"I’ll look for something on my way out," Charlie said, still standing in the doorway, disturbed by something unseen. No one was comfortable in this place. Ever.

"Give me a hand, will you?" Mitchell pushed through the living room and Charlie followed him into a small hallway past the bathroom and into the bedroom at the back of the apartment. He helped Mitchell transfer to the bed and undress.

"What’s with the bandage?"

"No seat cushion on the helmchair. My ass broke down." Mitchell closed his eyes and savored the comfort of the big mattress.

Charlie threw a blanket over him. "Doesn’t that take some down time?"

Mitchell opened his eyes. "Thanks for the ride. Will you be okay about your old man?"

Charlie reached for the cigarettes in his shirt pocket.

"Not in here," Mitchell said.

Charlie smiled and pushed the pack down. "I’ll get through it. Take it easy," he said and walked out of the room.

Mitchell used the wheelchair to raise himself on an elbow. He turned onto his side and bent his legs. When he heard the door close finally he tapped a knuckle on the touch lamp and the room was immediately dark. He closed his eyes. His mind was crowded with uncertainties, about Portland, and then about his life. Loneliness crept toward him but he sank under his thoughts into the calm that is beyond the self. This was the lee.