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his own. “We need to talk.”
    The others had no idea what was happening, but not one of them asked. The news was bad enough without something getting worse. Brooke pulled away from the others, wiped her sleeve across her face and followed John. Peter came a few steps behind. Out in the hallway, John looked from Brooke to Peter, and back again. “I talked to Dr. Martinez.”
    Brooke was shaking, her face pale and clammy. She held his gaze and lifted her hands toward him. “Help me, Dad.” Then, as if Peter weren’t there at all, she fell into John’s arms
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    and wept against his chest. For several minutes she stayed that way, while nearby, Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When Brooke had more control, she stepped back and stood a few inches from Peter, as close to her husband as she’d been all day.
    “We can’t…” Peter cleared his throat and looked at his shoes. After a while he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. His chin was trembling badly.
    “You could wait.” John put one hand on Peter’s shoulder and the other on Brooke’s. “You don’t have to make this decision now.”
    “Of course we want to … to help someone else.” Brooke’s words were high-pitched and jumbled together. “But if we say yes …
    Peter gave a hard shake of his head and lifted his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. When he had more control he locked eyes with John. “If we say yes, we’re giving up on her.”
    A knot the size of a bowling ball shifted in John’s heart. He thought of Hayley’s worsening condition, and suddenly he won dered. Had God heard his prayer, the one he had been forming even as Dr. Martinez came to find him? Was God taking her now because John hadn’t wanted her to live, hadn’t wanted Hayley back unless she was whole and complete, the way she’d been be fore the accident?
     
    Was this God’s way of honoring his request, his lack of faith that somehow she would be well again if she would live? The idea lay like a cement blanket on his conscience. He leveled his gaze at Peter and worked the muscles in his jaw. “You know the routine, Peter. Telling them yes is only part of the process. It doesn’t mean you’ve given up.”
    “Dad.” Brooke lifted her fingers and covered her mouth for a moment. Fresh tears slipped from her eyes. “How can we?”
    “Honey, listen.” John looked at her, his hand still on her shoulder. “God is in control; we have to believe that. I know
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    how you feel about organ donations. We’ve talked about it a number of times.”
    “The shortage.. 2’ Brooke hung her head and grabbed three quick breaths.
    “Yes.” John squeezed her shoulder. How was he standing here, talking to her about Hayley’s organs, when he himself wanted only to run or scream or find a way to undo the damage in his granddaughter’s brain? He urged himself to concentrate. “It’s your decision, but don’t make it with your heart. Make it with your head. Then move past it. She’s in bad shape, Brooke. You know that.
    This is only protocol.”
    Peter slipped his hands into his pockets and looked at his shoes again. He added nothing to the conversation.
    “Okay.” Brooke sniffed and searched John’s eyes. “We’ll sign the papers.”
    John waited a beat and looked at his son-in-law. “Peter?”
    “Fine.” He said the word fast, as though it hurt too much to let it linger on his lips.
    “All right. I’ll get Dr. Martinez.” John turned and saw the doctor talking with another specialist at the end of the hallway. He motioned at the man, and he came toward them, a clipboard tucked beneath his arm.
    John nodded at Brooke and Peter. “They’re ready.”
    The other doctor stepped closer, his voice soft, filled with compassion, as he held the clipboard out and explained the document. His words weren’t necessary, of course. Peter and Brooke knew the document well; it was part of their medical training. Brooke reached for