The fright brought on a high fever that same night.
There was nothing I could do. My hands shaking, I called Georgia.
The line rang and rang before it finally connected.
"Georgia, Grandma, she—"
I hadn't even finished before her tired voice cut me off.
"Let me guess. Grandma's sick again, and you want me to come running."
"Jacob, that trick's getting old."
The rest of my words stuck in my throat and wouldn't come out.
Georgia kept going.
"John's almost done with his shower. Lately he can't fall asleep without a bedtime story from me."
"Have a little heart for a dying man. Don't pick now to throw a jealous fit."
I bowed my head, and one scalding tear after another dropped onto the back of my hand.
I remembered my first time at the ring, how badly I got beaten.
When they dragged me off the platform afterward, my face was swollen out of shape.
I was huddled in a corner when a white handkerchief appeared in front of me.
Georgia stood before me with the light behind her, her voice unbelievably gentle.
"Wipe your face."
After that, she dressed my wounds, went with me to see Grandma, taught me how to use my own build to land the cleanest, most perfect hits with the least effort.
The first time I won, she wrapped her arms around my waist in front of everyone, her warm breath falling against my chest.
"From now on, you can lean on me."
I actually believed her.
Thinking about it now, what a fool I was.
Grandma lay on the bed, her breath coming hotter and hotter.
I wiped my eyes, went outside, dragged the cart out from beside the house, and laid a mat over it.
Then, gritting my teeth, I went back into the room and got Grandma onto my back.
The wound on my chest hurt worse and worse. I held it in without a sound, inched my way step by step to the cart, and laid her down flat.
The snow on the road was thick.
I sank and stumbled with every step.
By the time I stood at the hospital doors, I couldn't feel my body at all.
The doctors inside came rushing out.
Then the familiar light over the operating room came on.
I leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on the doors, not blinking.
The snow on my shoulders had long since melted into water, soaking through clothes that were already thin.
Thank god the doctor's words gave me something to hold on to.
"The patient's condition is stable for now, but the follow-up treatment has to keep up."
Something anxious turned over in me.
"How long will the follow-up treatment cost run?"
"Around a hundred thousand."
I let out a breath.
These past two years I'd barely stopped, one fight after another.
What I'd saved was just about enough to cover what came next.
When I walked into the ward, Grandma was already awake.
"Jacob, I've made trouble for you again."
I shook my head, the tears falling without stopping.
I took out my bank card and tucked it under Grandma's pillow.
"Grandma, when you go in for treatment, pay with this card."
"When I'm not here, you have to take good care of yourself."
The next day, picking up her medicine, I ran into John Swanson.
"Jacob. What a coincidence."
"I only had a bit of a headache last night, but Georgia insisted I come in today for a checkup."
I twitched a corner of my mouth, not wanting to get into it with him.
But when I came through the door, I saw the person who was supposed to be lying in bed sprawled on the floor.
"Grandma!"
