The harbormaster searched the chair for a hand hold.

"Take hold at the top of the footrest. Here." Mitchell showed him.

Andy tipped the chair back to place the front wheels on the ramp then leaned his chest into Mitchell’s head and shoulders and pushed hard while the harbormaster climbed the ramp in a crouch in front, pulling the wheelchair up the long incline, tires thumping the wooden slats until the chair bounced over the top of the seawall and slammed down hard into the dust of a footpath worn through yellow grasses.

"Thanks a lot," Mitchell said and turned his chair to get the view.

The harbormaster smiled. "Any time."

These old wheels can bring out the best in people Mitchell thought. "Andy when you’re anchored dump in that spare gas."

Andy said, "Okay," and the harbormaster walked with him down the ramp.

Men loitered nearby while Mitchell sat watching the expected cruise liner steam around the distant land point. The ship and the land were made small by the staggering blue vista of the harbor sea and the great bay beyond. And the sky. Down in the cul-de-sac Andy stood at the sloop’s helm, motoring for the anchorages. It’s all I need Mitchell thought. That boat.

The cruise ship anchored a mile out and minutes later a white twenty-foot motor launch was speeding from the ship in behind the breakwater. Male passengers were seated on wooden benches under a red and white striped awning. At the bow wheel the coxswain throttled down to approach the dingy dock and two crew members jumped onto the dock to tie off. The harbormaster stood talking with the coxswain while the passengers disembarked. Gay men. They walked up the ramp singly and in pairs, some holding hands, some expecting a rendezvous as they stepped over the seawall into Provincetown.

The shuttle departed and the harbormaster walked up the ramp. "How’s it going?"

"Fine," Mitchell said. "Hell of a view."

"Beautiful isn’t it?" The harbormaster looked out at the expanse. "This is the second deepest harbor in the United States. We live and let live here. There’s no other place like it."

Mitchell smiled. "Invite the pope and the president. They could use a little reality."

Uncertain and a little affronted the harbormaster looked down at Mitchell as if peering into a jar. "Are you a paraplegic or a quadriplegic?"

Mitchell stared unhurried into the pupils of the man’s eyes. "I’m just a man," he said.

The words registered like an uppercut, lifting the harbormaster’s chin. Now he sees me Mitchell thought. "Do you live here year ‘round?" He asked with a neighborly smile because he meant no harm to the man.

"I do." The harbormaster averted his eyes to the town. "The kids are in college now, so in the off-season my wife and I have time to enjoy it. In winter there are less than four thousand people here."

"Nice place," Mitchell said and they returned to watching the harbor. Another shuttle motored in behind the breakwater and its wake pitched Andy in the dinghy once, then twice as he rowed for the dock.

"The launches will come and go every twenty minutes. I’d better get to it," the harbormaster said, and stepping over the wall he walked purposefully down the ramp.