For the next two weeks Wynn spent as much time with Mick as the hospital would allow. He found a hotel a few blocks away so he didn’t have to sleep on the waiting room sofa again. In his free time when he couldn’t be with Mick, he wandered the city, sketchpad and pencil in hand. Mick liked seeing what he’d drawn, making comments and even a suggestion or two about how Wynn could have done something differently. Since most of the sketches bordered on fantasy, Wynn took the suggestions under advisement. Mick had, he discovered, a good eye for what wasn’t quite working the way it should.
Finally the day came when Mick’s doctor said he was well enough to go home. Looking at Mick, Wynn might have debated the fact. He was still pale, with pain lines etched on his face. But he wasn’t about to arg
