Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  “You too?” asked Cedric. He was looking at Carli.

  “Sure, Cedric. When I can.”

  Cedric shifted his weight. After lengthy deliberation, he nodded just enough to tell Grant he would go. Grant maintained a steady hold, evidence that Cedric’s trust was well-founded.

  “You’re on your own,” Grant said to Carli, as he climbed in with Cedric. “Thanks for your help.”

  The next day, after four hours in her studio and a walk along the river with Lila and Terrance, Carli couldn’t wait to check on Vera. “What’s new?” asked Carli.

  “Well, my, my ... look who’s here,” said Vera. She looked happy to see her, once again.

  “I went away for a few days,” said Carli. “But I was thinking of you.”

  “Oh, sure you was.”

  “I was. Look. I got you something. From Cape Cod.” Carli handed Vera a small paper bag with tissue paper decoratively covering its contents.

  “What’s this?” asked Vera.

  “Take out the tissue and open it.”

  “You got me something?”

  “Yes, just for you.”

  Vera pulled out the paper and looked inside. “It sure is green, whatever it is.”

  “Here, give me the paper, so you can get to it,” said Carli.

  Vera handed the paper to Carli and reached into the bag.

  “My favorite color. Now, how’d you know that?” asked Vera.

  “Gee, I wonder.”

  “Socks?”

  “Yes, socks,” said Carli. “Two pair. One for you to wear, and one to leave out for Grant. They’re long, too, so they should keep you warm.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be leaving any of these out for Grant,” said Vera. “No, no. These ... these are special socks. I think I’m gonna go keeping these both inside for myself. Well, maybe one for me and my feet, and maybe I’ll keep the other one next to me.”

  “Whatever you want,” said Carli. “They’re yours.”

  “Green,” said Vera. “It was my husband’s favorite color too.”

  Carli realized Vera was once again at Minnix House, but this time, thankfully, she seemed happy.

  Vera looked straight at Carli. “It’s been a long while since I got a personal gift,” said Vera. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I told you, Vera, I was thinking of you.”

  “Well, I guess I had better go and say thank you.”

  “You already did, Vera. You already did. I’ll see you again soon.”

  Seventeen

  X-rays showed the phlegm-covered fingers of TB crouching inside Cedric’s lungs. It would be two weeks before Cedric felt better, and six months of medication after, but with a barrage of medication he was improving. Grant was given family privileges, allowing him to visit with a mask; TB liked to spread. In the meantime, Carli tended to Sarah.

  With a cool wind shooting its final spring claws at her, Carli sketched as Sarah sat in her usual spot. Carli was merely doodling until, in an odd instant, she hit upon an idea. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled package of soup crackers. In a matter of seconds, a few deliberately dropped crumbs brought scores of flapping bodies to her feet. In their race to peck at the loot, they careened off one another’s wings, nearly knocking heads. One flapped so near Carli’s face, it set hairs on her forehead flying from the breeze. Carli hid the rest of the crackers, and the clamor stopped as soon as the final sidewalk crumbs vanished into greedy gullets. Carli saw Sarah look her way.

  Exiting the park, Carli stopped directly in front of Sarah and gave her name. The woman barely nodded before shifting her weight just enough to turn her shoulder toward Carli, and her face away. Although the message was clear, Carli said, “Let me know if you need anything. I’m here to help.” Oddly, it felt like progress.

  With Grant putting in extra time with Cedric, Carli finished her painting for the day and decided to check on Wilson. She found him at the picnic table in his park, resting his head on his arm, as usual. Carli came upon him slowly, as she had seen Grant do many times before, except for during their last frantic visit.

  “Wilson,” said Carli. “It’s Carli here. How are you?”

  Wilson raised his head and said dreamily, “Honey ... suckle.” He closed his eyes and slowly folded his head down upon his arm. “Yup. One of my favorites,” said Wilson, still resting on his arm.

  “Wilson. It’s me, Carli.”

  Wilson raised his head again and said, “I know ... who you are. I like your perfume.”

  Carli stared. Technically, it was body wash, but Wilson was right, it was honeysuckle.

  “How do you know this?” she asked.

  “I know all the perfumes,” he said. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the fog. “Not all of the newer ones. Don’t know what they’re called. But I know when they go past.”

  “Go past?” asked Carli.

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait,” said Carli. “What are you saying?”

  “What do you mean, what am I saying? Ahhh ...” Wilson closed his eyes again. “Lily of the valley lady again.” He slowly turned his head toward the street and said, “Yup. That one, over there.” His eyes followed a couple of pedestrians, and he said, “Blonde with the shopping bag. Must live near here. That’s her, all right. Lily of the valley.”

  Carli looked to the sidewalk. She saw the woman. Then she inhaled deeply and caught barely a scent of perfume. It was faint. Carli couldn’t distinguish it as anything specific. But Wilson could.

  Carli swung her legs over the bench, directly across the picnic table from Wilson, to sit. “Talk to me,” she said. “How do you know this?”

  “Know what?” he asked.

  “Different scents,” she said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I was a chemist or something.”

  “Chemist?”

  “Maybe.”

  Carli waited for Wilson to give her another clue. Anything.

  “It’s one of the reasons I sit here,” he said. “It smells nice.” Wilson closed his eyes and looked to be nodding off to sleep when he said, “Honeysuckle.” Carli watched his baby-faced smile rise into his cheeks. In another moment it faded, and Wilson said, “Wonder how much they spend on this stuff now.” Wilson would soon be asleep to the world. Although Carli had hit a wall, she was certain a wall could have cracks.

  Cedric was ready for discharge in two weeks’ time. With proper pills, he’d be safe to others and to himself. Carli sat across the table from Grant at St. Mary’s. Grant’s request to meet had sounded urgent. “We’ll have a hell of a time getting him to take his pills,” said Grant. “The minute he feels better he’ll balk.”

  “Makes sense,” she said.

  “There’s something else.” Grant’s somber tone grabbed her attention. “We have to be tested.”

  Carli didn’t understand.

  “TB.”

  Carli’s throat tightened as the words sank in.

  “Can take a couple of weeks to show, and for your body to react to a skin test. We start periodic testing in a couple of weeks. Might want to take a preventative just in case.” He pursed his lips, then added, “Sorry, but we got so close to him. Almost certain infection. Doesn’t mean we’ll feel sick. Our bodies are surely stronger than his.” Grant reached across the lunch table and grazed her hand with his.

  After a quick lunch, they headed to the hospital. Cedric was ready to go, dressed in a fresh set of clothes Grant had delivered the night before. Enough life had been pulsed into him that he rebuffed even the most modest hint of inside living. They began the mandatory wheelchair ride through the hospital halls in routine manner, but Grant abruptly pushed aside the attendant and began driving the wheelchair himself. Grant’s driving was fast and reckless. Cedric seemed content. Grant was thrilled. The attendant protested, but Grant left her shouting far behind. Carli watched in disbelief.

  At the lobby entrance, Grant sent the empty wheelchair spinning unescorted to the main desk as Cedric,
Grant, and Carli stepped into a waiting car.

  “What was that?” asked Carli.

  “Had to get him out of there. Otherwise, they might have kept him.” Then he faced Cedric and said, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace. Shelter or not?”

  Cedric looked at the floor. “Not.”

  “Mercy could …”

  “Not.”

  At the drop-in center, Grant explained the routine. “I’m coming by every other day with these pills. You’ll take them with me.”

  Cedric nodded.

  “No backing out. We’re pushing the limit with every other day instead of daily. Also, no alcohol.”

  Cedric nodded again but was fidgeting. Carli searched for clues to his movements. All she saw was a man who seemed to have lost twenty pounds since they first met, but now looked like he would live instead of die.

  Cedric cleared his throat. Carli and Grant exchanged glances. Perhaps he was already balking. “Ahem,” Cedric started. Carli caught Grant’s eyes again, before darting to Cedric. “Miss Carli…,” he began again. “I … want … I mean …” Cedric continued to fidget and shift his weight from one foot to the next until finally emitting a raspy statement. “Thank you. I feel better.”

  His eyes flickered toward Carli’s like a stun gun. “Good,” she said. “And sometime you’ll have to tell me how you ditched me at the clinic.” Cedric’s smile revealed the gap between his front teeth. The overhead light caught his teeth just right. They sparkled like a chandelier.

  Leaving Cedric, Grant asked, “Want some coffee?”

  “Not today,” said Carli. “I’m checking on Sarah.”

  “Come on. One day won’t matter. She’s been there for years, just like the dinosaurs in the sewer. No, a day won’t matter at all.”

  Grant had mentioned dinosaurs a few minutes earlier, as he was leaving Cedric with Mercy. It had sounded amusing, but it had also sent both Mercy and Carli on alert. Hearing it again was equally alarming. All she said was, “Tell me what you find. I’m going to Sarah’s.”

  It was late afternoon when Carli finally reached the park. Sarah was taking her afternoon inventory and would be leaving soon. Carli waited until all items were tallied, then followed behind. Staying close to buildings, and lagging a bit, she saw Sarah stop a few short blocks from the park, near a service entrance to a high-end apartment building. Almost immediately, a woman came out the door, left what looked like a meal, and disappeared back inside. Had Sarah been adopted? Was her real family inside? Anything seemed possible. In fact, everything seemed both possible and impossible these days.

  According to Grant, Cedric proved a model patient, easily dispensing with his pills every time Grant showed. Occasionally, Carli met them together at Cedric’s usual spot. Several bags of cans usually kept him company, proving he was on the mend. Carli knew, even with a newly-borrowed postal cart, that his can business was a body-buster so recently off bed rest and fettered by crippled lungs.

  “I’m telling you,” Grant said, gaining Cedric’s full attention, “Mercy’s got a job for you. If it’s outside you want, you got it. Some places’ll give you a bed and a job when you’re ready. You wouldn’t have to be lugging and storing cans. Besides, housing comes in handy.”

  Cedric shrugged. Nothing more.

  Not long after leaving Cedric, Carli and Grant came upon Canada, with his eyes closed, face to the sky, and sunning, as he leaned against scaffolding set up aside a block-long construction site.

  “Madison, my man!” Grant loved running into Canada. “Need to get you off these streets,” said Grant. “My partner says she’s seeing you a lot. Might make me jealous.” Grant shot a smile. Carli shook her head.

  “You never change,” said Canada, punching Grant’s shoulder. “Guess what I did?”

  Grant looked curious.

  “I got to another meeting.”

  “So?”

  “Yeah. I got my five bucks.”

  “This must be your twenty-fifth meeting. You’re only supposed to get paid the first time you do it.”

  “That’s what they say, but some people are lucky.”

  “Learn anything?” asked Grant.

  “Yeah. There’s too much paperwork.”

  Grant sighed. “That’s why you have Mercy. She can help with everything. Of course, if you’re wanting a lawyer to read the documents, I used to know a good one. Can track him down if you want. Thing is, you have to want it.”

  Canada scratched his ear. Grant said, “Glad to see you’re thinking it over.”

  Perhaps it was the relief of having Cedric back on his feet, or perhaps it was the warmth in the air, but after taking leave of Canada, Grant was upbeat and talking nonstop, with energy to spare.

  “Cedric’ll be off the street by summer,” he predicted. “Along with your Sarah, and probably even Wilson. Never underestimate people, especially yourself. I know you’re going to get to her. We might even get Lenny, and I have a good plan for Harry.”

  Gliding under a few spring clouds, Grant’s words flowed. So did impulses. Twice he pulled Carli close to him as they walked. Twice she said something to regain distance.

  “And for those who aren’t in, we’ll find another atrium.” Grant looked to the clouds and laughed at the thought of it.

  “You said last week Cedric would be out a while.”

  He pulled up, looking askance. “Not Cedric. We’ll get him. We’ll get ’em all. I know someone in the mayor’s office. Election’s coming up. That should help.”

  Before the atrium blowup, Carli had clung to Grant’s positive attitude. Since then, doubt was her ally. Although his batting average with predictions was indisputably high, and the conviction of his statements hard to fight, Grant still had several hits against him, including the unresolved poison question and the atrium fiasco. Besides, she had heard these promises before.

  Grant stomped through Midtown as though pressed to make a deadline. In the mid-Fifties, Carli finally asked, “You in a hurry for something?”

  Grant looked perplexed. “No, but we need to go to the park.”

  “For Sarah?”

  “No, to head to the museum. Seen some prospects. They might be going in.”

  “Museum?”

  “The Met.”

  “What?” Not once had Carli seen a hint of a street sleeper at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was armed with guards. Real guards.

  “Yeah,” said Grant. “Let’s go.” The sound of an arriving subway train sent him into a jog down subway steps.

  “Grant, I’ve been to this museum many times and have never seen a street sleeper.” Carli yelled to override the clatter of train wheels on steel. “Well, maybe one, outside the parking garage.”

  Grant shouted back, “Why not?”

  “There’re guards jamming the exhibits.”

  “So? Can’t evict them. Museum’s free.” He continued to look ahead. “It’s like people going to films during the Depression and war years,” he added. “They’re always looking for a nice distraction. It’s as nice as the atrium, and there’s even more room.”

  Carli said nothing more, but her entire insides screamed in turmoil. On the steps to the museum, Carli found no one with black plastic bags. She wasn’t surprised. But it did seem unusual. These days, instead of noticing everyone except them, she now noticed them alone. And they were everywhere. Grant cleared a path around a tour group and headed straight for Egyptian Art. Glancing around, as though searching for someone in particular, he finally said, “This is where they could stay.” He looked up at the reconstructed blocks of a centuries-old monument, with its encircling moat, and added, “They’d have a private bath and everything.”

  Carli was stunned into silence.

  “Quick, let’s check the next floor.” Grant bounded up the stairs and paced the galleries, curled around corners, casually glancing in many directions before taking his steps. He looked like a spy.

  “Grant, stop.”

  He seemed not to have h
eard. Then, as though pulled by strings on a marionette, he stood next to her, his face showing anger resulting from her intrusion. She nearly remained silent on account of it, but finally asked, “What’s going on? There’s no one here.”

  He blinked and resumed walking. “You’re right. But they could be.” He spun around. “All of them could fit.”

  “There’s no way they could stay in here. What are you saying?” she asked.

  “Forget about that for now. Let’s look at the Impressionists.”

  “I think we ought to leave,” said Carli.

  “No, we really need to see this. It’s special.”

  The last thing Carli wanted was to make a commotion in a busy museum. Especially one filled with guards. She followed as Grant started his private tour.

  “He did his best work before he became famous, but most people don’t know it,” said Grant. They stood in front of a Monet. “Someone estimated five thousand and sixty-two brushstrokes for this one, but my bet’s with six thousand at least.” Grant was absorbing the fiber and fabric of the canvas. “This one he did for his mother. Used a friend as a model. Took a half year to paint,” he said.

  Carli stared at Grant. “How do you know this?” she asked.

  “Just do,” he said. “Look at these layers. All these dabs and stabs of brushstrokes. Which one do you think he did last? Which is the one stroke he put on top of all the other thousands?” Grant spun around. “Don’t you just love this stuff?”

  Carli wasn’t sure anymore. An hour later, after rushing through three more exhibits, they parted ways, with Carli prepared to visit Mercy in the morning. In the meantime, Carli reached out to Kristin.

  “I don’t know what just happened,” said Carli.

  “Where are you?” asked Kristin.

  “Home, but I came from the Met,” said Carli. “Grant said we needed to search for street people in the museum.”

  “What? That’s crazy,” said Kristin.

  “Exactly.”

  “What was he thinking?”

  “That’s just it,” said Carli. “I don’t know. He went from looking for homeless to saying we could move homeless into the exhibit space, and then he gave me a tour of some of the Impressionists. He’s losing it. Something is definitely amiss.”