Chapter 11: Thursday

Cooper stood in the doorway of Jonas's office for most of an hour before he went in.

He told himself he was only looking for a pen.

It was a small room off the kitchen with one window, a rolltop desk, and a gun cabinet that had belonged to the Deacon.

Cooper had never been inside it, and he'd never wanted to be.

Now he stood on the faded rug with his hands behind his back.

The room smelled of leather and old paper and, faintly, of Jonas.

On the desk lay the Western with the cracked spine, the one Jonas had read aloud in the clinic.

Beneath it, squared neatly to the blotter, sat a blue folder.

Cooper looked at the folder.

He thought about the note, and the bruise, and the calendar alert, and the phone call on the porch.

He thought about Rudy on the riverbank saying, Ask him.

"Do not touch the office," he said aloud, to the empty room.

Then he lifted the paperback and picked up the folder.

The cover bore a logo he knew from the phone alert.

Emory Healthcare. Transplant Center.

He opened it.

The first page was a form, typed and stamped.

Living Donor Program: Evaluation Summary.

His eyes skipped down the page, catching on pieces.

Donor: Brannen, Jonas A.

Date of birth. Blood type: O positive.

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