Chris remained by my side—in a real chair he'd somehow convinced the nurse to relinquish as we'd been told they were precious items with only two to...a room—when he wasn't getting us food or coffee or something to read. I grew accustomed to using his shoulder and chest as a pillow. It didn't hurt that he smelled really nice, or that he lightly caressed my arm or back, helping me drift off.Every time I started to question his presence...his desire to help out a stranger—which I still considered. ?Its? kind of?a fun?? McCoy pauses, noting a young woman sitting on a collapsiblemetal chair in the corner of the Gibber day room. ?Lourdes,it?s time for your smoke, hon.? McCoy smiles, cocking her cropped blonde headas Lourdes protests that shedoesn?t need a smoke just now. ?I?m all right, Miss McCoy? the dark haired Guatemalaninsists. Lourdes Rivera, a Brown Universitylinguist, is on her fourth day of the ten day treatment here at Gibber, and is?entitled? to seven smoke breaks a day, but the. More

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