At one point, the old man came back into the bedroom and drew some of the boy’s blood. Being an ER nurse, the boy's mother had the needed medical supplies. And being this man's daughter, she had the needed medicinal plants preserved in the way he had taught her as a young girl. They called it the Protocol.
The boy watched his mother. Used wet towels to try and cool her fever. Comforted her. Comforted himself with her presence.
The rest of that morning and into the afternoon, the old man worked in the back room. Now and again, he checked on his daughter, updated her on his progress.
Once, after the old man left, the boy saw his mother struggling to breathe. She motioned him to come close. She fought back the building cough.
"Son." She coughed, and more blood appeared from her mouth and nose. The boy dabbed it away. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Staying with me?" Worry knitted her brow, mingling with the sweat.
"Yes," he answered.
"My brave boy," she said and smiled. "Be strong now." Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. The boy felt afraid, at these words and her tears.
"When I'm gone, go with your grandfather," she said. "Promise me you will go with him. He'll take care of you."
How could he not promise? There was no one else to trust. Nowhere else to go.
"I promise."
"Good." She dropped her head back onto the pillow. As soon as it hit, her head kicked up in another coughing fit. Her black hair, matted with sweat, spilled across the pillow. The boy kept wiping blood. He had tears now.
"Call your grandfather," she managed to cough out.
Reluctantly, the boy left the room. In less than a minute, the old man was at his daughter's side. The boy stood on the other side of the bed. His mother looked hard at the old man, but said nothing.
"Yes," he said. "I found a formula that will work. I used the boy's blood."
Father and daughter stared quietly at each other.
"Thank you for coming," she said. "I've missed you."
"I've also missed you, honey."
"Take care of him."
The old man glanced at the boy, then back at her, managed a thin smile and nodded once.
"He's safe."
"I know," she said. "I trust no one else."
Then, she slowly turned her head and looked at her son. The boy thought she looked peaceful, more so than she had been since her sickness started. A quiet in her eyes. A thin trickle of blood from her nose. No coughing. The boy went to dab the trickle of blood, but his mother shook her head slightly and reached out and held his hand. The boy cried. Couldn't help it.
"You'll be safe with your grandfather," she said. Her voice was gentle, without struggle. "Always remember, I love you."
He roughly wiped blinding tears from his eyes and looked into her eyes. He noticed tiny flakes of gold in her dark irises. She smiled, even as the life in her eyes faded. Seconds stretched into minutes. The boy could not look away. Then she was gone.
Nothing moved in the room. A deep quiet settled over the place, unlike anything the boy had ever heard or felt. Late afternoon sun streamed in from the west-facing window. The light fell on his mother's face, illuminating the last of the rosy color in her cheeks. Dust particles drifted in slow motion through the air above her body. Graceful.
Grandfather gently closed her eyelids. Then he turned toward the window as if watching something. His face was set, no expression, yet tears streamed down his cheeks.