sometime.”

“Your daughters would probably think I was dumb. My brothers do.” She sniffed loudly again and looked like a little girl.

Mel smiled gently at her. “I hope they're smarter than that, and boys don't always understand. Mark is going through his own adjustments growing up, and Matt is too young to be much help.”

“No, I'm not,” a small voice piped up. Neither of them had seen him walk into the room. He had just come home from school, dropped off by the car pool he rode in every day. “I make my bed, I take a bath by myself, and I can cook soup.” Even Pam laughed at that, and Mel smiled at him,

“I know, you're a terrific kid.”

“You came back.” He looked pleased as he walked toward her and sat down.

“No, I just left a little later than I thought. How was your day, my friend?”

“Pretty good.” And then he stared at Pam. “How come you're crying again?” And before she could answer he turned to Mel. “She cries all the time. Girls are dumb.”

“No, they're not. Everyone cries. Even big men.”

“My dad never cries.” He said it with enormous pride, and Mel wondered if Peter played a macho game with him.

“I'll bet he does.”

“Nope.” He was firm, but Pam intervened.

“Yes he does. I saw him once. After …” But she didn't say the words. She didn't have to. They all understood, and Matt glared at her.

“That's not true. He's tough. So's Mark.” And with that, Mrs. Hahn came into the room, and dragged Matthew away to wash his hands and face. He did his best to resist, but there was no swaying her, and Mel and Pam were alone again.

“Pam”—Mel reached out and touched her hand—“if there's ever anything I can do for you, if you need a friend, you call. I'll leave you my number when I go. Call me collect anytime. I'm fairly good at listening, and New York isn't all that far away.” Pam looked at her with watchful eyes and then nodded her head.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. Anytime.”

Pam nodded and stood up. “I'd better do my homework now. Are you leaving soon?” It was half hopeful, half not, as mixed as the rest of her feelings about Mel.

“I'm leaving for New York tonight. I';ll probably hang around here till about eight o'clock.”

“Are you eating with us?” She looked annoyed, and Mel remembered what she had said.

“Maybe. I'm not sure. Would you mind that very much?”

“No, that's okay.” And as she stood in the doorway she turned back to ask, “D o you want to borrow my bathing suit again?”