Amazing Grace

Also by Danielle Steel

BUNGALOW 2 LIGHTNING SISTERS WINGS H.R.H. THE GIFT COMING OUT ACCIDENT THE HOUSE VANISHED TOXIC BACHELORS MIXED BLESSINGS MIRACLE JEWELS IMPOSSIBLE NO GREATER LOVE ECHOES HEARTBEAT SECOND CHANCE MESSAGE FROM NAM RANSOM DADDY SAFE HARBOUR STAR JOHNNY ANGEL ZOYA DATING GAME KALEIDOSCOPE ANSWERED PRAYERS FINE THINGS SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ WANDERLUST THE COTTAGE SECRETS THE KISS FAMILY ALBUM LEAP OF FAITH FULL CIRCLE LONE EAGLE CHANGES JOURNEY THURSTON HOUSE THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET CROSSINGS THE WEDDING ONCE IN A LIFETIME IRRESISTIBLE FORCES A PERFECT STRANGER GRANNY DAN REMEMBRANCE BITTERSWEET PALOMINO MIRROR IMAGE LOVE: POEMS HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: THE RING The Story of Nick Traina LOVING THE KLONE AND I TO LOVE AGAIN THE LONG ROAD HOME SUMMER'S END THE GHOST SEASON OF PASSION SPECIAL DELIVERY THE PROMISE THE RANCH NOW AND FOREVER SILENT HONOR PASSION'S PROMISE MALICE GOING HOME FIVE DAYS IN PARIS a cognizant original v5 release november 13 2010

To my beloved children,

Beatrix, Trevor, Todd, Nick, Sam,

Victoria, Vanessa, Maxx, and Zara,

all of whom have amazing grace,

all of whom I admire so immensely,

and of whom I am so very, very proud,

and whom I love with all my heart.

with all my love,

Mom / d.s.

In each loss there is a gain.

As in every gain there is a loss.

And with each ending comes a new beginning.—SHAO LINIf you become whole,

everything will come to you.—TAO TE CHING

Chapter 1

Sarah Sloane walked into the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco and thought it looked fantastic. The tables were set with cream-colored damask cloths, the silver candlesticks, flatware, and crystal gleamed. They had been rented from an outside source, which had donated their use for the evening, and offered fancier options than those provided by the hotel. The plates were rimmed with gold. Silver-wrapped party favors were on the tables at each place. A calligrapher had written up the menus on heavy ecru stock, and they'd been clipped into little silver stands. The placecards with tiny gold angels on them had already been set down according to Sarah's carefully thought-out seating chart. The gold sponsor tables were at the front of the room, three rows of them in fact, with the silver and bronze tables behind them. There was a beautiful program on every seat, along with an auction catalogue and numbered paddle.

Sarah had organized the event with the same meticulous diligence and precision that she did everything, and in the way she had run similar charity events in New York. She had given every detail a personal touch, and it looked more like a wedding than a benefit, as she glanced at the cream-colored roses encircled with gold and silver ribbons on every table. They had been provided by the city's best florist at one-third of the normal cost. Saks was providing a fashion show, Tiffany was sending models to wear their jewelry and wander through the crowd.

There was an auction of high-ticket items, which included jewelry, exotic trips, sports packages, celebrity meet-and-greet opportunities, and a black Range Rover parked in front of the hotel with a huge gold bow tied on top. Someone was going to be very happy driving the car home at the end of the evening. And the neonatal unit at the hospital benefiting from the evening was going to be even happier. This was the second Smallest Angels Ball that Sarah had organized and run for them. The first one had netted them more than two million dollars, between seat prices, the auction, and donations. She hoped to make three million tonight.

The high caliber of the entertainment they were providing would help them get to their goal. There was a dance band, which would play on and off during the night. One of the other members of the committee was the daughter of a major Hollywood music mogul. Her father had gotten Melanie Free to perform, which allowed them to charge high prices for both individual seats and particularly the sponsor tables. Melanie had won a Grammy three months earlier, and her single performances like this one usually ran a million five. She was donating her performance. All the Smallest Angels had to pick up were her production costs, which were quite high. The cost of travel, lodgings, food, and the set-up of her roadies and band was estimated to cost them three hundred thousand dollars, which was a bargain, considering who she was and the cataclysmic effect of her performance.

Everyone was so impressed when they got the invitation and saw who was performing. Melanie Free was the hottest musical artist in the country at the moment and dazzling to look at. She was nineteen years old and had had a meteoric rise in the last two years, due to her consistent hits. Her recent Grammy was the icing on the cake, and Sarah was grateful she was still willing to do their benefit for free. Her greatest fear had been that Melanie would cancel at the last minute. With a donated performance, a lot of stars and singers dropped out hours before they were expected to show up. But Melanie's agent had sworn she would be there. It was promising to be an exciting evening, and the press were covering the event in force. The committee had even managed to corral a few stars to fly up from L.A. and attend, and all the local socialites had bought tickets. For the past two years, it had been the most important and productive benefit in San Francisco—and, everyone said, the most fun to attend.

Sarah had started the benefit as a result of her own experience with the neonatal unit, which had saved her daughter, Molly, three years ago, when she was born three months premature. She was Sarah's first baby. During the pregnancy everything seemed fine. Sarah looked and felt fabulous, and at thirty-two, she assumed she wouldn't have any problems, until she went into labor one rainy night, and they couldn't stop it. Molly was born the next day and spent two months in an incubator in the neonatal ICU, with Sarah and her husband, Seth, standing by. Sarah had been at the hospital day and night, and they had saved Molly with no ill effects or resulting damage. She was now a happy, bouncy three-year-old, ready to start preschool in the fall.

Sarah's second baby, Oliver—Ollie—had been born the previous summer, without any problems. He was a delicious, chubby, gurgling nine-month-old now. Her children were the joy of Sarah's existence and her husband's. She was a full-time mom, and her only other serious activity was putting on this benefit every year. It took a monumental amount of work and organization, which she was good at.

Sarah and Seth had met at Stanford Business School six years before, which had brought them both out from New York. They married as soon as they graduated, and stayed on in San Francisco. Seth had gotten a job in Silicon Valley, and just after Molly's birth he had started his own hedge fund. Sarah had decided not to join the workforce. She got pregnant with Molly on their wedding night, and wanted to stay home with their babies. She had spent five years working on Wall Street in New York as an analyst, before going to business school at Stanford. She wanted to take a few years off now, to enjoy motherhood full-time. Seth had done so well with his hedge fund that there was no reason for her to go back to work.

At thirty-seven, Seth had already made a considerable fortune, and was one of the brightest young stars in the heavens of the financial community, in both San Francisco and New York. They had bought a beautiful large brick house overlooking the bay in Pacific Heights, and filled it with important contemporary art: Calder, Ellsworth Kelly, de Kooning, Jackson Pollock, and a handful of promising unknowns. Sarah and Seth were thoroughly enjoying their life in San Francisco. It had been easy for them to move since Seth had lost his parents years before, and Sarah's had moved to Bermuda, so their family ties to New York were no longer strong. It was obvious to everyone on both coasts that Sarah and Seth were there to stay, and they were a wonderful addition to the business and social scenes of the city. A rival hedge fund had even offered Sarah a job, but she had no desire to do anything except spend her time with Oliver and Molly—and Seth when he was free. He had just bought a plane, a G5, and flew to L.A., Chicago, Boston, and New York often. They had a golden life that only got better year by year. Although she and Seth had both grown up in comfortable circumstances, neither of them had had the extravagant life they had now. It worried Sarah a little from time to time that maybe they were spending too much money, with a fabulous house in Tahoe in addition to their city house, and their own plane. But Seth insisted they were fine. He said that the kind of money he was making was meant to be enjoyed. And there was no question that he did.

Seth drove a Ferrari, and Sarah a Mercedes station wagon that was perfect for her with two kids, although she had an eye on the Range Rover that was going to be auctioned off that night. She had told Seth she thought it was really cute. And most of all, it was for a good cause, one they both really cared about. After all, the neonatal unit had saved Molly's life. In a less high-tech, medically sophisticated hospital, their adorable three-year-old wouldn't be alive today. It meant the world to Sarah to give back by organizing the benefit, which had been her idea. The committee turned an enormous profit over to them after the evening's expenses were paid. Seth had kicked things off for them with a two-hundred-thousand-dollar donation in both their names. Sarah was very proud of him. She always had been and still was. He was the star of her heavens, and even after four years of marriage and two children, they were very much in love. They were even thinking about trying for a third baby. She had been overwhelmed with the benefit for the past three months. They were chartering a yacht in Greece in August, and Sarah thought that would be the perfect time to get pregnant again.

Sarah walked slowly around each table in the ballroom, doublechecking the names on the placecards against her list. Part of the success of the Smallest Angels Ball was that it was exquisitely run. It was a first-class event. As she made her way toward the silver tables, after checking the gold, she found two mistakes, and switched the placecards with a serious expression. She had just finished checking the last of the tables, and was going to check on the party favor bags that six of the committee members were filling to hand out at the end of the evening, when the benefit's assistant chair made her way toward Sarah across the ballroom, with an excited look. She was a beautiful, tall blonde married to the CEO of a major corporation. She was his trophy wife, had been a model in New York, and was twenty-nine years old. She had no children and wasn't planning to have any. She had wanted to be on the committee with Sarah because the benefit was such a big deal and so much fun. She'd had a ball helping Sarah put it together, and the two women got along well. Sarah's hair was as dark as Angela's was blond. Sarah had long, straight, dark brown hair, creamy skin, and huge green eyes. She was a beautiful young woman, even with her hair in a ponytail, no makeup, a sweatshirt, jeans, and flip-flops. It was just after one o'clock, and in six hours both women would be transformed. For now, they were hard at work.

“She's here!” Angela whispered with a broad grin.

“Who?” Sarah asked, resting her clipboard on her hip.

“You know who! Melanie, of course! They just arrived. I took her to her room.” Sarah was relieved to note they had come in on time, on the private plane the committee had chartered to bring her and her entourage from L.A. Her band and roadies had come by commercial jet, and had already been in their hotel rooms for two hours. Melanie, her best friend, her manager, assistant, hairdresser, boyfriend, and mother, had come up in the chartered plane.

“Is she okay?” Sarah asked, looking concerned. They had gotten an advance list of everything she required, including Calistoga bottled water, low-fat yogurt, a dozen kinds of natural foods, and a case of Cristal champagne. The list was twenty-six pages long, referring to all her personal needs, her mother's food preferences, even the beer her boyfriend drank. And then there were another forty pages referring to the band, and all the electrical and sound equipment they'd need on stage. The eight-foot grand piano she required for her performance had been brought in at midnight the night before. She and the band were scheduled to rehearse that afternoon at two. Everyone else had to be cleared out of the ballroom by then, which was why Sarah was finishing her rounds at one.

“She's fine. The boyfriend is a little odd, and her mom scared me to death, but her best friend is cute. And Melanie is really beautiful and very sweet.”

Sarah had had that impression the one time she spoke to her on the phone. The rest of the time, Sarah had dealt with her manager, but she had made a point of calling and thanking Melanie personally for doing their benefit. And now the big day was here. Melanie hadn't canceled in favor of a performance somewhere else, the plane hadn't crashed, they'd all arrived on time. The weather was warmer than usual. It was a sunny afternoon in mid-May. In fact it was hot and muggy, which was rare in San Francisco, and more like a summer day in New York. Sarah knew that it would break soon, but it always created a festive atmosphere in the city when the nights were warm. The only thing she didn't like about it was that someone had told her that days like this one were considered “earthquake weather” in San Francisco. They'd been teasing her about it, but she didn't like hearing it anyway. Earthquakes were the one thing that had worried her about the city since they'd moved there, but everyone assured her that they rarely happened, and when they did, they were small. In six years of living in the Bay Area, she hadn't felt one yet. So she dismissed what they had said about “earthquake” weather. She had other things to worry about right now, like their star singer and her entourage.

“Do you think I should go up to see her?” Sarah asked Angela. She didn't want to intrude, nor be rude by neglecting them. “I was going to meet her here when she comes down for rehearsal at two.”

“You can just stick your head in and say hello.”

Melanie and her group had two large suites, and five other rooms on the club floor, all provided on a complimentary basis by the hotel. They were thrilled to host the event, and gave the benefit committee a total of five free suites for their stars and fifteen rooms and junior suites for their VIPs. The band and roadies were on a lower floor, in lesser rooms that the committee had to pay for out of the benefit budget, which came from their profits for the night.

Sarah nodded, put her clipboard in her handbag, and checked on the women stuffing the party favor bags with expensive goodies from a variety of stores. And a moment later she was in the elevator on the way to the club floor. She and Seth had a room there too, so she used her key for the elevator. Otherwise there was no way to get to that floor. She and Seth had decided it would be easier to dress at the hotel than go home and rush back. Their babysitter had agreed to stay overnight with the kids, which made it a nice night off for Sarah and Seth. She could hardly wait till the next day, when they could lie in bed, order room service, and talk about the event the night before. But for now, she just hoped everything would go okay.

As soon as she got off the elevator, Sarah saw the huge lounge on the club floor. Pastries, sandwiches, and fruit were set out, bottles of wine, and a small bar. There were comfortable chairs, tables, telephones, a vast array of newspapers, a gigantic wide-screen TV, and two women sitting at a desk, to help guests in any way they could, with dinner reservations, questions about the city, directions, manicures, massages, whatever whim a guest could have. Sarah asked them for the directions to Melanie's room, and then continued down the hall. To avoid security hassles, and fans, Melanie was registered under the name Hastings, her mother's maiden name. They did that at every hotel, as did some of the other stars, who rarely registered in their own names.

Sarah gently knocked on the door of the suite number she'd been given by the woman in the lounge. She could hear music inside, and a moment later the door was opened by a short, heavy-set woman in a halter top and jeans. She was carrying a yellow pad, with a pen stuck in her hair, and carrying an evening gown. Sarah guessed correctly that she was Melanie's assistant, whom she had also spoken to on the phone.

“Pam?” Sarah asked, as the other woman smiled and nodded. “I'm Sarah Sloane. I just came to say hello.”

“Come on in,” she said cheerfully, as Sarah followed her into the living room of the suite, and saw chaos all around her. Half a dozen suitcases were open on the floor, with their contents spilling everywhere. One was full of slinky gowns. Out of the others poured boots, jeans, handbags, tops, blouses, a cashmere blanket, and a teddy bear. It looked as though an entire chorus line of women had dumped their belongings on the floor. And sitting on the floor beside them was a small elfin-looking blond girl. She glanced up at Sarah, and then went back to pawing through one of the bags, obviously searching for something specific. It didn't seem like an easy task to find anything in the heaps of clothes.

Sarah glanced around the room then, feeling out of her element, and then she saw her, Melanie Free, sprawled out on the couch in exercise clothes, her head leaning on her boyfriend's shoulder. He was working hard with the remote, with a glass of champagne in his other hand. He was a handsome boy, and Sarah knew he was an actor who had recently left a successful TV show, due to a drug problem. She vaguely remembered that he was recently out of rehab, and he appeared sober as he smiled at Sarah, despite the champagne bottle sitting next to him on the floor. His name was Jake. Melanie stood up to come and say hello to Sarah. She seemed even younger than she was, with no makeup on. She looked about sixteen with long, straight golden-colored hair. The boyfriend's was jet black and spiked, and before Melanie could say a word to either of them, Melanie's mother appeared from nowhere and shook Sarah's hand, until it nearly ached.

“Hi, I'm Janet. I'm Melanie's mom. We love it here. Thanks for getting everything on our list. My baby loves her familiar treats, you know how that is,” she said with a wide, friendly grin. She was a pretty woman in her mid-forties who might have been beautiful once, but had seen better days. Despite the handsome face, she had gotten wide in the hips. Her “baby” still hadn't said a word. She hadn't had a chance to in the face of her mother's chatter. Janet Hastings had bright-red dyed hair. The color was aggressive, particularly next to Melanie's pale blond hair and almost chidlike looks.

“Hi,” Melanie said quietly. She didn't seem like a star, just a pretty teenage girl. Sarah shook hands with both of them as Melanie's mother went on talking, two other women walked through the room, and the boyfriend stood up and announced he was going to the gym.

“I don't want to intrude. I'll let you settle in,” Sarah said to Melanie and her mother, and then she gazed directly at Melanie. “Are you still rehearsing at two?” Melanie nodded and then glanced at her assistant, as her manager spoke up from the doorway.

“The band says they'll be ready to set up at two-fifteen. Melanie can go on at three. We only need an hour, so she can check out the sound in the room.”

“That's fine,” Sarah reassured them, when a hotel maid arrived to take Melanie's costume away to be pressed. It was mostly sequins and net. “I'll be waiting for you in the ballroom, just to make sure you have everything you need.” She had to be at the hairdresser herself at four, to get her hair and nails done, and then back at the hotel at six, in order to dress and show up in the ballroom at seven, to assess things one last time, make sure everyone was on deck, and greet the guests. “The piano came last night. And they tuned it this morning.” Melanie smiled and nodded again, and then flopped down in a chair, while her best friend on the floor next to the suitcases gave a victorious shriek. Sarah had heard someone call her Ashley, and she had the same childlike appearance as Melanie.

“Found it! Can I wear it tonight?” The item she held up for Melanie to see was a slinky leopard-print dress. Melanie nodded, and Ashley giggled again when she found the matching platform shoes with what looked like eight-inch heels. She scampered off to try the outfit on, and Melanie smiled shyly at Sarah again.

“Ashley and I went to school together from the time I was five,” Melanie explained. “She's my best friend. She goes with me everywhere.” She had obviously become part of the entourage, and Sarah couldn't help thinking that it was a strange way to live. There was an almost circuslike feeling to their lifestyle, in hotel rooms and backstage. In a matter of minutes, they had given the elegant suite at the Ritz the feeling of a college dorm. And once Jake had gone to the gym, there were nothing but women in the room. The hairdresser matched a thick fall to Melanie's blond hair. It was perfection.

“Thank you for doing this,” Sarah said, looking into Melanie's eyes with a smile. “I saw you on the Grammys and you were terrific. Are you going to sing ‘Don't Leave Me’ tonight?”

“Yes, she is,” her mother answered for her, handing her daughter a bottle of the preordered Calistoga water, while standing between Melanie and Sarah, speaking for her as though the beautiful blond superstar didn't exist. Without further conversation, Melanie sat down on the couch, picked up the remote, took a long drink of the water, and turned on MTV. “We love that song,” Janet said with a broad smile.

“So do I,” Sarah agreed, a little startled by Janet's forcefulness. She appeared to run her daughter's life, and seemed to think she was as much a part of her stardom as Melanie was herself. Melanie didn't appear to object, she was obviously used to it, and a few minutes later, her friend came back into the room, teetering on the leopard heels, in the borrowed dress. It looked a little big on her. She immediately sat down on the couch to join her childhood friend in staring at the TV.

It was impossible to figure out who Melanie was. She seemed to have no personality of her own, and no voice, except to sing. “I was a showgirl in Las Vegas, you know,” Janet informed Sarah, who attempted to look impressed. It was easy to believe, she looked the type, in spite of lavishly filled jeans, and huge breasts, which Sarah correctly suspected weren't real. Melanie's were impressive too, but she was young enough to pull it off on her slim, sexy, well-toned frame. Janet looked a little over the hill. In fact, she looked like the hill. She was a robust-looking woman, with a loud voice and a personality to match. Sarah was feeling overwhelmed as she struggled for excuses to leave the room, while Melanie and her school chum were mesmerized by the TV.

“I'll meet you downstairs to make sure everything is set for your rehearsal,” Sarah said to Janet, since she appeared to be the full-time proxy for her daughter in real life. Sarah calculated quickly that if she stayed with them for twenty minutes, she'd still have time to get to the hairdresser. Everything else would be done by then, and in fact already was.

“See you there.” Janet beamed at her, as Sarah slipped out of the suite and headed down the hall to her own room.

She sat down for a few minutes, and checked the messages on her cell phone. It had vibrated twice while she was in Melanie's suite, and she hadn't wanted to pick up. One was from the florist, telling her that the four huge urns outside the ballroom would be filled by four o'clock. The other was from the dance band, confirming their start time at eight o'clock. She called home to check on the children then, and the sitter told her they were fine. Parmani was a lovely Nepalese woman who had been with them since Molly was born. Sarah didn't want a live-in, she loved taking care of her babies herself, but Parmani was there in the daytime to help her, and she stayed in the evening when Seth and Sarah went out. She was spending the night, which she seldom did, but she was more than happy to help on a special occasion like this. She knew how important the benefit was to Sarah, and how hard she'd worked on it for months. She wished her good luck before they hung up. Sarah had wanted to say hi to Molly, but she was still having a nap.

By the time Sarah finished, checked some notes on her clipboard, and brushed her hair, which looked a mess, it was time to go back to the ballroom to meet Melanie and her crew for rehearsal. She had already been told that Melanie didn't want anyone in the room when she rehearsed. Thinking about it now, Sarah couldn't help wondering if it was her mother's edict, and not the star's. Melanie didn't look as though she'd care who was around. She seemed oblivious to what went on around her, who came in and out, or what they did. Maybe it was different when she performed, Sarah told herself. But Melanie seemed to have the indifference and passive manner of a docile child—and an absolutely incredible voice. Like everyone who had bought tickets, Sarah couldn't wait to hear her perform that night.

The band was already in the ballroom when Sarah walked in. They were standing around, talking and laughing, while the roadies finished unpacking equipment and setting it up. They were almost through, and the entire group looked like a motley crew. There were eight men in Melanie's band, and Sarah had to remind herself that the pretty blond girl she'd seen watching MTV in the suite upstairs was currently one of the biggest singing stars in the world. There was nothing pretentious or arrogant about her. The only thing that gave it away was the size of her entourage. But she had none of the bad habits or behaviors of most stars. The singer they'd had at the Smallest Angels Ball the year before had had a major tantrum over a problem with the sound system right before she went on, threw a bottle of water at her manager, and threatened to walk out. The problem had been fixed, but Sarah had nearly panicked at the prospect of her canceling at the last minute. Melanie's easy ways were a relief, whatever her mother's demands on her behalf.

Sarah waited ten more minutes while they finished setting up, wondering if Melanie would come down late, but she didn't dare ask. She had discreetly inquired if the band had everything they needed, and when they said they did, she sat down quietly at a table, out of their way, and waited for Melanie to appear. It was ten to four when she walked in, and Sarah knew she would be late for the hairdresser. She was going to have to rush like a maniac afterward to get ready on time. But she had to attend to her duties first, and this was one of them—running interference for their star, being available, and paying court to her, if need be.

Melanie walked in wearing flip-flops, a skimpy T-shirt, and cut-off jeans. Her hair was lumped up on her head in a banana clip, and her best friend was at her side. Her mother marched in first, her assistant and manager brought up the rear, and there were two ominouslooking bodyguards close at hand. The boyfriend, Jake, was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still at the gym. Melanie was the least noticeable member of the group, and nearly disappeared in their midst. Her drummer handed her a Coke, she popped it open, took a swig, hopped up on stage, and squinted as she looked into the room. Compared to the venues where she was used to performing in concert, this was tiny. The ballroom had a warm, intimate feel to it, particularly the way Sarah had it set up, and once the lights were dimmed and the candles lit that night, it would look beautiful. The room was brightly lit now, and after Melanie looked around for a minute, she shouted to one of her roadies, “Kill the lights!” She was coming alive. Sarah could see it happen as she watched, and cautiously approached the stage to talk to her. Melanie looked down at her with a smile.

“Does everything look okay?” Sarah asked, once again feeling as though she were talking to a kid, and then reminded herself that Melanie was a teenager after all, even if she was a star.

“It looks great. You did a really nice job,” Melanie said sweetly, and Sarah was touched.

“Thank you. Does the band have everything they need?”

Melanie turned and looked over her shoulder with a confident glance. She was happiest when on stage. This was what she did best. It was a familiar world to her, even though this was a lot nicer than where she usually played. She loved the suite, and so did Jake. “You got everything you need, guys?” she asked the band. They all nodded, said they did, and started getting their instruments in the right key, as Melanie forgot Sarah and turned to them. She told them what she wanted to play first. They had already agreed on the order of the songs she was going to sing, including her current smash hit.

Sarah realized she was no longer needed then, and started to leave. It was five after four, and she was going to be half an hour late for her hair appointment. She'd be lucky if she could get her nails done. Maybe not. She made it to just outside the ballroom door when one of the committee members stopped her with a catering manager in tow. There was a problem with the hors d'oeuvres. The Olympia oysters weren't in, what they had on hand wasn't fresh enough, and she had to pick something else. A minor decision for once. Sarah was used to bigger ones. She told the committee member to make the choice, just so it wasn't caviar or something that would destroy their budget, and with that she ran into the elevator, rushed across the lobby, and claimed her car from the valet. He had left it parked nearby. The big tip she'd given him early that morning had served her well. She pulled sharply onto California Street, turned left, and headed up Nob Hill. Fifteen minutes later, she was at her hairdresser, and out of breath when she walked in, apologizing for how late she was. It was fourthirty-five, and she had to leave no later than six. She had hoped to be out by five-forty-five at the latest, which was no longer possible. They knew she was chairing her big benefit that night, and whisked her into the chair. They brought her some sparkling mineral water, followed by a cup of tea. The manicurist went to work on her as soon as her hair was washed, and they blew it out carefully.

“So what's Melanie Free really like?” her hairdresser asked her, hoping for some dirt. “Is Jake with her?”

“He is,” Sarah said discreetly, “and she seems like a really sweet kid. I'm sure she'll be great tonight.” Sarah closed her eyes, trying desperately to relax. It was going to be a long and hopefully successful night. She could hardly wait for it to begin.

Sarah was getting her hair swept into an elegant French twist, with little rhinestone stars pinned into it, as Everett Carson checked into the hotel. He was six foot four, originally from Montana, and still looked like the cowboy he had been in his youth. He was tall and lanky, his slightly-too-long hair looked uncombed, and he was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and what he referred to as his lucky cowboy boots. They were old, battered, comfortable, and made of black lizard. They were his prize possession, and he had every intention of wearing them with the rented tux that the magazine had paid for him to wear that night. He showed his press pass at the desk, and they smiled and said they were expecting him. The Ritz-Carlton was a lot fancier than the places where Everett usually stayed. He was new to this job and this magazine. He was there to cover the benefit for Scoop, a Hollywood gossip magazine. He had spent years covering war zones for the Associated Press, and after leaving them and taking a year off, he had needed a job, so he took this one. On the night of the benefit, he had worked for the magazine for all of three weeks. So far he had covered three rock concerts, a Hollywood wedding, and this was his second benefit. It was definitely not his cup of tea. He was beginning to feel like a waiter, in all the tuxes he'd been wearing. He actually missed the miserable conditions he'd gotten used to and felt comfortable in, during his twenty-nine years with the AP. He had just turned forty-eight, and he tried to be grateful for the small, well-appointed room they escorted him into, where he dropped his battered bag that had been all over the world with him. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was back in Saigon, Pakistan, or New Delhi … Afghanistan … Lebanon … Bosnia, during the war there. He kept asking himself how a guy like him had wound up going to benefits and celebrity weddings. This was cruel and unusual punishment for him.

“Thanks,” he said to the clerk who had shown him to his room. There was a brochure about the neonatal unit on the desk, and a press kit for the Smallest Angels Ball, about which he didn't give a damn. But he would do his job. He was there to take pictures of celebrities and cover Melanie's performance. His editor had said it was a big deal to them, so here he was.

He pulled a bottle of lemonade out of the refrigerator in the minibar, opened it, and took a swig. The room had a view of the building across the street and everything in it was so immaculate and incredibly elegant. He longed for the sounds and smells of the rat-holes where he'd slept for thirty years, the stench of the poverty in the back streets of New Delhi, and all the exotic places his career had taken him to for three decades.

“Take it easy, Ev,” he said to himself out loud, switched on CNN, sat down at the foot of the bed, and took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He had printed it off the Internet before he left the office in L.A. It must have been his lucky day, he told himself. There was a meeting a block away, in a church on California Street called Old St. Mary's. It was at six, would last an hour, and he could be back at the hotel at seven, when the benefit started. It meant that he'd have to go to the meeting in his tux, so he wouldn't start late. He didn't want anyone complaining about him to his editors. It was too soon for him to start cutting corners. He always had, and had gotten away with it. But he was drinking then. This was a new start, and he didn't want to push the limits of the envelope just yet. He was being a good boy, conscientious, and honest. It felt like going to nursery school again for him. After taking photographs of dying soldiers in trenches, and having shellfire all around him, covering a benefit in San Francisco was pretty goddamn tame, although others would have loved it. He wasn't one of them, unfortunately. This was a hardship post for him.

He sighed as he finished the lemonade, threw the bottle in the wastebasket, peeled off his clothes, and got into the shower.

The water felt good pelting down on him. It had been a hot day in L.A., and it was warm and muggy here. The room had air-conditioning, and he felt better when he got out of the shower, and told himself to stop bitching about his life, as he got dressed again. He decided to make the best of it and helped himself to the chocolates at his bedside and ate a cookie from the minibar. He looked at himself in the mirror as he clipped on his bow tie, and put on the jacket of his rented tux.

“My God, you look like a musician … or a gentleman,” he said grinning. “Nahh …a waiter …let's not get crazy here.” He was a damn good photographer who had once won a Pulitzer. Several of his shots had made the cover of Time magazine. He had a name in the business, and for a time had screwed it all up by drinking, but at least that had changed. He had spent six months in rehab, and another five in an ashram figuring out his life. By now he thought he had. Booze was out of his life forever. There was just no other way. By the time he hit bottom, he had damn near died in a fleabag hotel in Bangkok. The hooker he had hired had saved him, and kept him alive till the paramedics came. One of his fellow journalists had shipped him back to the States. The AP had fired him for having been missing in action for nearly three weeks, and blowing all his deadlines, for about the hundredth time that year. He couldn't keep it together anymore, and he had put himself in rehab against his better judgment, and had only agreed to thirty days. It was only after he got there that he realized how bad things were. It was either dry out or die. So he had stayed six months and chose to dry out instead of dying the next time he went on a binge.

Since then, he had gained weight, looked healthy, and went to AA meetings every day, sometimes as many as three. It wasn't as tough for him now as it had been at first, but he figured if the meetings didn't always help him, his being there would help someone else. He had a sponsor, was one, and had been sober now for just over a year. He had his one-year chip in his pocket, his lucky boots on, and had forgotten to comb his hair. He picked up the room key, and headed out at three minutes after six, with his camera bag slung over his shoulder, and a smile on his face. He was feeling better than he had half an hour before. Life wasn't easy for him every day, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been a year ago. As someone had once said to him in AA, “I still have bad days, but I used to have bad years.” Life seemed pretty sweet to him, as he walked out of the hotel, turned right on California Street, and walked a block down the hill to Old St. Mary's Church. He was looking forward to the meeting. He was in the mood for it tonight. He touched his one-year sobriety chip in his pocket, as he often did, to remind himself how far he'd come in the past year.

“Right on …,” he whispered to himself, as he walked into the rectory to look for the group. It was exactly eight minutes after six. And as he always did, he knew he would share at the meeting.

As Everett walked into Old St. Mary's, Sarah jumped out of her car, and rushed into the hotel. She had forty-five minutes to dress, and five to get downstairs from her room. Her nails were freshly done, although she had messed up two of them reaching into her bag too soon for the tip. But they looked fine, and she liked the way they'd done her hair. Her flip-flops made a flopping sound as she ran across the lobby. The concierge smiled at her as she sped by, and called out, “Good luck tonight!”

“Thanks.” She waved, used her key in the elevator to get to the club floor, and three minutes later, she was in her room, ran the tub, and took her dress out of the plastic zipper bag it came in. It was sparkling white and silver, and would show off her figure to perfection. She had bought silver high-heel Manolo Blahnik sandals that were going to be murder to walk in, but they looked fabulous with the dress.

She was in and out of the tub in five minutes, sat down to do her makeup, and was clipping on diamond earrings, when Seth walked in at twenty to seven. It was a Thursday night, and he had begged her to do the fund-raiser on the weekend, so he didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn the next morning, but this was the only date that both the hotel and Melanie had given them, so they went with it.

Seth looked as stressed as he always did coming home from the office. He worked hard, and kept a lot of balls in the air. A success like his didn't happen by being relaxed and casual about it. But she noticed that he looked particularly harassed that night. He sat down on the edge of the tub, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned over to kiss his wife.

“You look beat,” she said sympathetically. They were a great team. They had gotten along brilliantly since the day they met in business school. They had a happy marriage, loved their life, and were crazy about their kids. He had provided her with an incredible life in the past few years. She loved everything about their life together, and most all, she loved everything about him.

“I am beat,” he confessed. “How's everything lining up for tonight?” he asked her. He loved hearing about the things she did. He was her staunchest supporter and biggest fan. Sometimes he thought her staying home was the waste of a great business mind and her MBA degree, but he was grateful that she was so devoted to their babies, and to him.

“Fantastic!” Sarah grinned as she answered his question about the benefit, and slipped on a nearly invisible wisp of white lace thong underwear that wouldn't show underneath her dress. She had the figure for it, and just watching her do it turned him on. He couldn't resist reaching out and fondling her upper leg. “Don't start, sweetheart,” she warned him, laughing, “or I'll be late. You can take your time coming downstairs if you want. If you get there in time for dinner, that'll be fine. Seven-thirty, if you can.” He glanced at his watch and nodded. It was ten to seven. She had five minutes to get dressed.

“I'll be down in half an hour. I've got a couple of calls to make first.” He always did, and tonight was no different. Sarah understood. Running his hedge fund kept him busy night and day. It reminded her of her Wall Street days, when they were doing an IPO. His life was constantly like that now, which was why he was happy and successful, and they had the lifestyle that they did. They lived like fabulously wealthy people twice their age. Sarah was grateful for it, and didn't take it for granted. She turned so he could zip up her dress. It looked terrific on her, and he beamed. “Wow! You're a knockout, babe!”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and they kissed. She put a few things in a tiny silver handbag, slipped on the sexy shoes that went with it, and waved as she left the room. He was already on his cell phone talking to his best friend in New York, making some arrangements for the next day. She didn't bother to listen. She left a small bottle of scotch and a glass of ice beside him, and he was pouring it gratefully into a glass as the door to the suite closed behind her.

She got into the elevator and rode down to the ballroom, three floors below the lobby, and everything was perfection. The urns were filled with creamy white roses. Pretty young women in jewel-colored evening gowns were seated at long tables, waiting to hand people escort cards and check them in. Models were wandering around in long black dresses, wearing fabulous jewelry from Tiffany, and only a handful of people had arrived before she did. Sarah checked that everything was in order, just as a tall man with disheveled sandy gray hair walked in with a camera bag over his arm. He smiled at her as he admired her figure, and told her he was from Scoop magazine. She was pleased. The more press coverage they got, the better the turnout next year, and the more appealing they'd be to performers who might donate their performances, and the more money they stood to make. Press was a big deal to them.

“I'm Everett Carson,” he introduced himself, and clipped a press badge onto the pocket of his tuxedo. He looked relaxed and entirely at ease.

“I'm Sarah Sloane, the chair of the benefit. Would you like a drink?” she offered, and he shook his head with a grin. It always struck him now how that was the first thing people said when welcoming someone, right after introducing themselves. “Would you like a drink?” It came right after “Hello” sometimes.

“No, thanks, I'm fine. Anyone special you want me to keep my eye on tonight? Local celebrities, the hot social types in the city?” She told him the Gettys would be there, Sean and Robin Wright Penn and Robin Williams, along with a handful of local names he didn't recognize, but she promised to point them out to him as they came in.

She went back to stand near the long tables then, to say hello to people as they got off the elevators, near the check-in tables. And Everett Carson started taking photographs of the models. Two of them were sensational-looking, with high, round artificial breasts and interesting cleavage they had draped diamond necklaces on. The others were too skinny for him. He came back and took a photograph of Sarah, before she got too busy. She was a beautiful young woman, with her dark hair swept up, the little stars sparkling in it, and her huge green eyes that seemed to smile at him.

“Thank you,” she said politely, and he gave her a warm smile in return. She wondered why he hadn't combed his hair, if he'd just forgotten, or maybe that was his look. She noticed the worn black lizard cowboy boots. He looked like a character, and she was sure there was an interesting story to him, though she'd never have a chance to know it. He was just a journalist from Scoop magazine who had come up from L.A. for the evening.

“Good luck with your benefit,” he said, and then sauntered away again, just as the elevators disgorged about thirty people all at once. For Sarah, the night of the Smallest Angels Ball had begun.

Chapter 2

The schedule was running late because it took longer for people to get into the ballroom and take their seats at their tables than Sarah had anticipated. The emcee for the evening was a Hollywood star who had had a talk show for years on late-night TV and had just retired, and he was terrific. He urged everyone to take their seats while he introduced the celebrities who had come up from L.A. for the evening, and of course the mayor, and local stars. The evening was going according to plan.

Sarah had promised to keep speeches and acknowledgments to a minimum. After a brief speech by the doctor in charge of the neonatal unit, they ran a short film about the miracles they performed. Sarah then talked about her own personal experience with Molly. And from there, they went right into the auction. The action was hot. A diamond necklace from Tiffany went for a hundred thousand dollars. The celebrity meet-and-greets went for an astonishing amount of money. An adorable miniature Yorkshire terrier puppy went for ten thousand. And the Range Rover went for a hundred and ten. Seth was the underbidder and finally lowered his paddle and gave up. Sarah whispered to him that it was all right, she was happy with the car she owned. He smiled at her but looked distracted. She noticed again how stressed he seemed, and assumed he'd had a tough day at the office.

She caught a glimpse of Everett Carson a couple of times during the evening. She had given him the table numbers of the important socialites. W was there, Town and Country, Entertainment Weekly, and Entertainment Tonight. There were TV cameras waiting for Melanie to go on. The evening was turning out to be a huge success. They made over four hundred thousand in the auction, thanks to a very aggressive auctioneer. Two very expensive paintings from a local art gallery had helped, and there had been some great cruises and trips. Added to the price of the seats, the funds raised so far had exceeded expectations, and checks always came in for days afterward, with random donations.

Sarah made the rounds of the tables, thanking people for coming, and saying hello to friends. There were several tables at the back of the room that had been donated to charitable organizations, the local Red Cross chapter, a foundation committed to suicide prevention, and a table that had been filled with priests and nuns, purchased by Catholic Charities, who were affiliated with the hospital that housed the neonatal unit. Sarah saw the priests in their Roman collars, and several women with them in dark, simple navy or black suits. There was only one nun in a habit at the table, a tiny woman who looked like a pixie, with red hair and electric blue eyes. Sarah had recognized her immediately. Her name was Sister Mary Magdalen Kent, and she was the city's version of Mother Teresa. She was well known for her work on the streets with the homeless, and her position against city government for not doing more for them was very controversial. Sarah would have loved to talk to her tonight, but she was too busy with the thousand details she had to keep an eye on to ensure the success of the event. She whisked by the table with a nod and smile to the priests and nuns sitting there, obviously enjoying the evening. They were talking and laughing and drinking wine, and Sarah was pleased to see they were having a good time.

“I didn't think I'd see you here tonight, Maggie,” the priest who ran the city's free dining room for the poor commented, grinning. He knew her well. Sister Mary Magdalen was a lioness in the streets, defending the people she cared for, but a mouse when out socially. He couldn't remember ever seeing her at a benefit before. One of the other nuns, in a trim-looking blue suit, with a gold cross on her lapel and short, well-cut hair, was the head of the nursing school at USF. The other nuns looked almost fashionable and worldly, sitting at the table, enjoying the elegant meal. Sister Mary Magdalen, or Maggie as her friends called her, had appeared uncomfortable for most of the evening, and embarrassed to be there, with her coif slightly askew, as it slipped around on her short bright red hair. She seemed more like an elf dressed up as a nun.

“You almost didn't,” she said in an undertone to Father O'Casey. “Don't ask me why, but someone gave me a ticket. A social worker I work with. She had to go to a rosary tonight. I told her to give the seat to someone else, but I didn't want to seem ungrateful.” She was apologetic about being there, and thought she should be on the streets. An event like this one was definitely not her style.

“Give yourself a break, Maggie. You work harder than anyone I know,” Father O'Casey said generously. He and Sister Mary Magdalen had known each other for years, and he admired her for her radically benevolent ideas, and hard work in the field. “I'm surprised to see you in a habit though,” he chuckled to himself, pouring her a glass of wine she didn't touch. Even before she went into the convent at twentyone, she never drank or smoked.

She laughed in answer to what he'd said about what she wore. “It's the only dress I have. I work in jeans and sweatshirts every day. I don't need fancy clothes for what I do.” She glanced at the other three nuns at the table, who looked like housewives or college professors more than nuns, except for the small gold crosses on their lapels.

“It does you good to get out.” They started talking about church politics then, a controversial stand the archbishop had taken recently about ordaining priests, and the latest pronouncement from Rome. She was particularly interested in a currently proposed city law being evaluated by the board of supervisors, which would affect the people she worked with on the streets. She thought the law was limited and unfair and would hurt her people. She was very bright, and after a few minutes, two of the other priests and one of the nuns entered the discussion. They were interested in what she had to say, as she knew more about the subject than they.

“Maggie, you're too tough,” Sister Dominica, who headed up the nursing school, said. “We can't solve everyone's problems all at once.”

“I try to do it one by one,” Sister Mary Magdalen said humbly. The two women had something in common, as Sister Maggie had graduated as a nurse right before entering the convent. She found her skills useful for those she tried to help. And as they continued their heated discussion, the room went dark. The auction was over, dessert had been served, and Melanie was about to go on. The emcee had just announced her, and slowly the room fell into silence, alive with anticipation. “Who is she?” Sister Mary Magdalen whispered, and the rest of the table smiled.

“The hottest young singer in the world. She just won a Grammy,” Father Joe whispered, and Sister Maggie nodded. The evening was definitely way out of her league. She was tired, and ready for it to be over, as the music started up. Melanie's signature song was being started by the band, and then in an explosion of sound, light, and color, Melanie came on. She drifted onto the stage like an exquisite waif, singing her opening song.

Sister Mary Magdalen watched her, fascinated, as did everyone in the room. They were mesmerized by her beauty, and the stunning power of her voice. There was no sound in the room except hers.

“Wow!” Seth said as he looked at her from a front-row seat, and patted his wife's hand. She had done a fantastic job. He had been distracted and worried earlier, but now he was loving and attentive to her. “Holy shit! She's fantastic!” Seth added, as Sarah noticed Everett Carson crouched just below the stage, taking shots of Melanie while she performed. She was breathtakingly beautiful in the nearly invisible costume. The dress she wore was mostly illusion and looked like glitter on her skin. Sarah had gone backstage to see her before she went on. Her mother was running interference for her, and Jake was half smashed, drinking straight gin.

The songs Melanie sang mesmerized the audience. She sat down at the edge of the stage for the last one, reaching out to them, singing to them, ripping their hearts out. Every man in the room was in love with her by then, and every woman wanted to be her. Melanie was a thousand times more beautiful than she had seemed to Sarah when she hung out in her suite. She had a stage presence that was electrifying and a voice that no one would ever forget. She had made the evening for everyone, and Sarah sat back in her chair with a smile of total satisfaction. It had been an absolutely perfect night. The food had been excellent, the room looked gorgeous, the press was there in full force, the auction had made a fortune, and Melanie was the big hit of the night. The event had been a total success, and would sell out even faster the following year as a result, maybe even at higher prices. Sarah knew that she had done her job, and done it well. Seth had said he was proud of her, and she was even proud of herself.

She saw Everett Carson get even closer to Melanie, as he took more shots. Sarah felt giddy at the thrill of it all, and as she did, she felt the room sway gently. For an instant, she thought she was dizzy. And then, instinctively, she looked up and saw the chandeliers swinging overhead. It made no sense to her, and at the moment she looked up, she heard a low rumble, like a terrifying groan all around them. For a minute, everything seemed to stop, as the lights flickered, and the room swayed. Someone near her stood up and shouted, “Earthquake!” The music stopped, as tables fell and china clattered, just as the lights went out and people started to scream. The room was in total darkness, the groaning sound grew louder, people were shouting and screaming over it, and the rolling movement of the room turned into a terrifying shudder as it went from side to side. Sarah and Seth were on the floor by then, he had pulled her under their table before it overturned.

“Oh my God,” she said to him, clutching him as he put his arms around her and held her tight. All she could think of were her babies at home with Parmani. She was crying, terrified for them, and desperate to get back to them, if they all lived through what was happening to them now. The undulating of the room and the crashing sounds seemed to go on forever. It was several minutes before it stopped. There were more crashing sounds after that, and people shouting and pushing and shoving as the exit signs came back on. They had gone out, but a generator somewhere in the hotel had gotten them going again. There was a sense of chaos all around them.

“Don't move for a few minutes,” Seth told her from where they lay. She could feel him, but no longer see him in the total darkness. “You'll get trampled by the crowd.”

“What if the building falls in on us?” She was shaking and still crying.

“If it does, we're fucked,” he said bluntly.

They, and everyone else in the room, were well aware that they were three floors underground. They had no idea how to get out, or by what route. The noise in the room was deafening as people shouted to each other, and then hotel employees with powerful flashlights appeared beneath the exit signs. Someone with a bullhorn was telling them to stay calm and proceed with caution toward the exits and not to panic. There were dim lights in the hall beyond, while the ballroom remained totally dark. It had been the most terrifying experience of Sarah's life. Seth grabbed her arm, and pulled her to her feet, as five hundred and sixty people pushed their way toward the exits. There were sounds of people crying, others groaning in pain, some shouting for help, saying that someone next to them was hurt.

Sister Maggie was already on her feet, moving into the crowd rather than out of the room. “What are you doing?” Father Joe shouted after her—they could see dimly now in the light from the hall beyond. The enormous urns of roses had fallen over, and the scene in the ballroom was one of total chaos and disorder. Father Joe thought Maggie was confused as she made her way deeper into the room.

“I'll meet you outside!” she shouted, as she disappeared into the crowd, and within minutes was on her knees next to a man who said he thought he'd had a heart attack, but had nitroglycerin in his pocket. She reached in unceremoniously and helped him find it, took out a pill, and put it in his mouth, and then told him not to move. She was sure help would come soon to assist the injured.

She left him with his frightened wife, and moved along a littered path wishing she was wearing her workboots and not the flat pumps she had worn. The ballroom floor was an obstacle course of tables lying on their sides or even upside down, with food, dishes, and broken glass everywhere, and some people lying amid the debris. Sister Maggie made her way systematically toward them, as did several other people who said they were doctors. There had been many of them in the room, but only a few had stayed to help the wounded. A crying woman with an injured arm said she thought she was going into labor. Sister Maggie told her not to even think about it until she got out of the hotel, and the pregnant woman smiled as Maggie helped her stand up and start moving out of the ballroom holding tightly to her husband's arm. Everyone was terrified of an aftershock, which might be even worse than the first quake. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that it had been greater than seven on the Richter scale, maybe even eight, and there were groaning sounds in the room all around them as the earth settled again, which was anything but reassuring.

At the front of the room, Everett Carson had been next to Melanie when the quake hit. As the room tilted crazily, she had slid right off the stage into his arms, and they both fell to the floor. He helped her up when the shaking stopped.

“Are you okay? That was a great performance, by the way,” he said lightly. Once they opened the ballroom doors and light filtered in from the hall he noticed that her costume had torn, and one of her breasts was exposed. He slipped his tuxedo jacket on her to cover her up.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding dazed. “What happened?”

“About a sevenor eight-point quake, I believe,” Everett said.

“Shit, now what do we do?” Melanie looked scared, but not panicked.

“We do what they're telling us, and we get our asses out of here and try not to get trampled.” He had been through earthquakes, tsunamis, and similar disasters in Southeast Asia over the years. But there was no question, this had been a big one. It had been exactly a hundred years since the last big San Francisco earthquake in 1906.

“I should find my mom,” Melanie said, looking around. There was no sign of her or Jake, and no way to recognize people easily in the room. It was too dark. And so many people were shouting, and there was such pandemonium going on around them that you couldn't hear anyone except the person standing next to you.

“You'd better look for her outside,” Everett warned her, as she started to make her way to where the stage had been. It had collapsed, and all the band's equipment had slid off. The grand piano was teetering at a crazy angle, and fortunately hadn't fallen on anyone. “Are you okay?” Melanie looked a little stunned.

“Yeah…I am…” He headed her toward the exits then, and told her he was staying for a few more minutes. He wanted to see if there was anything he could do to help the people in the ballroom.

A few minutes later, he stumbled over a woman helping a man who said he'd had a heart attack. The woman moved away to help someone else, and Everett helped get the man outside. He and a man who said he was a doctor put him on a chair and lifted him up. They had to carry him up three flights of stairs. There were paramedics, ambulances, and fire trucks outside, helping people pouring out of the hotel with minor injuries and reporting on others who were hurt inside. A battalion of firemen rushed in. There was no evidence of fires around them, but electric lines were down, and there were sparks shooting into the air as firemen with bullhorns shouted at them to stay clear, and set up barricades. Everett noticed quickly that the city all around them was dark. And then by instinct more than design, he reached for the camera still slung around his neck, and started taking pictures of the scene, without intruding on the gravely injured. Everyone around him looked dazed. The man who had the heart attack was already on the way to the hospital in an ambulance, along with another man who had a broken leg. There were injured people lying on the street, most of whom had come out of the hotel, and others who hadn't. The stoplights were no longer functioning, and traffic had stopped. A cable car at the corner had jumped the tracks, and at least forty people were injured, as paramedics and firemen ministered to them. One woman was dead and had been covered by a tarp. It was a grisly scene, and Everett didn't even notice till he got outside and saw blood on his shirt that he had a cut on his cheek. He had no idea how it had happened. It appeared to be superficial and he wasn't worried about it. He took a towel when a hotel employee handed it to him and wiped his face. There were dozens of them handing out towels, blankets, and bottles of water for the shocked people all around them. No one could figure out what to do next. They just stood there, staring at each other, and talking about what had happened. There were several thousand people crowded into the street as the hotel was emptied. Half an hour later the firemen said that the ballroom was clear now. It was then that Everett noticed Sarah Sloane standing near him with her husband. Her dress was torn and covered with wine and the remains of dessert that had been on their table when it tipped over.

“Are you all right?” he asked her. It was the same question everyone was asking each other again and again. She was crying, and her husband looked distressed. So was everyone else. People were crying all around them, in shock, fear, and relief, and worried about their families at home. Sarah had been frantically calling on her cell phone, which didn't work. Seth had tried his too, and looked grim.

“I'm worried about my babies,” she explained. “They're at home with a babysitter. I don't even know how we'll get there. I guess we'll have to walk.” Someone had said that the garage where all their cars were parked had collapsed, and there were people trapped inside. There was no way to access their cars, and everyone whose car had been in it was now stranded. There were no cabs. San Francisco had become a ghost town in a matter of minutes. It was after midnight, and the quake had hit an hour before. The Ritz-Carlton employees were being wonderful, wandering through the crowd, asking people what they could do to help. There wasn't much anyone could do right now, except the paramedics and firemen trying to triage those who had been hurt.

A few minutes later, the firemen announced that there was an emergency earthquake shelter two blocks away, and gave them directions. They urged people to get off the street and go there. Power lines were down, and there were live wires on the street. They were warned to steer a wide berth around them, and to go to the shelter rather than try to go home. The possibility of an aftershock was still frightening everyone. As the firemen told the crowd what to do, Everett continued taking pictures. This was the kind of work he loved. He wasn't preying on people's miseries, he was discreet, capturing this extraordinary moment in time that he already knew was a historical event.

There was finally a shift in movement in the crowd, as they walked on shaking legs toward the earthquake shelter down the hill. People kept talking to each other about what had happened, what they had thought at first, and where they'd been. One man had been in the shower in his room at the hotel, and said he thought it was some kind of vibrating feature in the tub for the first seconds. He was wearing a terrycloth robe and nothing else, and his feet were bare. One of them was cut, from glass lying in the street, but there was nothing anyone could do. And another woman said she thought she had broken the bed as she slid toward the floor, and then the whole room rock-and-rolled like a carnival game. But this was no game. It was the second-biggest disaster the city had ever known.

Everett took a bottle of water from a bellman handing them out. He opened it, took a long swig, and realized how dry his mouth was. There were clouds of dust coming out of the hotel from structures inside that had broken, and things that had collapsed. No bodies had been brought out. The firemen were covering those who had died with tarps in the lobby as a central location. There were about twenty so far, and there were rumors that people were trapped inside, which made everyone panic. Here and there, people were crying, unable to find the friends or relatives they had been staying with in the hotel, or still hadn't located in the group from the benefit. They were easy to identify from their torn and soiled evening clothes. They looked like survivors of the Titanic. It was then that Everett spotted Melanie and her mother. Her mother was crying hysterically. Melanie looked alert and calm, and was still wearing his rented tuxedo jacket.

“Are you okay?” he asked the familiar question, and she smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. My mom is pretty freaked out. She thinks there will be a bigger one in a few minutes. Do you want your jacket back?” She would have been nearly naked if she'd given it back to him, and he shook his head. “I can put on a blanket.”

“Keep it. It looks good on you. Everyone accounted for in your group?” He knew she'd had a large entourage with her, and he saw only her mother.

“My friend Ashley hurt her ankle, and the paramedics are taking care of her. My boyfriend was pretty drunk, and the guys in my band had to carry him out. He's throwing up somewhere over there.” She gestured vaguely. “Everyone else is okay.” She looked like a teenager again now that she was off the stage, but he remembered her performance and how remarkable it was. So would everyone else after tonight.

“You should go to the shelter. It's safer there,” Everett said to both of them, and Janet Hastings started pulling on her daughter. She agreed with Everett and wanted to get off the street before the next quake came.

“I think I might stay here for a while,” Melanie said softly, and told her mother to go on without her, which only made her cry harder. Melanie said she wanted to stay and help, which Everett thought was admirable. And then for the first time, he wondered if he wanted a drink, and was pleased to realize that he didn't. This was a first. Even with the excuse of a major earthquake, he had no desire to get drunk. He broke into a broad grin as he thought it, while Janet headed toward the shelter, and Melanie disappeared into the crowd as her mother panicked.

“She'll be okay,” Everett reassured Janet. “When I see her again, I'll send her to you at the shelter. You go on with the others.” Janet looked uncertain, but the movement of the crowd heading toward the shelter and her own desire to get there swept her away. Everett figured that whether or not he found her, Melanie would be fine. She was young and resourceful, the members of her band were near at hand, and if she wanted to help the injured in the crowd, that didn't seem like such a bad idea to him. There were a lot of people around them who needed assistance of some kind, more than the paramedics could provide.

He was taking pictures again when he came across the small redheaded woman he'd seen help the man with the heart attack and then move on. He saw her assist a child, and turn her over to a fireman to try and help her find her mother. Everett took several photographs of the woman, and then dropped his camera again as she moved away from the little girl.

“Are you a doctor?” he asked with interest. She had seemed very confident in her treatment of the man with the heart attack.

“No, I'm a nurse,” she said simply, her brilliant blue eyes locking into his briefly, and then she smiled. There was something both funny and touching about her. She had the most magnetic eyes he'd ever seen.

“That's a good thing to be tonight.” Many people had gotten hurt, not all of them severely. But there were a multitude of cuts and minor injuries, as well as bigger ones, and several people had gone into shock. He knew he'd seen the woman at the benefit, but there was something incongruous about her plain black dress and flat shoes. Her coif had vanished in the aftermath of the quake, and it never occurred to him what she was, other than a nurse. She had an ageless, timeless face, and it would have been difficult to guess her age. He figured her for late thirties, early forties, and in fact she was fortytwo. She stopped to talk to someone as he followed her, and then she paused for a bottle of water herself. They were all feeling the effects of the dust still billowing from the hotel.

“Are you going to the shelter? They probably need help there too,” he commented. He had thrown his bow tie away by then, and there was blood on his shirt from the cut on his cheek. But she shook her head.

“I'm going to head out when I've done all I can here. I figure the people in my neighborhood can use some help too.”

“Where do you live?” he asked with interest, although he didn't know the city well. But there was something about this woman that intrigued him. And maybe there was a story in it somewhere, you never knew. His journalistic instincts came alive just looking at her.

She smiled at his question. “I live in the Tenderloin, not far from here.” But where she lived was worlds apart from all this. In that neighborhood, a few blocks made a huge difference.

“That's a pretty rough neighborhood, isn't it?” He was increasingly intrigued. He had heard of the Tenderloin, with its drug addicts, prostitutes, and derelicts.

“Yes, it is,” she said honestly. But she was happy there.

“And that's where you live?” He looked startled and confused.

“Yes.” She smiled at him, her red hair and face streaked with dirt, and the electric blue eyes grinning impishly at him. “I like it there.” He had a sixth sense about a story then, and knew intuitively that she was going to turn out to be one of the heroes of the night. When she went back to the Tenderloin, he wanted to be with her. For sure, there was going to be a story in it for him.

“My name is Everett. Can I come with you?” he asked her simply, as she hesitated for a minute and then nodded.

“It might be dicey getting there, because of all the live wires on the street. And they're not going to rush to help people in that neighborhood. All the rescue teams will be here, or in other parts of the city. Just call me Maggie, by the way.”

It was another hour before they left the scene outside the Ritz. It was nearly three in the morning by then. Most people had either gone to the shelter or decided to go home. He never saw Melanie again, but wasn't worried about her. The ambulances had left with the critically injured, and the firemen seemed to have things in good control. They could hear sirens in the distance, and Everett assumed fires had broken out, and water mains had broken, so they were going to have a tough time fighting the fires. He followed the little woman doggedly as he accompanied her home. They walked up California Street, then down Nob Hill, heading south. They passed Union Square, and eventually turned right and headed west on O'Farrell. They were both shocked to see that almost all the windows in the department stores on Union Square had popped out and broken on the street. And there was a similar scene outside the St. Francis Hotel to the one they had just left at the Ritz. The hotels had been emptied, and people had been directed to shelters. It took them half an hour to reach where she lived.

People were standing around on the street, and looked markedly different here. They were shabbily dressed, some were still high on drugs, others looked scared. Store windows had shattered, drunks were lying in the street, and a cluster of prostitutes were huddling close together. Everett was intrigued to note that almost everyone seemed to know Maggie. She stopped and talked to them, inquiring how everyone was doing, if people had gotten hurt, if help had come, and how the neighborhood was faring. They chatted animatedly with her, and eventually she and Everett sat down in a doorway on a stoop. It was nearly five A.M. by then, and Maggie didn't even look tired.

“Who are you?” he asked, fascinated by her. “I feel like I'm in some kind of strange movie, with an angel who came to earth, and maybe no one can see you but me.” She laughed at his description of her and reminded him that no one else was having a problem seeing her. She was real, human, and entirely visible, as any of the hookers on the street would have agreed.

“Maybe the answer to your question is a what, not a who,” she said comfortably, wishing she could get out of her habit. It was just a plain, ugly black dress, but she was missing her jeans. From what she could see, her building had been shaken up but not damaged dangerously, and there was nothing to stop her from going in. Firemen and police were not directing people to shelters here.

“What does that mean?” Everett asked, looking puzzled. He was tired. It had been a long night for both of them, but she looked fresh as a rose, and a lot livelier than she had at the benefit.

“I'm a nun,” she said simply. “These are the people I work with and take care of. I do most of my work on the streets. All of it, in fact. I've lived here for nearly ten years.”

“You're a nun?” he asked her with a look of amazement. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't know.” She shrugged comfortably, perfectly at ease talking to him, particularly here on the street. This was the world she knew best, far better than any ballroom. “I didn't think about it. Does it make a difference?”

“Hell, yes …I mean no,” he corrected himself, and then thought about it further. “I mean yes … of course it makes a difference. That's a really important detail about you. You're a very interesting person, particularly if you live here. Don't you live in a convent, or something?”

“No, mine disbanded years ago. There weren't enough nuns here in my order to justify keeping the convent going. They turned it into a school. The diocese gives all of us an allowance, and we live in apartments. Some of the nuns live in twos or threes, but no one wanted to live here with me.” She grinned at him. “They wanted to live in better neighborhoods. My work is here. This is my mission.”

“What's your real name?” he asked, totally intrigued now. “I mean your nun name.”

“Sister Mary Magdalen,” she said gently.

“I'm utterly blown away,” he admitted, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. It was the first one he'd smoked all night, and she didn't seem to disapprove. She seemed to be totally at ease in the real world, in spite of the fact that she was a nun. She was the first nun he'd talked to in years, and never as freely as this. They felt like combat buddies after what they'd just been through, and in some ways they were. “Do you like being a nun?” he asked her, and she nodded, thinking about it for a minute, and then she turned to him.

“I love it. Going into the convent was the best thing I ever did. I always knew it was what I wanted to do, ever since I was a kid. Like being a doctor or a lawyer or a ballet dancer. They call it an early vocation. This has always been it for me.”

“Have you ever been sorry you did it?”

“No.” She smiled happily at him. “Never. It's been the perfect life for me. I went in right after I finished nursing school. I grew up in Chicago, the eldest of seven children. I always knew this would be right for me.”

“Did you ever have a boyfriend?” He was intrigued by what she said.

“One,” she confessed easily, with no embarrassment about it. She hadn't thought about him in years. “When I was in nursing school.”

“What happened?” He was sure some romantic tragedy had driven her into the convent. He couldn't imagine doing that for any other reason. The concept was totally foreign to him. He had grown up Lutheran, and had never even seen a nun until he left home. The whole idea of it had never made much sense to him. But here was this happy, contented little woman who talked about her life among hookers and drug addicts with such serenity, joy, and peace. It utterly amazed him.

“He died in a car accident in my second year of nursing school. But even if he'd lived, it wouldn't have made a difference. I told him right from the beginning that I wanted to be a nun, although I'm not sure he believed me. I never went out with anyone else after that, because by then I was sure. I probably would have stopped going out with him too. But we were both young, and it was all very innocent and harmless. By today's standards, for sure.” In other words, Everett understood, she had been a virgin when she entered the convent, and still was. The whole idea seemed unbelievable to him. And a waste of a very pretty woman. She seemed so alive and vibrant to him.

“That's amazing.”

“Not really. It's just what some people do.” She accepted it as normal, although it seemed anything but to him. “What about you? Married? Divorced? Kids?” She could sense he had a story, and he felt comfortable sharing it with her. She was easy to talk to, and he enjoyed her company. He realized now that the plain black dress was her habit. It explained why she hadn't been in evening clothes like everyone else at the benefit.

“I got a girl pregnant when I was eighteen, married her because her father said I had to or he'd kill me, and we split up the following year. Marriage wasn't for me, not at that age at least. She filed for divorce eventually, and got remarried, I think. I only saw my boy again once after we divorced, when he was about three. I just wasn't ready for fatherhood right then. I felt bad about it when I left, but it was so overwhelming for a kid the age I was then. So I left. I didn't know what else to do. I've spent his whole life and most of mine running around the world covering war zones and catastrophes for the AP ever since. It's been a crazy life, but it suited me. I loved it. And by now, I've grown up, and so has he. He doesn't need me anymore, and his mother was so furious with me, she had our marriage annulled by the church later, so she could remarry. So officially, I never existed,” Everett said quietly as she watched him.

“We always need our parents,” she said softly and they were both quiet for a minute as he thought about what she'd said. “The AP will be happy with the pictures you took tonight,” she said encouragingly. He didn't tell her about his Pulitzer. He never talked about it.

“I don't work for them anymore,” he said simply. “I picked up some bad habits on the road. They got out of hand about a year ago, when I damn near died of alcohol poisoning in Bangkok and a hooker saved me. She got me to a hospital, and eventually I came back and dried out. I went into rehab after the AP fired me, and they were justified doing that. I've been sober for a year. It feels pretty good. I just started the job at the magazine I was covering the benefit for. It's not my kind of thing. It's celebrity gossip. I'd rather be getting my ass shot off somewhere uncivilized than in a ballroom like tonight, wearing a tuxedo.”

“So would I,” she said, laughing. “It's not my thing either.” She explained that she was at a donated table and a friend had given her the ticket, even though she didn't want to attend, and she had gone so as not to waste it. “I'd much rather be working on the streets with these people than doing anything else. What about your son? Do you ever wonder about him or want to see him? How old is he now?” She was curious about Everett too, and brought up his boy again. She was a great believer in the importance of family in people's lives. And it was rare for her to have a chance to talk to someone like him. And even odder for him to be talking to a nun.

“He'll be thirty in a few weeks. I think about him sometimes, but it's a little late for that. Or a lot late. You don't walk back into someone's life when they're thirty and ask them how they've been. He probably hates my guts for running out on him.”

“Do you hate your guts for it?” she asked succinctly.

“Sometimes. Not often. I thought about it when I was in rehab. But you just don't spring up in someone's life after they're all grown up.”

“Maybe you do,” she said softly. “Maybe he'd like to hear from you. Do you know where he is?”

“I used to. I could try to find out. I don't think I should. What could I say to him?”

“Maybe there are things he'd want to ask you. It might be a nice thing to do for him, to let him know that your moving on had nothing to do with him.” She was a smart woman, and Everett nodded as he looked at her.

They walked around the neighborhood for a little while after that, and everything seemed to be in surprisingly good order. Some people had gone to shelters. A few had gotten hurt, and been taken to hospitals. The rest seemed to be doing okay, although everybody was talking about the force of the quake. It had been a huge one.

At six-thirty that morning Maggie said she was going to try and get some sleep and then go back out on the street in a few hours to check on her people. Everett said he was probably going to try and get a bus, train, or plane back to L.A. as soon as he could, or rent a car if he could find one. He had taken plenty of pictures. For his own purposes, he wanted to cruise around the city a little and see if there was anything else he wanted to shoot before he went back. He didn't want to miss a story, and he was taking some great material back with him. He was actually tempted to stay a few more days, but he wasn't sure how his editor would react. And for San Francisco and the surrounding areas, there was no phone communication with the outside world at the moment so he couldn't check out his reaction.

“I got some nice shots of you tonight,” Everett told Maggie as he left her on her doorstep. She lived in an ancient-looking building that looked as disreputable as it did old, but it didn't seem to worry her. She said she had lived there for years and was a fixture in the neighborhood. He jotted down her address and told her he'd send prints of the photographs to her. He asked her for her phone number, in case he ever came back to the city. “If I do, I'll take you to dinner,” he promised. “I had a nice time talking to you.”

“So did I,” she said, smiling up at him. “It's going to take a long time to clean up the city. I hope too many people weren't killed tonight.” She looked worried. They had no way of getting news. They were cut off from the world, without electricity or cell phones. It was a strange feeling.

The sun was coming up as he said goodbye to her, and he wondered if he'd ever see her again. It seemed unlikely. It had been an odd and unforgettable night for all of them.

“Goodbye, Maggie,” he said as she let herself into the building. There were bits of broken plaster lying all over the hallway, but she commented with a smile that it hardly looked worse than usual. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” she said as she waved at him and closed the door. An evil smell had drifted toward them as she opened the door into the hallway, and he couldn't imagine how she could live there. She was truly a saintly woman, he realized as he walked away, and then laughed softly. He had spent the night of the San Francisco earthquake with a nun. He thought she was a hero. He could hardly wait to see the pictures of her. And then oddly, as he walked away from her building, back through the Tenderloin, he found himself thinking about his son, and the way Chad had looked when he was three, and for the first time in the twenty-seven years since he'd last seen him, he missed him. Maybe he would look him up one day, if he ever got back to Montana, and if Chad was still living there. It was something to think about. Some of what Maggie had said had gotten under his skin, and he forced it out of his head again. He didn't want to feel guilty about his son. It was too late for that, and would do neither of them any good. He strode off then in his lucky boots, past the drunks and the hookers on Maggie's street. The sun was coming up, as he walked back into the heart of the city to see what stories of the earthquake he would find there. There were endless opportunities to shoot. And for him, who knew, maybe even another Pulitzer one day. Even after the shocking events of the previous night, he felt better than he had in years. He was back in the saddle as a journalist, and felt more confident and in control of his life than ever before.

Chapter 3

Seth and Sarah started the long walk home from the RitzCarlton after the benefit. Her high-heeled sandals were nearly impossible to negotiate, but there was so much broken glass on the streets that she didn't dare take them off to go barefoot. She got blisters with every step she took. There were lines down and sparks spitting from live wires which they carefully avoided. They were finally able to hitch a ride from a passing car for the last dozen blocks or so, from a doctor returning from St. Mary's Hospital. It was three o'clock in the morning, and he had gone to check on his patients after the earthquake. He told them things at the hospital were relatively under control. The emergency generators were working, and only one very small part of the radiology lab on the main floor had been destroyed. Everything else seemed to be in good order, although patients and staff alike were visibly shaken.

Like everyone else in the city, at the hospital, they had no phone communications, but they were listening on battery-powered radios and TVs for news bulletins, to see which parts of the city had suffered the worst damage.

He also told them the Marina had taken a terrible hit again, as it had in the smaller '89 earthquake. It was built on landfill, and there were fires burning out of control. There were also reports of looting downtown. Both Russian and Nob Hills had survived the 7.9 earthquake relatively well, as had been witnessed by everyone at the Ritz-Carlton. Some of the western areas of the city had suffered severe damage, as had Noe Valley, the Castro, and the Mission. And parts of Pacific Heights had been badly shaken. Firemen were attempting to rescue people trapped in buildings and elevators, and still have enough manpower to fight the fires that had erupted in many parts of the city, which was no mean feat with broken water mains nearly everywhere.

As their benefactor drove Seth and Sarah home, they could hear sirens in the distance. And both of the city's main bridges, the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate, had been closed since minutes after the earthquake. The Golden Gate had swung wildly, and several people had been injured. Two sections of the upper deck of the Bay Bridge had collapsed onto the deck below it, and several cars were reported crushed with people trapped in them. So far, the highway patrol had not been able to effect a rescue. Reports of people blocked in cars and unable to get out, screaming as they died, had been horrendous. So far, it was impossible to even guess at the death toll. But it was easy to assume there would be many, and thousands injured. The three of them listened to the car radio as they drove carefully through the streets.

Sarah gave the doctor their address, and was quiet on the way home, praying for her children. There was still no way to communicate with the house or the babysitter for reassurance. All telephone lines were down, and cell phones weren't working. The badly shaken city seemed completely cut off from the outside world. All she wanted to know now was that Oliver and Molly were okay. Seth was staring out the window in a daze, and kept trying to use his cell phone, as the doctor drove them the rest of the way. They finally arrived at their large brick house perched on top of the hill on Divisadero and Broadway, overlooking the bay. It appeared to be intact. They thanked the doctor, wished him well, and got out. Sarah ran to the front door as Seth followed behind her, looking exhausted.

Sarah already had the door open when he reached her. She had kicked her impossible shoes off, and was running down the hall. There was no electricity, so the lights were off, and it was unusually dark, with not even streetlights outside. She ran past the living room to go upstairs, and then she saw them, the babysitter asleep on the couch, with the baby dozing in her arms, and Molly snoring softly beside her, and candles lit on the table. The sitter was out cold, but stirred as Sarah approached.

“Hi…oh… such a big earthquake!” she said, waking up, but whispering so as not to disturb the children. But as Seth walked into the room and the three adults talked, the children began to stir too. Looking around, Sarah could see that all their paintings were wildly askew, two statues had fallen down, and a small antique card table and several chairs had tipped over. The room had a severely disordered look to it, with books spilling all over the floor, and smaller objects strewn around the room. But her babies were fine, which was all that mattered. They were uninjured and alive, and then as her eyes got accustomed to the dim room, she could see that Parmani had a bump on her forehead. She explained that Oliver's bookcase had fallen on her as she ran to get him out of his crib when the quake began. Sarah was grateful it hadn't knocked her unconscious or killed the baby, as books and objects had fallen off the shelves. A baby in the Marina had been killed in the 1989 earthquake that way, when a heavy object had slipped off a shelf and killed the infant in its crib. Sarah was grateful that history hadn't repeated itself with her son.

Oliver stirred as he lay on top of the sitter, picked up his head, and saw his mother, and then Sarah picked him up and held him. Molly was still sound asleep curled up in a little ball beside the babysitter. She looked like a doll, as her parents smiled at her, grateful for their safety.

“Hi, sweetheart, were you having a big sleep?” his mother asked him. The baby looked startled to see them and puckered his face as his bottom lip quivered, and he started to cry. Sarah thought it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard, as sweet as the night he'd been born. She had been terrified for her children all night, ever since the earthquake had begun. All she had wanted to do was run home and take them in her arms. She leaned down and gently touched Molly's leg, as though to reassure herself that she was alive too. “It must have been so scary for you,” Sarah said sympathetically to Parmani, as Seth walked into the den and picked up the phone. It was still dead. There was no phone service in the entire city. Seth must have checked his cell phone a million times on the way home.

“This is ridiculous,” he snarled, as he walked back into the room. “You would think they could at least keep our cell phones going. What are we supposed to do? Be cut off from the world for the next week? They better get us going again tomorrow.” Sarah knew, as he did, there was little chance of that.

They had no electricity either, and Parmani had wisely shut off the gas, so the house was chilly, but fortunately the night was warm. On a typical blowy San Francisco night, they would have been cold.

“We'll just have to camp out for a while,” Sarah said serenely. She was happy now, with her baby in her arms, and her daughter within her sight on the couch.

“Maybe I'll drive down to Stanford or San Jose tomorrow,” Seth said vaguely. “I have to make some calls.”

“The doctor said he heard at the hospital that the roads are closed. I think we're pretty much cut off.”

“That can't be,” Seth said, looking panicked, and then glanced at the luminous dial on his watch. “Maybe I should head down there now. It's nearly seven A.M. in New York. By the time I get down there, people will be in their offices on the East Coast. I'm completing a transaction today.”

“Can't you take a day off?” Sarah suggested, and Seth ran upstairs without answering her. He was back downstairs in five minutes, wearing jeans and a sweater and running shoes, with a look of intense concentration on his face and his briefcase in his hand.

Both their cars were trapped and perhaps lost forever in the garage downtown. There was no hope of getting either of them out, if they could even be found, and not for a long time anyway, since most of the garage had collapsed. But he turned to Parmani with an expectant look and smiled at her in the soft darkness of the living room. Ollie had gone back to sleep in Sarah's arms, comforted by her familiar warmth and sound.

“Parmani, do you mind if I borrow your car for a couple of hours? I'm going to see if I can head south and make some calls. Maybe my cell phone will even work down there.”

“Of course you can,” the babysitter answered, looking startled. It seemed like a strange request to her, and even more so to Sarah. This was no time to be trying to get to San Jose. It seemed inappropriate to Sarah for him to be obsessed with business now, and leaving them in the city.

“Can't you just relax? Nobody is going to expect to hear from anyone in San Francisco today. This is silly, Seth. What if there's another quake or an aftershock? We'd be here alone, and maybe you couldn't get back.” Or worse, an overpass could collapse and crush him on the road. She didn't want him going anywhere, but he looked determined and intent as he headed for the front door. Parmani said her keys were in it, and the car was in their garage. It was a battered old Honda Accord, but it got her where she wanted to go. Sarah wouldn't let her drive the children in it, and she wasn't enthusiastic about Seth traveling with it either. The car had over a hundred thousand miles, had no current safety features, and was at least a dozen years old.

“Don't worry, ladies.” He smiled at them. “I'll be back.” He ran out the door. It worried Sarah to have him venturing out, with no streetlights to drive by, no stoplights to control traffic, and maybe fallen obstacles on the road. But she could tell that nothing would stop him. He had left before she could say another word. Parmani went to get another flashlight, and the candles flickered as Sarah sat in her living room, thinking about Seth. It was one thing to be a workaholic and another to dash off down the peninsula, hours after a major earthquake, leaving his wife and children to fend for themselves. She wasn't happy about it at all. It seemed like irrational, obsessive behavior to her.

She and Parmani sat in the living room talking softly until almost sunrise. She thought about going upstairs to her bedroom, and putting the children in bed with her, but she felt safer downstairs, able to leave the house if there was another quake. Parmani told her a tree had fallen in the garden, and there were things all over the floor upstairs, a huge mirror had fallen and cracked, and several of the back windows had popped out and shattered on the cement outside. Most of their china and crystal lay smashed on the kitchen floor, along with groceries that had literally flown off the shelves. Parmani said several jars of juice and bottles of wine had broken, and Sarah wasn't looking forward to cleaning up the mess. Parmani had apologized for not doing it, but she'd been too worried about the children, and didn't want to leave them for the amount of time it would have taken her to deal with it. Sarah said she would do it herself. At one point she walked into the kitchen to look, after she set Oliver down on the couch, still sleeping soundly. She was horrified at the disaster area the kitchen had turned into in a matter of hours. Most of their cupboard doors had opened, and everything had fallen out. It looked like it would take days to clean up.

As the sun came up, Parmani went to make coffee, and then remembered they had neither electricity nor gas. Stepping gingerly over the debris and shards of glass, she poured some water from the hot tap into a cup, and dropped a teabag into it. It was barely lukewarm, but she brought it back to Sarah, and it was comforting to drink it. Parmani was peeling a banana for herself. Sarah had insisted she didn't want anything to eat, she was still too shaken and upset.

She had barely finished the tea when Seth came through the door, looking grim.

“That was quick,” Sarah commented.

“The roads are closed.” He looked stunned. “I mean all the roads. The entrance to 101, the whole on ramp is down.” He didn't tell her about the horrifying carnage below it. There had been ambulances and police everywhere. The highway patrol had turned him back and sternly told him to go home and stay there. This was no time to be going anywhere. He tried to tell them he lived in Palo Alto, and the officer had told him he would have to stay in the city until the roads were open again. And in answer to Seth's question, he said not for several days. Maybe even a week, given the enormity of the damage to the roads. “I tried Nineteenth Avenue to get on 280, same thing. The beach to get to Pacifica, they've got landslides there. They have it all blocked off. I didn't bother to try the bridges, because we heard on the radio they were closed. Fuck, Sarah,” he said angrily, “we're trapped!”

“For a little while. I don't know why you can't calm down. Besides, it looks like we have a lot to clean up. No one in New York is going to expect your call. They know more about what's happening here than we do. Believe me, Seth, no one is going to miss your call.”

“You don't understand,” he muttered darkly, and then ran up the stairs and slammed their bedroom door. Sarah left the children with Parmani, who had watched the scene with interest, and then followed her husband upstairs. He was pacing around their bedroom, looking like a lion in a cage. A very angry lion, who looked like he was about to eat someone, and for lack of any other victim, he seemed as though he was going to attack her.

“I'm sorry, baby,” she said gently. “I know you're in the middle of a deal. But you can't control natural disasters. There isn't anything we can do about it. The deal will hold for a few days.”

“No, it won't.” He spat the words angrily at her. “Some deals don't hold. This is one of them. All I need is a fucking phone.” She would have produced one for him if she could, but she couldn't. She was just grateful that their children were safe. His obsession with continuing to do business, under the circumstances, seemed more than extreme to her. She realized at the same time that it was why he was such a huge success. Seth never stopped. He was on his cell phone night and day, making deals. Without it now, he felt utterly and totally impotent, and trapped, as though someone had severed his vocal cords and tied his hands. He was nailed to the floor in a dead city, with no possible communication with the outside world. She could see that he viewed it as a major crisis, and she wished she could convince him to calm down.

“What can I do for you, Seth?” she asked, sitting down on the bed, and patting the spot next to her. She was thinking about a massage, a bath, a tranquilizer, a back or neck rub, or holding him in her arms, or lying beside him on the bed.

“What can you do for me? Are you kidding? Is that a joke?” He was almost shouting in their beautifully decorated bedroom. The sun was up now, and the soft yellows and sky blues she had done it in looked exquisite in the early morning light. Seth was oblivious to the room, as he stared angrily at her.

“I mean it,” she said calmly. “I'll do whatever I can.” He stared at her as though she were insane.

“Sarah, you have no idea what's going on. None. No concept.”

“Try me. We went to business school together. I'm not a moron, you know.”

“No, I am,” he said, sitting down on the bed and running a hand through his hair. He couldn't even look at her. “I have to transfer sixty million dollars out of our fund accounts by noon today.” His voice sounded dead as he said it, and Sarah looked impressed.

“You're making an investment that size? What are you buying? Commodities? Sounds like risky stuff in quantities like that.” Admittedly, buying commodities was not only high risk but equally high profit if you did it right. She knew Seth was a genius with the investments he made.

“I'm not buying, Sarah,” he said, glancing at her, and then away again. “I'm covering my ass. That's all I'm doing, and if I can't, I'm fucked … we're fucked … everything we own will be gone …I could even go to jail.” He was staring at the floor beneath his feet as he spoke.

“What are you talking about?” Sarah looked panicked. He was kidding obviously, but the look on his face said he wasn't.

“We had auditors in this week, to check on our new fund. It was an investors’ audit to make sure we have as much in the fund as we claimed. We will eventually, of course, there's no question of it. I've done it before. Sully Markham has covered me for audits like that before. And eventually we make our money and put it in the account. But sometimes in the beginning, when we don't have it, Sully helps me pad things a little when the investors do an audit.” Sarah stared at him, stunned.

“A little? You call sixty million dollars’ worth of padding a ‘little'? Jesus, Seth, what were you thinking of? You could have gotten caught, or not been able to make the money up.” And then, as she said it, she realized that that was what was happening. He was there now.

“I have to get the money, or Sully will get caught in New York. He has to have the money back in his accounts today. The banks are closed. I don't have a fucking cell phone to use, I can't even call Sully to tell him to cover it somehow.”

“He must be able to figure that much out. With the whole city down, he must know you can't do it.” Sarah looked pale as they talked. It had never even remotely occurred to her that Seth was dishonest. And sixty million was no small slip. It was major. It was criminal fraud on the grandest scale. She had never for a moment thought that Seth would be corrupted by greed into doing a thing like that. It put everything between them in question, in fact their whole life, and more importantly, who he was.

“I was supposed to do it yesterday,” Seth said grimly. “I promised Sully I would, by close of business. But the auditors stayed till almost six o'clock. That's why I got to the Ritz late. I knew he had till two o'clock today, and I had till eleven, so I figured I could take care of it this morning. I was worried about it, but I didn't panic. Now I'm panicked. We are utterly, totally, and completely screwed. He has an audit that starts Monday. He has to put it off. The banks here won't be open by then. And I can't even goddamn call him to warn him.” Seth looked as though he was about to cry as Sarah stared at him in shock and disbelief.

“He must have checked by now and seen you didn't make the transfer,” she said, feeling slightly dizzy. She felt as though she were on a roller-coaster ride, barely able to hang on, without a seatbelt. She couldn't even imagine what Seth felt. He was risking prison. And if so, what would happen to them?

“Yeah, so he knows I didn't make the transfer. And then what? With the goddamn earthquake shutting the whole city down, I can't get the money back to him now. He's going to have a sixty million shortfall when his auditors show up on Monday morning, and I can't do anything about it.” He and Sully Markham were both guilty of every kind of fraud and theft, crossing state lines. Sarah knew, as Seth had when he did it, that it was a federal offense, and about as bad as it could get. It didn't even bear thinking. She felt as though the room were spinning as she looked at him.

“What are you going to do, Seth?” Sarah said in barely more than a whisper. She fully understood the implications of what he'd done. What she couldn't understand was why he'd done it, or when he'd become a criminal. How could this be happening to them?

“I don't know,” he said honestly, and then looked her in the eye. He looked terrified, and so was she. “I may go down on this one, Sarah. I've done this kind of thing before. And I've helped Sully out too. We're old friends. We just never got caught before, and I was always able to clean it up at my end. This time I'm up shit creek.”

“Oh, my God,” Sarah said softly. “What happens if they prosecute you?”

“I don't know. This one's going to be hard to cover. I don't think Sully can postpone the audit anyway. The timing of it is at the discretion of his investors, and they don't like giving anyone time to do fancy footwork or cook the books. And we sure cooked them. We fucking fried them. I don't know if he tried to postpone his audit once he saw we had an earthquake and I didn't transfer the funds back to him. Sixty million is a little tough to slip under the rug. And it's a hole they'll notice. Worse yet, the trail leads directly to my door. Unless Sully pulls off a miracle at his end before Monday, we're totally fucked.

“If the auditors figure it out, the SEC will be after me in about five minutes. And I'm a sitting duck waiting for it to happen here, but I can't run away from it now. If it happens, it happens. We'll have to get a terrific lawyer and see if we can make a deal with the federal prosecutor, if it comes to that. Other than that, I'd have to run away to Brazil, and I'm not doing that to you. So I guess we sit here, waiting for the other shoe to drop, after the dust settles from the earthquake. I tried my BlackBerry a little while ago, and it's as dead as a doornail. We just have to wait and see what happens … I'm sorry, Sarah,” he added. He didn't know what else to say to her, and there were tears in her eyes when she looked at him. She had never, ever suspected him of being dishonest, and now she felt as though a wrecking ball had hit her.

“How could you do something like that?” she asked, with tears rolling down her cheeks. She hadn't moved. She just sat staring at him, unable to believe what he had said. But it was obvious that it was true. Her life had instantly become a horror movie.

“I figured we'd never get caught,” he said, shrugging. It seemed incredible to him too, but for different reasons than what was upsetting Sarah. Seth didn't get it. He had no idea how betrayed Sarah felt by his confession to her.

“Even if you didn't get caught, how could you do something so dishonest? You broke every imaginable law, misrepresenting your assets to your investors. What if you'd lost all their money?”

“I figured I could cover it. I always did. And what are you complaining about? Look how fast I built my business. How do you think you got all this?” He waved his arms grandly around their bedroom, and she realized she didn't know him. She thought she did, but she didn't. It was as though the Seth she knew had vanished, and a criminal had taken his place.

“And what happens to all this if you go to prison?” She had never expected him to be this successful, but they had a big lifestyle now. The house in the city, another mammoth house in Tahoe, their plane, cars, assets, jewelry. He had built a house of cards that was about to fall down around them, and she couldn't help wondering how bad it could get. Seth was looking stressed and embarrassed, as well he should.

“I guess it goes down the tubes,” he said simply. “Even if I don't go to prison. I'm going to have to pay fines, and interest on the money I borrowed.”

“You didn't borrow it, you took it. It wasn't Sully's to give either. It belongs to his investors, not either of you. You made a deal with your buddy so you could lie to people. Nothing about that is okay, Seth.” She didn't want him to get caught, for his sake and theirs, but she knew that it was only justice if he did.

“Thanks for the lecture on morality,” he said bitterly. “In any case, to answer your question, all this would probably go, pretty quickly. They'd seize all our stuff, or some of it, the houses, the plane, and most of the rest. What they don't take, we can sell.” He sounded almost matter-of-fact about it. As soon as the earthquake hit the night before, he knew his goose was cooked.

“And how are we supposed to live?”

“Borrow money from friends, I guess. I don't know, Sarah. We'll have to figure that out when it happens. Right now, today, we're okay. Nobody is going to come after me in the middle of the aftermath of an earthquake. We'll just have to see what happens next week.” But Sarah could figure out as well as he could that their whole world was about to come down around their ears. There was no way to avoid it, after the fancy footwork he had done. He had put their life at risk in the worst possible way.

“Do you think they'd take our house away?” She suddenly looked panicked as she glanced around the room. This was home to her now. She didn't need a home as elaborate as this one, but this was where they lived, the house their children had been born into. The prospect of losing everything frightened her. From one minute to the next, they could be destitute, if Seth got arrested and prosecuted. She started to feel frantic about it. She'd have to find a job, a place to live. And where would Seth be? In prison? Only hours before, all she had wanted was to know that her children were alive and safe after the earthquake, that their house hadn't fallen down around them. And suddenly, with what Seth had revealed to her, everything else had, and all they had for sure now were their kids. She didn't even know who Seth was, after what he'd told her. She'd been married to a stranger for four years. He was the father of her children. She had trusted and loved him.

She started to cry harder as she thought about it, and Seth came to put his arms around her, but she wouldn't let him. She didn't know if he was ally or foe now. Without even thinking about her and the children, he had put them all in jeopardy. She was furious at him, and heartbroken over what he'd done.

“I love you, babe,” he said softly, and she looked at him in amazement.

“How can you say that? I love you too. But look what you did to us, all of us. Not just yourself and me, but the kids too. We may get thrown out into the street. And you could wind up in prison.” And almost certainly would.

“It may not be that bad,” he tried to reassure her, but she didn't believe him. She knew too much about SEC regulations herself to swallow the platitudes he was handing her. He was in extreme danger of being arrested and going to prison. And if he did, their life, as they knew it, would go with him. Their lives would never be the same again.

“What do we do now?” she asked miserably, blowing her nose on a tissue. She didn't look like the glamorous young socialite of the night before. She was like a very frightened woman. She was wearing a sweater over her evening gown, her feet were bare as she sat on their bed, crying. She looked like a teenager whose world had just come to an end. And it just had, thanks to her husband.

She took down her French twist and let her dark hair fall over her shoulders. She seemed half her age as she sat there, glaring at him, feeling betrayed as she never had before. Not for the money and lifestyle they would lose, although that mattered too. Everything had seemed so secure and that had been important to her, for their children. But more than that, he had robbed them of the happy life he had set up for them, the sense of safety she counted on. He had risked all of them, when he transferred the money Sully Markham lent him. He had shot her life out of a cannon right along with his.

“I guess all we can do is wait,” Seth said quietly, as he walked across the room and stared out the window. There were fires burning below them, and in the morning sunshine, he could see damage to houses near them. Trees were down, balconies were hanging at odd angles, chimneys had toppled off roofs. People were walking around outside with a dazed air. But none of them were as stunned as Sarah, crying in their bedroom. It was only a matter of time now before life as they knew it now would end, and maybe their marriage with it.

Chapter 4

Melanie stayed on the street outside the Ritz-Carlton for a long time that night, helping people, trying to get paramedics to them. She found two little girls who were lost and helped them find their mother. There wasn't much she could do. She didn't have the nursing skills of Sister Mary Magdalen, but there was a level of comfort and reassurance that she could give to others. One of her band members followed her around for a while, and then finally went to join the others in the shelter. He knew she was a big girl and could take care of herself. No one in her entourage had stayed with her. She was still wearing the dress and platform shoes she had worn onstage, and Everett Carson's rented tuxedo jacket over it, which by then was filthy, streaked with dust and the blood of people she'd assisted. But it felt good to her to be out there. For the first time in a long time, despite the plaster dust in the air, she felt like she could breathe.

She sat on the back of the fire truck, eating a doughnut and drinking a cup of coffee, talking to the firemen about what had happened that night. And they were shocked and pleased to be having coffee with Melanie Free.

“So what's it like to be Melanie Free?” one of the younger firemen asked her. He had been born in San Francisco and grown up in the Mission. His father was a cop, as were two of his brothers, and two more were firemen like him. His sisters had all gotten married right out of high school. Melanie Free was as far from his life as anyone could get, although watching her sip coffee and eat the doughnut, she looked just like everyone else to him.

“It's fun sometimes,” she admitted. “And sometimes it sucks. It's a lot of work and a lot of pressure, especially when we play concerts. And the press are a huge pain in the ass.” They all laughed at her comment as she reached for another doughnut. The fireman who had asked her the question was twenty-two years old and had three kids. He thought her life sounded more interesting than his, although he loved his wife and kids. “What about you?” she asked him. “Do you like what you do?”

“Yeah. Most of the time. Especially on a night like this. You really have the feeling you're making a difference, and doing some good. It beats having beer bottles thrown at you, or having someone take potshots at you, when you show up in the Bay View to put out a fire they started themselves. But it's not always like that. Most of the time, I like being a firefighter.”

“Firemen are cute,” Melanie commented, and then giggled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had two doughnuts. Her mother would have killed her. Unlike her mother, Melanie was permanently on a diet, at her mother's insistence. It was one of the small prices she paid for fame. She looked less than her nineteen years as she sat on the bottom step of the fire truck, chatting with the men.

“You're pretty cute yourself,” one of the older firefighters commented as he walked by her. He had just spent four hours getting people out of an elevator where they'd been trapped. One woman had fainted, the others had been okay. It had been a long night for everyone. Melanie waved as the two little girls she'd found walked past her with their mother on the way to the shelter. Their mother looked stunned as she realized who Melanie was. Even with her long blond hair uncombed and tangled, and dirt on her face, it was easy to recognize the star.

“Do you get tired of people recognizing you?” one of the other firemen asked her.

“Yeah, a lot. My boyfriend hates it. He punched a photographer in the face, and wound up in jail. It really gets on his nerves.”

“Sounds like it.” The firefighter smiled and went back to work. The remaining ones told her she should go to the shelter then. It was safer for her there. She had been helping hotel guests and random strangers all night, but the Office of Emergency Services wanted people in shelters. There was falling debris everywhere, pieces of windows along with signs and chunks of concrete off buildings. It really wasn't safe for her outside. Not to mention the live wires that were a constant danger.

The youngest of the firefighters offered to walk her the two blocks to the shelter, and she reluctantly accepted. It was seven in the morning, and she knew her mother would be worried sick by then, and would probably be having a fit about where she was. Melanie talked easily with the young fireman on the way to the large church auditorium where people were being sent. As it turned out, the whole building was full to the rafters, and Red Cross volunteers and church members were serving breakfast. When she saw the size of the crowd, Melanie couldn't imagine how she'd find her mother. She left the fireman at the door, thanked him for providing her an escort, and threaded her way through the crowd looking for someone she knew. It was a massive group of people talking, crying, laughing, some looking worried, and hundreds of people sitting on the floor.

She finally found her mother sitting next to Ashley and Pam, Melanie's assistant. They had been worried about Melanie for hours. Janet gave a shriek when she saw her and threw her arms around her daughter. She nearly crushed Melanie in her embrace, and then scolded her loudly for disappearing for the entire night.

“For chrissake, Mel, I thought you were dead by now, electrocuted, or hit on the head by a chunk of the building falling off the hotel.”

“No, I was just helping out,” Melanie said softly. Her voice always shrank to next to nothing when she was anywhere near her mother. And she noticed that Ashley was looking very pale. The poor thing was scared to death, and had been completely traumatized by the earthquake. She had sat huddled next to Jake all night, while he ignored her, and slept off everything he'd been drinking and smoking before the quake.

He opened an eye and glanced at Melanie when he heard her mother shriek. He looked massively hung over, as he looked quizzically at Melanie. He didn't even remember her performance and wasn't sure he'd been there, although he was sure he remembered the rock-and-rolling of the quake.

“Nice jacket,” he commented as he squinted at her in the filthy tuxedo jacket. “Where you been all night?” He looked more interested than concerned.

“Busy,” she said, but didn't lean over to kiss him. He was looking very rough. He had been lying on the floor, sound asleep, with his jacket rolled up under his head like a pillow. Most of their roadies were sleeping near them, as well as the guys in the band.

“Weren't you scared to be out there?” Ashley asked her, looking terrified, as Melanie shook her head.

“No. A lot of people needed help. Lost kids, people who needed paramedics. A lot of people got cut by falling glass. I did whatever I could.”

“You're not a nurse, for chrissake,” her mother snapped at her. “You're a Grammy winner. Grammy winners don't run around wiping people's noses.” Janet glared at her. It wasn't the image she wanted for her daughter.

“Why not, Mom? What's wrong with helping people? There were a lot of scared people out there who needed someone to do whatever they could.”

“Let someone else do it,” her mother said as she lay down next to Jake. “Christ, I wonder how long we're going to be stuck here. They said the airport is closed because of damage to the tower. I hope to hell they still send us home on the private plane.” Those things mattered a lot to her. She was very big on taking full advantage of the perks they were offered. She cared a lot more about all that than Melanie did. Melanie would have been just as happy on a Greyhound bus.

“Who cares, Mom? Maybe we can rent a car and drive home. Just so we get back eventually. I don't have another gig till next week.”

“Well, I'm not going to lie around here on the floor of a church auditorium for the next week. My back is killing me. They've got to put us up somewhere decent.”

“All the hotels are closed, Mom. Their generators aren't working, they're dangerous, their refrigerators are out of commission.” Melanie knew that from the firefighters she'd talked to. “At least we're safe here.”

“I want to go back to L.A.,” her mother complained. She told Pam to keep asking when the airport would open, and Pam promised that she would. She admired Melanie for helping people all night. She had spent the night bringing Janet blankets, cigarettes, and coffee that was being prepared on butane stoves in the mess hall. And Ashley was so panicked she'd thrown up twice. Jake was out like a light, drunk out of his mind. It had been a terrible night, but at least they were all alive.

Melanie's hairdresser and manager had both been at the front of the auditorium serving sandwiches and cookies, and handing out bottles of water. The food ran out quickly, from the church's enormous kitchen where they usually fed the homeless. After that they were handing people tins of turkey, deviled ham, and beef jerky. It wasn't going to be long before there was nothing left. Melanie didn't care, she wasn't hungry anyway.

At noon, they were told that they were being taken to a shelter in the Presidio. Buses would arrive for them, and they would leave the church in shifts. They were given blankets, sleeping bags, and personal supplies like toothbrushes and toothpaste, which they carried with their own belongings, since they wouldn't be coming back to the church.

Melanie and her entourage didn't make it onto a bus till three o'clock that afternoon. She had managed to sleep for a couple of hours, and was feeling fine when she helped her mother roll up her blankets, and shook Jake awake.

“Come on, Jakey, we're going,” she said, wondering just what drugs he'd taken the night before. He'd been dead to the world all day and still looked hung over. He was a handsome guy, but as he got up and looked around, he was looking very raw.

“Jesus, I hate this movie. This looks like the set for one of those disaster epics, and I feel like a dress extra. I keep waiting for someone to paint blood on my face and put a bandage on my head.”

“You'd look great even in blood and a bandage,” Melanie reassured him, tying her own hair back in a braid.

Her mother complained all the way to the bus, and said the way they were being treated was disgusting, didn't anyone know who they were. Melanie assured her it didn't make any difference, and no one cared. They were just a bunch of people who had survived the earthquake, and no different from anyone else.

“You shut your mouth, girl,” her mother scolded. “That's no way for a star to talk.”

“I'm not a star here, Mom. No one gives a damn if I can sing. They're tired, hungry, and scared, and everyone wants to go home, just like we do. We're no different.”

“You tell her, Mellie,” one of the guys in her band said, as they boarded the bus, and then two teenage girls recognized her and screamed. She signed autographs for both of them, which seemed ridiculous to her. She felt like anything but a star, half dressed and filthy, in a man's tuxedo jacket that had seen better days and the torn net and sequin dress she'd worn onstage.

“Sing something for us,” the girls pleaded with her, and Melanie laughed at them. She told them there was no way she would sing. They were young and silly and about fourteen. They lived near the church with their families and were on the bus with them. They said part of their apartment building had fallen down, and they'd been rescued by the police, but no one was hurt, except an old lady on the top floor who broke her leg. They had a lot of tales to tell.

They arrived at the Presidio twenty minutes later, and were escorted into old military hangars where the Red Cross had set up cots for them and a mess hall. A field hospital had been organized in one of the hangars, staffed by volunteer medical personnel, National Guard paramedics, doctors and nurses, an assortment of volunteers from local churches, and Red Cross volunteers.

“Maybe they can airlift us out of here by helicopter,” Janet said as she sat down on the cot, utterly horrified by the accommodations. Jake and Ashley went off to get something to eat, and Pam offered to bring back food for Janet, since she said she was too tired and traumatized to move. She wasn't old enough to be that helpless, but she saw no reason to wait in line for hours for disgusting food. The band and the roadies were outside smoking, and after everyone else left, Melanie slipped quietly through the crowd to the desk at the front of the room. She spoke to the woman in charge in a soft voice. The woman at the desk was a National Guard reserve sergeant in camouflage fatigues and combat boots. She glanced at Melanie in surprise, and recognized her immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, smiling warmly. She didn't say Melanie's name. She didn't need to. They both knew who she was.

“I played a benefit here last night,” Melanie said quietly. She smiled broadly at the woman in camouflage fatigues. “I got stuck here like everyone else.”

“What can I do for you?” She was excited to be meeting Melanie in person.

“I wanted to ask what I can do to help.” She figured it was better than sitting on her cot, listening to her mother complain. “Do you need volunteers?”

“I know there's a bunch of them in the mess hall, cooking and serving food. The field hospital is just down the road, and I'm not sure what they need. I can put you to work at the desk, if you want. But you may get mobbed if people recognize you.” Melanie nodded. She had thought of it herself.

“I'll try the hospital first.” It sounded better to her.

“Sounds good. Check in with me later if you don't find anything there. It's been a zoo here since the buses started coming in. We're expecting another fifty thousand people in the Presidio tonight. They're busing them in from all over the city.”

“Thanks,” Melanie said, as she went back to find her mother. Janet was lying on her cot, eating a Popsicle that Pam had brought her, with a bag of cookies in her other hand.

“Where've you been?” she asked, glancing at her daughter.

“Checking things out,” Melanie said vaguely. “I'll be back in a while,” she told her mother. She walked away and Pam followed her. She told her assistant that she was going to the field hospital to volunteer.

“Are you sure?” Pam asked, looking worried.

“Yes, I am. I don't want to sit around here doing nothing, listening to my mom bitch. I might as well be useful.”

“I hear they're pretty well staffed with National Guard and Red Cross volunteers.”

“Maybe so. I figured at the hospital, they might need more help. There's nothing much to do here except hand out water and serve food. I'll come back in a while, or if I don't, you can find me there. The field hospital is just up the road.” Pam nodded and went back to Janet, who said she had a headache and wanted aspirin and water. They were giving that out at the mess hall. A lot of people had headaches from the dust, stress, and trauma. Pam had one herself, not only from the night, but from Janet's demands as well.

Melanie left the building quietly, unnoticed, her head down, her hands in the tuxedo pockets. She was surprised to find a coin there. She hadn't noticed it before. She pulled it out as she walked along. It had a Roman numeral one on it, I, with the letters AA, and on the flip side, the Serenity Prayer. She assumed it belonged to Everett Carson, the photographer who had lent her the jacket. She put it back, wishing she had different shoes on. Walking along the cement road with pebbles on it was a challenge in the platform shoes she'd worn onstage the night before. They made her feel unsteady.

She was at the field hospital in less than five minutes, and there was a hum of activity there. They were using a generator to light the hall, and had an amazing amount of equipment that had been stored in the Presidio or sent over by hospitals nearby. It looked like a very professional operation, full of white coats, military uniforms, and Red Cross armbands. For a minute, Melanie felt way out of her league, and foolish for wanting to volunteer.

They had a desk at the entrance to check people in, and as she had in the hangar they'd been assigned to, she asked the soldier at the desk if they needed help.

“Hell, yes.” He grinned broadly at her. He had an accent straight out of the Deep South and teeth that looked like piano keys as he smiled. She was relieved to see that he didn't recognize her, and he went to ask someone else about where they needed volunteers. He was back in a minute.

“How do you feel about working with the homeless? They've been busing them in all day.” So far, many of their injuries had been among people who lived on the street.

“Works for me.” She smiled back at him.

“A lot of them got hurt sleeping in doorways. We've been sewing them up for hours. Along with everyone else.” Their homeless patients were more challenging, as they'd been in bad shape before the earthquake hit, and many of them were mentally ill and hard to manage. Melanie wasn't daunted by what he said. He didn't tell her that one of them had lost a leg when a window sliced through it, but he had been taken by ambulance somewhere else. Most of what they were dealing with at the field hospital were minor injuries, but there were a lot of them, thousands in fact.

Two Red Cross volunteers were in charge of checking people in. There were also social workers on hand to see if they could help in other ways. They were offering to help sign them up for city homeless programs, or permanent shelters if they qualified, and even if they did, some had no interest in signing up. They were at the Presidio because they had nowhere else to go, just like everyone else. And everyone at the Presidio got a bed and free food. There was an entire hall set up for showers.

“Can we give you something else to wear?” One of the volunteers in charge smiled at her. “That must have been quite a dress. You may give someone a heart attack when the jacket opens.” She was smiling broadly, and Melanie laughed and looked down at her voluptuous chest, which was exploding through both the jacket and the remains of her gown. She had forgotten all about it.

“That would be great. If you've got any, I could use some shoes too. These are killing me, and they're hard to walk in.”

“I can see why,” the volunteer commented. “We have a ton of flipflops at the back of the hangar. Someone delivered them to us for all the people who walked out of their houses barefoot. We've been taking glass out of people's feet all day.” More than half the people who'd arrived had come without shoes on. Melanie was grateful at the prospect of flip-flops, and someone handed her a pair of camouflage pants and a T-shirt to go with them. The T-shirt said “Harvey's Bail Bonds,” and the pants were too big. She found a piece of rope and tied it around her, to hold up the pants. She put the flip-flops on and threw away her shoes and dress, and the tuxedo jacket. She didn't think she'd see Everett again, and she was sorry to toss his jacket, but it was a mess anyway, covered with plaster dust and dirt, and at the last minute she remembered the AA coin and slipped it into the pocket of her new army pants. It felt like a lucky token for her now, and if she ever saw him again, she could give it back to him in lieu of the jacket.

Five minutes later, she was carrying a clipboard, signing people in, talking to men who had lived on the streets for years and reeked of booze, women who were heroin addicts and had no teeth, children who had gotten hurt and were there with their parents from the Marina and Pacific Heights. Young couples, old people, people who obviously had means, and others who were indigent. People of all races, ages, and sizes. It was a typical cross-section of the city and real life. Some were still wandering around in a state of shock and said their houses had fallen down, others who had broken or sprained ankles and legs were hobbling around. She saw a number of people with broken shoulders and arms. Melanie didn't stop for hours, not even to eat or sit down. She had never been as happy in her life or worked as hard. It was nearly midnight before things started to slow down, and she had been there for eight hours by then, without a break, and she didn't mind at all.

“Hey, blondie!” an old man shouted at her, and she stopped to hand him his cane and smiled at him. “What's a pretty girl like you doing here? You in the army?”

“Nope. I just borrowed the pants. What can I do for you, sir?”

“I need someone to help me to the bathroom. Can you find me a guy?”

“Sure.” She got one of the National Guard reserves and brought him to the man with the cane, and they set off toward the portable latrines set up in the rear. A moment later, she sat down for the first time all night, and gratefully accepted a bottle of water from a Red Cross volunteer handing them out.

“Thanks.” Melanie smiled gratefully. She was dying of thirst, but hadn't had time to do anything about it for hours. She hadn't eaten since noon, and wasn't even hungry. She was too tired. She was savoring the water before going back to work, when a tiny woman with red hair whizzed past her, in jeans, a sweatshirt, and pink Converse hightops. It was warm in the field hospital, and the sweatshirt was bright pink and said, “Jesus is coming. Look busy.” The woman wearing it had brilliant blue eyes that looked at Melanie, and then she broke into a broad smile.

“I loved your performance last night,” the woman in the pink sweatshirt whispered.

“You did? Were you there?” Obviously she had been if she said it. Melanie was touched. It seemed a million years since that performance and the earthquake that had struck before she finished. “Thank you. It was quite a night, wasn't it? Did you get out okay?” The redheaded woman looked unhurt, and she was carrying a tray of bandages, tape, and a pair of medical scissors. “Are you with the Red Cross?”

“No, I'm a nurse.” She looked more like a kid at camp in her pink shirt and high-top sneakers. She was also wearing a cross around her neck, and Melanie smiled at what her sweatshirt said. Her blue eyes looked electric, and she certainly seemed busy. “Are you Red Cross?” she inquired. She could use some help. She'd been sewing up minor cuts for hours and sending people back to other halls to sleep. They were trying to keep the hordes in the hospital hangar moving in and out at a rapid clip, and doing triage as best they could. The worst cases were being shipped out to hospitals with life support. But the field hospital was keeping the minor injuries from winding up in hospital emergency rooms, and leaving them free to deal with the seriously injured. So far the system was working.

“No, I was just here, so I thought I'd help out,” Melanie explained.

“Good girl. How are you about watching people get sewn up? Do you faint at the sight of blood?”

“Not yet,” Melanie said. She'd seen a lot of it since the night before, and so far hadn't been squeamish, although her friend Ashley was, and Jake, and her mother. But Melanie was fine.

“Good. You can come and help me then.” She led Melanie to the back of the hangar, where she had set up a small area for herself with a makeshift exam table and sterile supplies. People were in line, waiting to get sewn up, and within minutes she had Melanie wash her hands with surgical solution, and had her handing her supplies as she did careful stitches on her patients. Most of the injuries were fairly minor, with a few rare exceptions. And the little woman with the red hair never stopped. There was a lull around two A.M., when they both sat down for a bottle of water, and talked for a minute.

“I know your name,” the little elf with the red hair said with a grin. “I forgot to tell you mine. I'm Maggie. Sister Maggie,” she added.

“Sister? You're a nun?” Melanie looked astonished. It had never occurred to her that this little vision in pink with the flame-colored hair could be a nun. There was nothing to suggest it, except maybe the cross around her neck, but anyone could have worn that. “You sure don't look like a nun,” Melanie laughed. She had gone to Catholic school as a kid, and thought some of the nuns were cool, the young ones anyway. They all agreed that the old ones were mean, but she didn't say that to Maggie. There was nothing mean about her, she was all sunlight, smiles, and fun, and hard, hard work. Melanie thought she had a lovely way with people.

“I do too look like a nun,” Maggie insisted. “This is what nuns look like these days.”

“Not when I was in school,” Melanie said. “I love your sweatshirt.”

“Some kids I know gave it to me. I'm not sure the bishop would approve, but it makes people laugh. I figured today was a good time to wear it. People need some smiles right now. It sounds like there's been a huge amount of damage to the city, and a lot of homes lost, mostly to fire. Where do you live, Melanie?” Sister Maggie asked with interest as they both finished their water and got up.

“In L.A. With my mother.”

“That's nice.” Maggie approved. “With your success, you could be out on your own, or getting into a lot of trouble. Do you have a boyfriend?” Melanie smiled in answer and nodded.

“Yes, I do. He's here too. He's probably asleep in the hall they assigned us to. I brought a friend up for the performance, and my mom is here, some other people who work for me, and the guys in my band of course.”

“That sounds like quite a group. Is your boyfriend nice to you?” The bright blue eyes searched hers, and Melanie hesitated before she answered. Sister Maggie was interested in Melanie, she seemed like such a kind, bright girl, and there was nothing about her to suggest that she was famous. Melanie was unpretentious and unassuming to the point of being humble. Maggie loved that about her. She acted like any girl her age and not a star.

“Sometimes my boyfriend's nice to me,” Melanie answered her question. “He has his own issues. They get in the way at times.” Maggie read between the lines and figured he probably drank too much or used drugs. What surprised her more was that Melanie looked like she didn't, and had come to work in the hospital on her own, genuinely wanted to help and was truly useful, and sensible about what she did. She was totally down to earth.

“That's too bad,” Maggie commented about Jake, and then told Melanie she had worked long enough. She had been working for nearly eleven hours after almost no sleep the night before. She told her to go back to her hall and get some rest, or she'd be useless the next day. Maggie was going to sleep on a cot in an area of the hospital they'd set up for volunteers and medical personnel. They were planning to open a separate building to house them, but hadn't yet.

“Should I come back tomorrow?” Melanie asked hopefully. She had loved the time she'd spent there, and she felt genuinely useful, which made the time they had to spend waiting to go home more interesting and pass more quickly.

“Come on over, as soon as you wake up. You can have breakfast in the mess hall. I'll be here. You can come in whenever you want,” Sister Maggie said kindly.

“Thank you,” Melanie said politely, still surprised that she was a nun. “See you tomorrow, Sister.”

“Goodnight, Melanie,” Maggie smiled warmly. “Thank you for your help.” Melanie waved as she left, and Maggie watched her go. She was such a pretty girl, and Maggie wasn't sure why, but she had the feeling she was looking for something, that some important element was missing in her life. It was hard to believe with looks and a voice like that, and the success she had. But whatever she was looking for, Maggie hoped she'd find it.

Maggie went to check out then, and get some sleep herself, and as Melanie walked back to the hall where she had left the others, she was smiling. She had loved working with Maggie. She still couldn't believe the lively woman was a nun. Melanie couldn't help wishing she had a mother like that, full of compassion, warmth, and wisdom, instead of the one she had, who had always pushed her, and lived vicariously through her daughter. Melanie was well aware that her mother wanted to be a star herself, and thought she was because her daughter had made it and achieved stardom. It was a heavy burden for her sometimes, being her mother's dream, instead of having her own. Melanie wasn't even sure what her dreams were. All she knew was that for a few hours, more than she ever had on stage, she felt as though she'd found her dream that night on the heels of the San Francisco earthquake.

Chapter 5

Melanie was back at the field hospital by nine o'clock the next morning. She would have been there earlier, but she had stopped to listen to the announcement being made over the PA system in the main quad. Hundreds of people had stood around to hear about conditions throughout the city. The death toll was over a thousand by then, and they said it would be at least a week, if not more, before they had electricity again. They listed the areas that had been the most severely damaged, and they said that they doubted that cell phone service would return before at least ten more days. They said emergency supplies were being flown in from all over the country. The president had come in to see the ravaged city the day before, and then had flown back to Washington, promising federal aid, and commending San Franciscans for their courage and compassion toward each other. They told the temporary residents of the Presidio that a special shelter had been set up by the ASPCA where lost pets were being brought, in the hope of bringing pets and their owners together again. The announcement also said that translators were available in both Mandarin and Spanish, and the person making the announcement thanked everyone for their cooperation in obeying the rules of the temporary camp. They said over eighty thousand people were now living in the Presidio, and two more mess halls were opening that day. They promised to keep everyone informed of further developments as they occurred, and wished everyone a pleasant day.

When Melanie found Maggie at the field hospital, the little nun was complaining that the president had toured the Presidio by helicopter but hadn't visited the field hospital. The mayor had come through briefly the day before, and the governor was due to make a tour of the Presidio that afternoon. Plenty of press had been there as well. They were becoming a model city within one that had been badly shattered by the earthquake nearly two days before. Considering how hard they had been hit, the local authorities were impressed by how well organized they all were, and what good sports San Franciscans were. There was an atmosphere of kindness and compassion that prevailed everywhere in the camp, a sense of camaraderie like that among soldiers in a war zone.

“You're up bright and early,” Sister Maggie commented, when Melanie turned up. She looked young and beautiful, and clean, although she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. She had no others, but she had gotten up at seven to line up at the shower stalls. It had felt wonderful to wash her hair and take a hot shower. And she'd had oatmeal and dry toast in the mess hall.

Fortunately the generators were keeping the food cold. The medical personnel were worried about food poisoning and dysentery if they didn't. But so far their biggest problems were injuries, not diseases, although eventually that could become a problem too. “Did you sleep last night?” Maggie asked her. Sleeplessness was one of the key symptoms of trauma, and many of the people they were seeing said they hadn't slept in two days. A fleet of psychiatrists had volunteered to deal with trauma victims, and were set up in a separate hall. Maggie had sent many people over to see them, particularly the elderly and the very young, who were frightened and badly shaken.

She set Melanie to work doing intakes then, writing down the details, symptoms, and data about patients. There was no charge for what they were doing, no billing system, and all the administration and paperwork was being done by volunteers. Melanie was glad she was there. The night of the earthquake had been terrifying, but for the first time in her life, she felt as though she was doing something important instead of just hanging out backstage in theaters, recording studios, and singing. At least here, she was doing people some good. And Maggie was very pleased with her work.

Several other nuns and priests were also working at the Presidio, from a variety of orders and local churches. There were ministers who walked around, talking to people, and had set up offices where people could come for counseling. Clergy members of all denominations were visiting the injured and sick. Very few of them were identified by Roman collars or habits, or religious paraphernalia of any kind. They said who they were and readily talked to people as they wandered around. Some of them were even serving food in the mess hall. Maggie knew a lot of the priests and nuns. She seemed to know everyone. Melanie commented on it later that morning, when they took a break, and Maggie laughed.

“I've been around for a long time.”

“Do you like being a nun?” Melanie was curious about her. She thought she was the most interesting woman she'd ever met. In her nearly twenty years on earth, she had never met anyone with as much kindness, wisdom, depth, and compassion. She lived her beliefs and exemplified them, instead of talking them. And she had a gentleness and poise about her that seemed to touch everyone she met. One of the other workers at the field hospital said that Maggie had an amazing grace about her, and the expression made Melanie smile. She had always loved the hymn by that name and sang it often. From now on, she knew it would remind her of Maggie. It had been on the first CD Melanie ever made, and allowed her to really use her voice.

“I love being a nun,” Maggie answered. “I always have. I've never regretted it for a minute. It suits me perfectly,” she said, looking happy. “I love being married to God, the bride of Christ,” she added, which impressed her young friend. Melanie noticed then the thin white gold wedding band she wore, which Maggie said she had been given when she took her final vows ten years before. It had been a long wait for that ring, she said, and it symbolized the life and work she loved so much and was so proud of.

“It must be hard to be a nun,” Melanie commented with deep respect.

“It's hard to be anything in this life,” Maggie said wisely. “What you do isn't easy either.”

“Yes, it is,” Melanie disagreed. “It is for me. The singing is easy and what I love. That's why I do it. But concert tours are hard sometimes, because you travel a lot, and you have to work every day. We used to go on the road in a big bus, and we drove all day, and performed all night, with rehearsals as soon as we arrived. It's a lot easier now that we fly.” The good times had finally come with her enormous success.

“Does your mother always travel with you?” Maggie asked, curious about her life. She had said that her mother and several other people were with her in San Francisco. Maggie knew it was in the nature of her work to travel with an entourage, but she thought that the addition of her mother was unusual, even for a girl her age. She was nearly twenty.

“Yes, she does. She runs my life,” Melanie said with a sigh. “My mom always wanted to be a singer when she was young. She was a showgirl in Vegas, and she's pretty excited that things have gone well for me. A little too excited sometimes.” Melanie smiled. “She's always pushed me hard to do my best.”

“That's not a bad thing,” Sister Maggie commented, “as long as she doesn't push too hard. What do you think?”

“I think sometimes it's too much,” Melanie said honestly. “I'd like to make my own decisions. My mom always thinks she knows best.”

“And does she?”

“I don't know. I think she makes the decisions she would have made for herself. I'm not always sure they're what I want for me. She nearly died when I won the Grammy.” Melanie smiled, and Maggie's eyes danced as she watched her.

“That must have been a big moment, the culmination of all your hard work. What an incredible honor.” She hardly knew the girl but was proud for her anyway.

“I gave it to my mother,” Melanie said softly. “I felt like she won it. I couldn't have done it without her.” But something about the way she said it made the wise nun wonder if that kind of stardom was what Melanie wanted for herself, or just to please her mother.

“It takes a lot of wisdom and courage to know what path we want to take, and what path we're taking to please others.” The way she said it made Melanie look pensive.

“Did your family want you to be a nun? Or were they upset?” Melanie's eyes were filled with questions.

“They were delighted. In my family, that was a big deal. They'd rather have their kids be priests or nuns than get married. Today, that sounds a little crazy. Twenty years ago, in Catholic families, parents always bragged about it. One of my brothers was a priest.”

“ ‘Was'?” Melanie questioned her, and Sister Maggie smiled.

“He left after ten years and got married. I thought it would kill my mother. My father was already dead by then, or it would have killed him. In my family, once you take your vows, you don't leave religious orders. To be honest, I was kind of disappointed in him myself. He's a great guy though, and I don't think he ever regretted it. He and his wife have six children, and they're very happy. So I guess that was his real vocation, not the Church.”

“Do you wish you had children?” Melanie asked wistfully. The life Maggie led seemed sad to her, far from her family, never married, working on the streets with strangers, and living in poverty all her life. But it seemed to suit Maggie to perfection. You could see it in her eyes. She was a happy, totally fulfilled woman, who was obviously content with her life.

“All the people I meet are my children. The ones I know on the streets and see year after year, the ones I help and get off the streets. And then there are special people like you, Melanie, who happen into my life and touch my heart. I'm so glad I met you.” She gave her a hug, as they put their conversation aside and went back to work, and Melanie returned the hug with obvious affection.

“I'm so happy I met you too. I want to be like you when I grow up,” she giggled.

“A nun? Oh, I don't think your mother would like that! There are no stars in the convent! It's supposed to be a life of humility and cheerful deprivation.”

“No, I mean helping people the way you do. I wish I could do something like that.”

“You can, if you want to. You don't have to be in a religious order to do it. All you have to do is roll your sleeves up and get to work. There are people in need everywhere around us, even among fortunate people. Money and success don't always make people happy.” It was a message for Melanie, and she knew it, and more importantly for her mother.

“I never have time to do volunteer work,” Melanie complained. “And my mother doesn't want me around people with diseases. She says if I get sick, I'll miss concert dates or tours.”

“Maybe one day you'll find time for both. Maybe when you're older.” And when her mother loosened her grip on her career, if she ever would. It sounded to Maggie as though Melanie's mother was living vicariously through her. She was living her dreams through her daughter. It was lucky for her Melanie was a star. The blue-eyed nun had a sixth sense for people, and she could sense that Melanie was her mother's hostage, and somewhere deep inside, even without knowing it, she was struggling to get free.

They got busy with Maggie's patients then. They saw an endless stream of injured people all day, most of them minor injuries that could be ministered to by a nurse and not a doctor. The others, in the triage system they were using at the field hospital, went to someone else. Melanie was a good little assistant, and Sister Maggie praised her often.

They took a lunch break together later that afternoon, and were sitting outside in the sunshine, eating turkey sandwiches that were surprisingly good. Some very decent cooks seemed to be volunteering for the cooking, and food was appearing from somewhere, donated in many cases by other cities, or even other states, being airlifted in, and often delivered by helicopter right on the Presidio grounds. Medical supplies, clothes, and bedding for the thousands of people living there now were airlifted in as well. It was like living in a war zone, and there were helicopters constantly whirring overhead, night and day. Many of the older people said it interfered with their sleep. The younger people didn't care and had gotten used to it. It was a symbol of the shocking experience they were living.

They had just finished their sandwiches, when Melanie noticed Everett walk by. Like so many others, he was still wearing the same black tux pants and white dress shirt he had had on the night the earthquake struck. He walked past them, without noticing them, with his camera around his neck, and his camera bag slung over his arm. Melanie called out to him, and he turned, and saw them with a look of surprise. He came over quickly, and sat down on the log where they were sitting.

“What are you two doing here? And together yet. How did that happen?”

“I'm working at the field hospital here,” Sister Maggie explained.

“And I'm her assistant. I volunteered when they moved us here from the church. I'm becoming a nurse,” Melanie beamed proudly.

“And a very fine one,” Maggie added. “What are you doing here, Everett? Taking pictures, or are you staying here too?” Maggie asked him with interest. She hadn't seen him since the morning after the quake, when he sauntered off to see what was happening in the city. She hadn't been home herself since then, if he had tried to find her, which she doubted.

“I may have to now. I've been staying at a shelter downtown, and they just had to close it. The building next to it is starting to lean badly, so they cleared us out, and suggested we come here. I thought I was going to be out of here by now, but there's no way. Nothing is leaving San Francisco, so we're all stuck here. There are worse fates,” he said to both women with a smile, “and I've gotten some great shots.” As he said it, he pointed his camera at both of them, and took a picture of the two women smiling in the sunshine. Both looked happy and relaxed, despite the circumstances they were in. But both were being productive and enjoying what they were doing. It showed on their faces and in their eyes. “I don't think anybody would believe this vision of Melanie Free, the world-famous superstar, sitting on a log in camouflage pants and flip-flops, working in a field hospital as a medical tech after an earthquake. This is going to be a historical shot.” And he had some great ones of Maggie from the first night. He could hardly wait to see them when he got back to L.A. And he was sure his editors would be thrilled with whatever shots he got out of the aftermath of the earthquake. And whatever they didn't use, he might be able to sell elsewhere. He might even win another prize. He knew instinctively that the material he had gotten had been great. The photos he had taken seemed historically important to him. This was a unique situation that hadn't happened in a hundred years, and maybe wouldn't for another hundred. He hoped not. But in spite of the enormous tremor, the city had withstood it surprisingly well, as had the people.

“What are you two up to now?” he inquired. “Going back to work, or taking some time off?” They had only been gone for half an hour when they saw him, and were about to go back.

“Back to work,” Maggie answered for them both. “What about you?”

“I thought I'd sign up for a cot. And maybe then I'll come in to see you. I might get some good shots of you at work, if your patients don't object.”

“You'll have to ask them,” Maggie said primly, always respectful of her patients, no matter who they were. And then Melanie suddenly remembered his jacket.

“I'm so sorry. It was a total mess, and I didn't think I'd see you again. I threw it away.”

Everett laughed at the apologetic look on her face. “Don't worry. It was rented. I'll tell them it was ripped off my back in the earthquake. They should give it to me without charge. I don't think they'd have wanted it back if I had returned it. Honestly, Melanie, it was no loss. Don't worry about it.” And then she remembered the coin as well, slipped her hand into her pants pocket, pulled it out, and handed it to him. It was his one-year sobriety chip, and he looked thrilled to have it back.

“Now that I do want back. It's my lucky coin!” He ran his fingers over it as though it were magic, and for him it was. He had missed going to meetings for the past two days, and having the chip back felt like a link to what had saved him more than a year before. He kissed it, and slipped it into the pocket of his pants, which were all that was left now of the rented suit. And the pants were too battered now to return too. He was going to throw them away when he got home. “Thank you for taking good care of my chip for me.” He missed his AA meetings to help cope with the stress, but he didn't want a drink. He was exhausted. It had been a very long and trying two days, and truly tragic for some.

Maggie and Melanie walked back to the field hospital then, and Everett went to sign up for a bed for that night. There were so many buildings in the Presidio to house people that there was no risk of their running out of room. It was an old military base that had been shut down years before, but all the structures were still intact. George Lucas had built his legendary studio there in the old hospital on the Presidio grounds.

“I'll catch up with you two later,” Everett promised. “I'll be back in a while.”

It was later that afternoon, in a brief lull, that Sarah Sloane showed up with both of her children and her Nepalese nanny. The baby had a fever and was coughing and holding one ear. She had brought her daughter with her too, because she said she didn't want to leave her at home. She didn't want to be away from them now for a minute, after the traumatic experience of Thursday night. If another quake hit, as everyone feared it might, she wanted to be with them. She had left Seth alone at home, in the same state of anguished desperation he had been in since Thursday night. It was only getting worse, and he knew there was no hope of banks opening or his being able to communicate with the outside world anytime soon, to cover what he'd done. His career, and maybe his life as it had been for several years, was over. And Sarah's too. In the meantime, she was worried about their baby. This was no time for him to get sick. She had gone to the emergency room of the hospital nearest them, but they were accepting only seriously injured people for treatment. They had referred her to the field hospital in the Presidio, so she had come in Parmani's car. Melanie had spotted her at the front desk, and told Maggie who she was. They approached Sarah together, and Maggie had the baby cooing and laughing in less than a minute, although he was still pulling at his ear. Sarah told her what was wrong. And he looked a little flushed.

“Let me find you a doctor,” Maggie promised, and disappeared, and a few minutes later she beckoned to Sarah, who had been talking to Melanie about the benefit and how fabulous her performance had been, and how shocking when the earthquake hit.

Melanie and Sarah, the little girl, and the nanny all followed Maggie to where the doctor was waiting to see them. As Sarah had feared, the baby had an ear infection. His fever had come down a little in the balmy May air, and the doctor said he had the beginnings of a red throat. He gave her an antibiotic that she said Oliver had taken before, and he gave Molly a lollipop and ruffled her hair. The doctor was very sweet with both of them, although he had been working since right after the earthquake on Thursday night, with almost no sleep. Everyone had been putting in an incredible number of hours, especially Maggie, and Melanie was right up there with her.

They were just leaving the cubicle where they'd seen the doctor, when Sarah saw Everett walk in. He looked as though he were trying to find someone, and Melanie and Maggie both waved at him. He came over in the familiar black lizard cowboy boots that were his prize possession. They had survived the rigors of the earthquake unharmed.

“What is this? A reunion of the benefit?” he teased Sarah. “That was quite a party you put on. A little dicey at the end of the evening, but up till then, I thought you did a terrific job.” He smiled at her and she thanked him, and as Maggie watched her, with her baby in her arms, she saw that Sarah looked upset. She had noticed it at first, and thought she was just worried about Oliver's fever and earache, but having been reassured, Maggie now wondered if it was something else. Her powers of observation were both accurate and acute.

Maggie suggested that the nanny hold the baby, and Molly stayed close beside her, while the nun asked Sarah to come and chat with her for a minute. They left Melanie and Everett talking animatedly, while Parmani kept track of the kids. She walked Sarah far enough away so the others wouldn't hear what they said.

“Are you all right?” Maggie asked her. “You look upset. Is there anything I can do to help?” She saw tears bulging in Sarah's eyes and was glad she had asked.

“No…I…really … I'm fine … well … actually …I have a problem, but there's nothing you can do.” She started to open up to her, and then knew she couldn't. It could be too dangerous for Seth if she did. She was still praying, unreasonably she knew, that no one would find out what he'd done. With sixty million dollars misdirected and illegally in his hands, it was impossible that his crime would go unnoticed, or unpunished. She felt sick every time she thought of it, and she looked it. “It's my husband …I can't go into it right now.” She wiped her eyes and looked gratefully at the nun. “Thank you for asking.”

“Well, you know where I am, for now anyway.” Maggie grabbed a pen and a piece of paper then, and wrote her cell phone number down. “Once we get cell phone service again, you can call me at that number. Until then, I'll be here. Sometimes it helps to talk to someone, just as a friend. I don't want to intrude, so you call me if you think I can do anything to help.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said gratefully. She remembered that Maggie was one of the nuns at the benefit. And just as Melanie and Everett had, Sarah thought she didn't look anything like a nun, particularly in jeans and pink Converse high-top sneakers. She looked very cute, and surprisingly young. But she had the eyes of a woman who had seen it all. There was nothing young about her eyes. “I'll call you,” Sarah promised, and a few minutes later they went back to the others. As they did, Sarah wiped her eyes. Everett had noticed something too, but said nothing. He just complimented her again on the benefit and the money they had raised. He said it had been a class act, especially with Melanie's help. He had something pleasant to say to everyone. He was an easygoing nice guy.

“I wish I could volunteer here,” Sarah added, impressed by the efficiency of the operation they were running.

“You need to be at home with your children,” Maggie answered. “They need you.” And she could sense that right now Sarah needed them. Whatever the problem with her husband was, it was obvious that Sarah was deeply upset.

“I don't think I'll ever leave them again,” Sarah said with a shudder. “I was crazed until I got home on Thursday night, but they were fine.” And the bump on Parmani's head had already gone down. She was staying with them now, as she had no way to get home. Her entire neighborhood was a shambles and had been cordoned off. They had driven by to check. And the police wouldn't let her into her apartment building, as part of the roof had fallen in.

All of the city's businesses and services were still shut down. The Financial District was closed and blocked off. Without electricity throughout the city, with no open stores, gas, or telephone service, it was impossible for anyone to work.

Sarah left a few minutes later with the nanny and her children. They got into Parmani's ancient car and drove off, after thanking Maggie for her help. She had given Maggie her phone number and address, and her cell phone, and she couldn't help wondering how long they'd be there, or if they'd lose their house. She hoped they'd be there for a while, and maybe Seth could strike a deal, worst case. Sarah had said goodbye to Everett and Melanie too when she left. She doubted that she'd ever see either of them again. Both were from L.A., and they were unlikely to meet again. Sarah had really liked Melanie, and her performance had been flawless, just as Everett had said. Everyone in the room would have agreed, in spite of the horrifying finale.

Maggie sent Melanie to get supplies after Sarah left, and she and Everett stood talking. Maggie knew the main supply warehouse where they were storing things was a fair distance away, so she wouldn't be back for a while. It hadn't been a ploy, she really did need the supplies. Particularly the surgical thread. All the doctors she had ever worked with had always told her she had an impeccably neat stitch. It came from years of doing needlework in the convent. When she was younger, it had been a nice thing to do at night when the nuns congregated after dinner and sat and talked. In the years since she'd been living alone in the apartment, she rarely did needlework, if ever. But she still had a tidy little stitch.

“She seems like a nice woman,” Everett said about Sarah. “I really thought it was an exceptionally terrific event.” He praised her, even though she had already left. And although she was far more traditional than the people Everett usually hung out with, he really liked Sarah. There was something of substance and integrity about her that shone through her conservative exterior.

“It's funny how people's paths keep crossing, isn't it? Destiny is a wonderful thing,” Everett said. “I ran into you outside the Ritz, and followed you for an entire evening, even on the streets. And now here I am, I run into you in a shelter. And I met Melanie that night too and gave her my jacket. Then you and she meet here. And I find you both again, and the head of the benefit that brought us all together walks into the field hospital with her kid with an earache, and here we are again. Old home week. In a city the size of this one, it's a goddamn miracle if two people ever meet again, and we've done nothing but for the past few days. At least it's comforting to see familiar faces. I like that a lot.” He smiled at Maggie.

“So do I,” Maggie agreed. She met so many strangers in her life, now she particularly enjoyed seeing friends.

They continued to talk for a while, and eventually Melanie returned. She had the supplies with her that Maggie had wanted, and Melanie looked delighted. She was anxious to find ways to help and felt victorious that the supply officer had everything on Maggie's list, which had been long. He had given her all the medicines Maggie had asked for, he had bandages in the right sizes, both elastic and gauze, and had sent over a full box of tape.

“Sometimes I think you're more nurse than nun. You minister a lot to the wounded,” Everett commented, and she nodded, but didn't totally agree.

“I minister to the wounded of body and spririt,” Maggie said quietly. “And you only think I'm more of a nurse, because that probably seems more normal to you. But in truth, I'm more nun than anything else. Don't let the pink shoes fool you. I do that for fun. But being a nun is serious business, and it's the most important thing in my life. I think ‘discretion is the better part of valor,’ I've always liked that quote, although I have no idea who said it, but I think they were right. It makes people uncomfortable if I run around saying I'm a nun.”

“And why is that?” Everett asked her.

“I think people are afraid of nuns,” Maggie said practically. “That's why it's so great we no longer have to wear our habits. They always put people off.”

“I think they used to be really pretty. I was always impressed with nuns when I was younger. They were so beautiful, some of them anyway. You just don't see young nuns like that anymore. Maybe it's a good thing.”

“You could be right. People don't go in as early anymore. In my order, they took in two women in their forties last year, and I think one that was fifty and was a widow. Times have changed, but at least they know what they're doing when they go in now. In my day, a lot of people made mistakes, they went into the convent and shouldn't have. It's not an easy life,” she said honestly. “And it's a big adjustment, whatever your life was like before. Living in community is always a challenge. I have to admit, I miss it now. But the only time I'm in my apartment is when I sleep.” It was a small studio in a terrible neighborhood. He had only glimpsed the building from outside when he was there.

A flood of new patients came in after that, with minor problems, and Melanie and Maggie had to get back to work. Everett made a date to meet them in the mess hall that night, if they could get away. Neither of them had had dinner the night before. And as it turned out, they missed dinner again. An emergency came in, and Maggie needed Melanie's help to get the woman sewn up. Melanie was learning a lot from her, and she was still thinking about it that night when she went back to the building where the rest of her entourage was camping out. They were sitting around bored out of their minds, with nothing to do. Melanie had suggested to Jake and Ashley several times that they should volunteer for something too, as they might be stuck there for at least another week, according to the bulletins in the morning. The tower at the airport had been knocked flat, and there was no way they could leave. The airport was closed, and so were the roads.

“Why are you spending all that time in the hospital?” Janet complained. “You'll wind up catching something from someone.” Melanie shook her head and looked her mother in the eye.

“Mom, I think I want to be a nurse.” She was smiling as she said it, half teasing her mother, and half wanting to annoy her. But she was happy to help at the field hospital. She loved working with Maggie, and she was learning so many new things.

“Are you insane?” her mother said to her with a look and tone of outrage. “A nurse? After all I've done for your career? How dare you say something like that to me? You think I've worked my ass off to make you who you are, so you can throw it all away and empty bedpans?” Her mother looked panicked as much as hurt, at the very idea that Melanie might choose another career path, when she had stardom, and the world at her feet.

“I haven't emptied a bedpan yet,” Melanie said firmly.

“Believe me, you would. Don't ever say that to me again.”

Melanie said nothing in answer. She chatted with the rest of the group, traded jokes for a while with Ashley and Jake, and then still in her T-shirt and camouflage pants, she lay on her cot and fell asleep. She was utterly exhausted. And as she fell into a deep sleep, she had a dream that she ran away and joined the army. But as soon as she did, she discovered that the drill sergeant riding her night and day was her mother. Melanie remembered the dream in the morning, and wondered if it had been a nightmare, or her real life.

Chapter 6

On Sunday, the morning announcement at the Presidio told everyone that many people had been rescued all over the city, pulled out from where they were trapped, taken out of elevators downtown and from under collapsed houses, or pinned under structures that had fallen. The building codes since the quake of 1989 had been stricter, so there was less damage than expected, but the size of this most recent earthquake had been so enormous that there had been huge destruction nonetheless, and the known death toll had risen to over four thousand. And there were still many areas being explored. Emergency Services workers were searching for survivors among the rubble, and under the fallen overpasses leading to the freeway. It was only sixty hours since the earthquake had struck on Thursday night, and there was still hope of rescuing many people who had not been freed yet.

The news was both terrifying and encouraging all at once, and people looked somber as they walked away from the grassy area where the announcements were being made every day. Most of them headed for the mess hall afterward for breakfast. They had also been told that it would probably be several weeks before they could return to their homes. The bridges, freeways, airports, and many areas of the city were still not open. And there was no way of telling when the electricity would be on again, and even less when life might return to normal.

Everett was talking quietly to Sister Maggie when Melanie walked in, after breakfast with her mother, assistant, Ashley, Jake, and several members of the band. They were all getting restless and were anxious to get back to L.A., which obviously wasn't even remotely possible for the moment. They just had to sit tight and see what happened. There was word in the camp by then that Melanie Free was there. She had been spotted in the mess hall with her friends, and her mother had been foolishly bragging about her. But so far, no one in the hospital had paid much attention to her. Even when they recognized her, they smiled and moved on. It was easy to see that she was working hard as a volunteer. Pam had signed up at the camp's checkin desk as people continued to filter in, as food ran out in the city, and people came to the Presidio for shelter.

“Hi, kid,” Everett greeted her unceremoniously, and she grinned. She had gotten a new T-shirt from one of the donation tables, and a huge man's sweater with holes in it, which made her look like an orphan. She was still wearing the camouflage pants and flip-flops. Sister Maggie had changed clothes too. She had brought a few things in a bag with her, when she came to volunteer. The T-shirt she wore today said “Jesus is my homeboy,” and Everett laughed out loud when he saw it.

“I guess this is the modern-day version of a habit?” She was wearing red high-tops with it, and still looked like a counselor in training at summer camp. Her diminutive size contributed to the impression that she was years younger than she was. She could easily have passed for thirty. She was a dozen years older, and only six years younger than Everett, although he seemed a lifetime older. He seemed old enough to be her father. It was when one spoke to Maggie that one was aware of the seasoning of age, and the benefits of wisdom.

He went off to take photographs around the Presidio that day, and said he was going to walk into the Marina and Pacific Heights to see if anything was happening there. They were urging people to stay out of the Financial District and the downtown area as buildings were taller, more dangerous, and the damage far more extensive. The police were still afraid of heavy objects or broken pieces falling off buildings. It was easier to wander into the residential neighborhoods, although many of them had been blocked off by police and Emergency Services too. Helicopters were continuing to patrol the entire city, usually flying low, so you could even see the pilots’ faces. They landed from time to time at Crissy Field in the Presidio, and the pilots chatted with people who approached to ask further news of what was happening in the city, or outlying regions. Many of the people staying in the shelters at the Presidio actually lived in the East Bay, on the Peninsula, and Marin, and had no way of getting home for the moment with the bridges and freeways closed. Real news was scarce among them, and rumors rampant, of death, destruction, and carnage elsewhere in the city. It was always reassuring to hear from people who knew, and the helicopter pilots were the most reliable source of all.

Melanie spent the day helping Maggie, as she had for the two days before. Injured people were still trickling in, and hospital emergency rooms around the city were still referring people to them. There was a huge airlift that afternoon, which brought them more medicines and food. The meals in the mess hall were plentiful, and there seemed to be an abundance of surprisingly decent, creative cooks. The owner and chef of one of the city's best restaurants was living in one of the hangars with his family, and he had taken charge of the main mess hall, much to everyone's delight. The meals were actually very good, although neither Melanie nor Maggie ever seemed to have time to eat. Instead of stopping for lunch, the two of them went out with most of the camp's doctors to greet the airlift and carry the supplies back inside.

Melanie was struggling to carry an enormous box, when a young man in torn jeans and a tattered sweater reached out to help just before she dropped it. It was marked fragile, and she was grateful for his help. He lifted it gently from her with a smile, and she thanked him, relieved that he had helped her avoid disaster. There were vials of insulin inside it, with syringes, for the diabetics in the camp, and apparently there were many. They had all registered at the hospital as soon as they arrived. A hospital in Washington State had sent them all they needed.

“Thanks,” Melanie said, out of breath. The box was huge. “I almost dropped it.”

“It's bigger than you are.” Her benefactor smiled. “I've seen you around the camp,” he said pleasantly as he walked toward the hospital with her, carrying the box. “You look familiar. Have we met before? I'm a senior at Berkeley, my major is engineering, specializing in underdeveloped countries. Do you go to Berkeley?” He knew he had seen her face before, and Melanie just smiled.

“No, I'm from L.A.,” she said vaguely, as they approached the field hospital. He was tall, blue-eyed, and as blond as she was. He looked healthy and young and wholesome. “I was just up here for one night,” she explained as he smiled at her, bowled over by how beautiful she was, even without combed hair, makeup, or clean clothes. They all looked like they'd been shipwrecked. He was wearing someone else's sneakers, after spending the night in the city at a friend's house, and running out in boxers and bare feet just before it collapsed. Fortunately, everyone living there had survived.

“I'm from Pasadena,” he countered. “I used to go to UCLA, but I transferred up here last year. I like it. Or at least I did till now.” He grinned. “But we have earthquakes in L.A. too.” He helped her bring the box inside, and Sister Maggie told him where to put it. By now he was interested in staying to talk to Melanie. She hadn't said anything about herself, and he couldn't help wondering where she went to college. “My name is Tom. Tom Jenkins.”

“I'm Melanie,” she said softly, without adding a last name. Maggie smiled as she walked away. It was obvious he had no idea who Melanie was, which she thought was nice for her. For once, someone was talking to her just like any other regular human being, and not because she was a star.

“I'm working in the mess hall,” he added. “You guys look pretty busy here.”

“We are,” Melanie said lightly as he helped her open the box.

“I guess you're going to be here for a while. We all are. I hear the tower at the airport fell over like a house of cards.”

“Yeah, I don't think we'll be leaving anytime soon.”

“We only had two weeks of classes left. I don't think we'll be going back. I don't think we'll be having graduation either. They'll have to mail us our diplomas. I was going to spend the summer here. I got a job with the city, but I guess that's pretty much out the window now too, although God knows, they're going to need engineers. But I'm going to head back to L.A. when I can.”

“Me too,” she said, as they began unloading the box. He seemed in no hurry to leave and go back to the mess hall. He was enjoying talking to her. She seemed gentle and shy, and like a really nice girl.

“Do you have medical training?” he asked with interest.

“Not till now. I'm getting it firsthand here.”

“She's an excellent medical tech,” Maggie vouched for her, as she came back to check out the contents of the box. Everything they'd been promised was there, and she was greatly relieved. They'd gotten an initial supply of insulin from the local hospitals and the military, but had been rapidly running out. “She'd make a terrific nurse,” Maggie added with a smile and then carried the contents of the box to where they were stocking supplies.

“My brother is in medical school. Syracuse,” he explained. He was lingering now, and Melanie looked at him with a long, slow smile.

“I'd love to go to nursing school,” she admitted to him. “My mother would kill me if I did. She has other plans.”

“Like what?” he was intrigued by her, and was still struck by the familiar face. In some ways, she looked like the proverbial girl next door, only better. And he had never lived next door to a girl who looked like her.

“It's complicated. She has a lot of dreams that I'm supposed to live up to for her. It's stupid mother-daughter stuff. I'm an only child, so her whole wish list is on me.” It was nice complaining to him, even though she didn't know him. He was sympathetic, and really listened to her. For once, she had the feeling that someone cared what she was thinking.

“My dad was desperate for me to be a lawyer. He put a lot of heat on me about it. He thought being an engineer was really dull, and he points out regularly that working in underdeveloped countries, I won't make any money. He has a point, but with an engineering degree, I can always switch my specialty later. I would have hated law school. He wanted a doctor and a lawyer in the family. My sister has a Ph.D. in physics, she teaches at MIT. My parents are nuts about education. But degrees don't make you a decent human being. I want to be more than just a man with an education. I want to make a difference in the world. My family is more interested in getting educated to make money.” His was obviously a family of highly educated people, and there was no way Melanie could explain to him that all her mother wanted was for her to be a star. Melanie still dreamed of going to college eventually, but with her recording schedule and concert tours, she never had time, and at this rate never would. She read a lot to make up for it, and was at least well informed on what went on in the world. The show business life had never seemed like quite enough to her. “I'd better get back to the mess hall,” he said finally. “I'm supposed to help make carrot soup. I'm a lousy cook, but so far no one's noticed.” He laughed easily, and said he hoped to see her around the camp again. She told him to come back if he got hurt, although she hoped he wouldn't, and with a wave as he walked away, he left. Sister Maggie wandered by and commented on their meeting with a smile.

“He's cute,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, as Melanie giggled like the teenager she was, and not a world-famous star.

“Yeah, he is. And nice. He's just graduating from Berkeley as an engineer. He's from Pasadena.” He was a far cry from Jake, with his slick looks and acting career, and frequent trips to rehab, although she had loved him for a while. But she had complained to Ashley recently that he was incredibly self-centered. She wasn't even convinced he was completely faithful. Tom looked like a totally decent, wholesome, nice guy. In fact, as she would have said to Ashley, he was really, really cute. Hot. A hunk. With brains. And a great smile.

“Maybe you'll see him sometime in L.A.,” Maggie said hopefully. She loved the notion of nice young people falling in love. She hadn't been impressed so far with Melanie's current boyfriend. He had only dropped by the hospital to see her once, said it smelled terrible, and went back to their hangar to lie around. He hadn't volunteered for any of the services that others were providing for him, and thought it was ridiculous for someone of Melanie's stature to be playing nurse. He expressed the same views as her mother, who was seriously annoyed by what Melanie was doing, and complained about it every night when Melanie got back and collapsed onto her cot.

Maggie and Melanie got busy then, and Tom was in the mess hall talking to the friend he'd been staying with the night the earthquake happened. His host on that fateful night was a senior at USF.

“I saw who you were talking to,” he said with a sly smile. “Aren't you the clever devil, picking her up.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, blushing, “she's cute. Nice too. She's from L.A.”

“No kidding.” His friend laughed at him, as they put vats of carrot soup on the enormous butane stove that had been supplied by the National Guard. “Where did you think she lived? Mars?” Tom had no idea why his friend was so amused by his brief details about her.

“What's that supposed to mean? She could have been from here.”

“Hell, don't you read any of the Hollywood gossip? Of course she lives in L.A. with a career like hers. Shit, man, she just won a Grammy.”

“She did?” Tom looked stunned as he stared at him. “Her name is Melanie …” And then he looked mortified as he realized what he'd done and who she was. “Oh, for chrissake, she must think I'm a total moron…I didn't recognize her. Oh my God …I just thought she was some nice blond kid about to drop a package. Nice ass, though,” he chuckled to his friend. But better than that, she seemed like a nice person, and had been totally unassuming and down to earth. Her comments about her mother's ambitions for her should have given it away. “She said she wished she could go to nursing school, and her mom won't let her.”

“Damn right. Not with the kind of money she makes singing. Shit, I wouldn't let her go to nursing school either if I was her mother. She must make millions from her records.” Tom looked annoyed then.

“So what? If she hates what she does. It's not all about money.”

“Yes, it is, when you're in her league,” the USF senior said practically. “She could sock a lot of it away, and do whatever she wants later. Although I can't see her as a nurse.”

“She seems to like what she's doing, and the volunteer she's working for said she's good at it. It must be nice for her being here with no one recognizing her.” And then he looked embarrassed again. “Or am I the only person on the planet who didn't know who she is?”

“I would guess you are. I heard she was here, at the camp. But I didn't see her myself until this morning, when you were talking to her. No doubt about it, she's hot. That was a score, man.” His friend congratulated him for his good taste and judgment.

“Yeah, right. She must think I'm the dumbest guy in the camp. And probably the only one who didn't know who she was.”

“She probably thought it was cute,” his friend reassured him.

“I told her she looked familiar and asked her if we'd met before,” he said groaning. “I thought maybe she's at Berkeley.”

“No,” his friend said with a broad grin. “Much better than that! Are you going to go back to see her?” He hoped so. He wanted to meet her himself. Just once, so he could say he had.

“I might. If I can get over feeling stupid.”

“Get over it. She's worth it. And besides, you're not going to get another chance like this to meet a big star.”

“She doesn't act like one. She's totally real,” Tom commented. It was one of the things he had liked about her, that she seemed so down to earth. And it didn't hurt either that she was smart and nice. And obviously a hard worker.

“So stop whining about how dumb you feel. Go see her again.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Tom said, sounding unconvinced, and then got busy stirring the soup. He wondered if she'd come to the mess hall for lunch.

Everett came back from his walk around Pacific Heights late that afternoon. He had taken shots of a woman being pulled out from under a house. She lost a leg, but was alive. It had been a very moving scene as they pulled her out, and even he had cried. It had been a very emotional few days, and in spite of his experience in war zones, he had seen a number of things at the camp that touched his heart. He was telling Maggie about it as they sat outside during her first break in hours. Melanie was inside handing out insulin and hypodermics to the people who'd come to pick them up after an announcement made over the PA system.

“You know,” he said, smiling at Maggie, “I'm going to be sorry to go back to L.A. I like it here.”

“I always have,” she said quietly. “I fell in love with the city when I came here from Chicago. I came out here to join a Carmelite order, and wound up in another order instead. I loved working with the poor on the streets.”

“Our very own Mother Teresa,” he teased, unaware that Maggie had been compared to the saintly nun many times. She had the same qualities of humility, energy, and bottomless compassion, all of which sprang from her faith and good nature. She seemed almost lit from within. “I think the Carmelites would have been too tame for me. Too much praying, and not enough hands-on work. I'm better suited to my order,” she said, looking peaceful, as they both sipped water. Once again the day was warm, as it had been, unseasonably so, since before the quake. San Francisco was never hot, but now it was. The lateafternoon sun felt good on their faces.

“Have you ever gotten fed up, or questioned your vocation?” he asked with interest. They were friends now, and he was fascinated by her.

“Why would I do that?” She looked stunned.

“Because most of us do that at some point, wonder what we're doing with our lives or if we chose the right path. I've done that a lot,” he admitted, and she nodded.

“You've made harder choices,” she said gently. “Getting married at eighteen, getting divorced, leaving your son, leaving Montana, taking on a job that was almost a vocation too, not a job. It meant sacrificing any kind of personal life. And then giving up the job, and giving up drinking. Those were all big decisions that must have been hard to make. My choices have always been easier than that. I go where I'm sent, and do as I'm told. Obedience. It makes life very simple.” She sounded serene and confident as she said it.