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 him to be—he'd gently shush me and reiterate that he just wanted to be there for me. I gave up on the second day and took comfort in knowing he cared, though I wondered how long it would last. He seemed too good to be true, for as little as I knew of him.In the afternoon, my dad finally opened his eyes and responded to various stimuli that the doctor said was encouraging. Although the breathing tube was removed, it was difficult for him to speak since his throat was so dry from being intubated.. Once they had Joe in one of the treatment rooms I gave them my cell phone number so they could call me when he was ready to leave and I left. I decided to go home and have lunch while I waited for the call.My wife Wendy was at work so I was home alone when the mail came. There were a couple of flyers, the water bill and an envelope with the stamped message from the Post Office on it saying that it could not be delivered without a postage stamp. I didn't recognize the addressee, but it did have our mailing label on the upper left hand corner of the envelope. Wondering just who Brandon Winters was made me just curious enough to open the envelope.There have been times since then that I've wished that I hadn't, but then I'd tell myself it was better to find out sooner rather than later. What I read stunned me."My dearest Bran,We have only been seeing each other for a month now and so far it has been the best thirty days of my life. You make me so fucking happy. Whenever I see your face.
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