“I didn’t know what I was saying!” said the woman, looking up at her. “Yes. I think I said no.”

“Do you know,” said Lissa very softly and quietly, as if trying to soothe a child. “Do you know what would be the most wonderful thing you could do for Kai, and Kai could do for the world?”

“But they want to chop him up! My boy! My beautiful boy!”

“He’d be giving his life for others,” she said. “That . . . that is very beautiful.”

The woman gently touched a small crucifix around her neck.

“He could save a life,” insisted Lissa.

“But my beautiful boy . . .”

“Would be a hero. A hero beyond heroes. Forever.”

The tears didn’t stop falling. Mrs. Mitchell stood back. “Is it too late to say yes?”

Lissa shook her head, even though she wasn’t sure, even though it might be.

“Come, please,” she said. “Please. Can you come with me? Quickly?”

And together they ran back through the long corridors, the devil at their heels, Lissa terrified they would be too late, that they would have unplugged their machines, gone on their way, their tragic work unsuccessful.

They clattered into the resuscitation ward, panting, terrified. Thank God, thank God, thank God for all the cuts was the only thing she could think. The staff had taken a break; the next shift, which would remove the tubes and make up the body, had not yet been called in—and there he still was, still connected.

They both froze. Kai’s mother made a sound, an animal noise, as if it were all happening over again.

“You can do this,” said Lissa. “You can do this.”

The officious young transplant woman was summoned with a beep and came bustling down the corridor, the fussiness in her face transformed, suddenly, into something like hope.

“Mrs. Mitchell?”

The woman nodded blankly. She sat by his bed again, stroking the beautiful, still-warm skin. “She made me come back.”

“I didn’t!” said Lissa. And looking at the boy, so close to sleeping, she could absolutely understand the instinctive horror at cutting him up, parceling him out, using him for parts.

“Give me the thing to sign,” said Mrs. Mitchell. “Quickly please. I don’t want to change my mind again.”

The nurse brought the paperwork over. “You have to understand—”

“That it’s binding, yes, yes, I know that. Quick, I said!”

“No,” said the transplant nurse, straightening up. “I just really want you to understand. What you are doing is the bravest, the most wonderful thing you can do.”

Mrs. Mitchell stared at her, her mouth hanging open. “You sound,” she said, “like you want me to be pleased.”

Chapter 8