Another little smile."Thanks," she says."You want a chair?" I say, standing holding her coat. What the hell, she can stay as long as she wants, read a...l the books. But I'd rather see her read Dick Francis than Sylvia Plath. Even Judith Krantz.I stick my neck out a mile."You OK, Ms. Urquhart?" I ask. I don't call my customers by their first names, and I don't ask my customers things like that. Maybe the old ladies, but not big, handsome shiksas like this one."I'll take the chair, Abe, thanks."I. “Do you want to go to the hospital.”She was shaking in my arms and I could feel her knees buckle as she struggled to keep standing. “I don’t know dad. It just hurts so bad.”“Do you want to try sitting down or maybe lying on the sofa?” I asked.“I think I’ll try lying down.” she sobbed.I led her over to the sofa and helped her lie down. Her face was still distraught and she was sobbing.“Would you like anything? Maybe a glass of water?” I asked.“Yeah, water please. Ice water.”I left her on the. More

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