Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  “Hey, Kid. Heard you don’t like my calendar,” said Cedric. Carli loosely clutched Cedric’s forearms and shot an unwelcome glare at Grant. The information was meant to be privileged.

  “New pants, Kid?” she asked.

  “They gave them to me.” His eyebrows lifted. “Actually gave them to me.” Cedric glanced between Carli and Grant. He looked like he had won the lottery. “I won’t be taking no free lunch or anything, but the pants are good. This lady, Deena, said I might get some park job. That sounds okay.”

  “Indeed,” she said.

  “She says I might have to share a kitchen,” said Cedric. “That’s not going to happen, but don’t tell her that.” Cedric winked. His secret was safe.

  “I promised Cedric I’d keep checking on him,” said Grant. “I hate like hell to lose my friends.” Carli would have felt better about Grant’s statement had he not used similar words discussing Carli’s potential plot to poison his friends, but Cedric smiled, revealing his familiar toothless chasm, and Carli couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. “I’m keeping his cart for him too,” said Grant.

  Leaving the shelter, Grant said, “I told you once, the best thing you can do while they’re on the street is keep on making contact, keep showing you care, and hope to somehow connect.” Carli nodded. “Well, it doesn’t stop just because he’s in,” said Grant. “Between you and me, I worry about them just as much when they’re in somewhere. He’s about to be tested. Not by a cold wind, cold stares, or TB, but it’s just as hard, usually harder. Now he has to finally face the things that put him out in the first place and find a way to move forward. Hearing a few extra supportive words doesn’t hurt.”

  Grant walked slowly. “There’s always a chance he’ll be back out, maybe even tomorrow. Sometimes it takes five or six tries before they stay for good. That’s why I keep checking.” Carli looked to see if she had heard him right, to which Grant nodded.

  “Congratulations,” he said. “Let’s celebrate. What do you say to dinner at week’s end?” The old Grant was back. But Henry was still missing. And somewhere between them slinked a threatening stranger.

  Twenty

  Grant arrived at Carli’s wearing a spring tweed jacket, Oxford shirt so well pressed it looked new, and brown Oxford tie shoes, which also looked new. “To Lucy,” he said, handing Carli a single white rose. “And to Cedric,” he added, leaning to kiss her on the forehead. Grant was intent on the evening’s details and didn’t notice Carli’s eyes solidly affixed to his every move.

  “The best place in town is the piers,” he claimed. They caught a ride to the edge of Manhattan to dine within view of the Statue of Liberty and New York’s rippling harbor.

  “What’s new?” he asked, once seated at an oversized table for two.

  “Nothing. Some things change. A lot doesn’t.”

  “Gets stagnant sometimes,” said Grant, “but mosquitoes need stagnant water. Their season’s coming up fast here,” he added.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” The arrival of drinks interrupted their conversation. Grant proposed a toast. “To Cedric. God rest his soul. I mean, may he long find peace inside … resting. And, to you.” Grant rattled Carli’s glass. “Knew the minute I saw you with that chowder that I wanted you with me.” Carli stared, frozen by his gaze. “It’s not that I wanted Lucy to die, but I did want to meet you again.” Grant seemingly tried to backtrack. “You know what I mean, right?” Grant smiled and shrugged at the same time that he turned his palms upward, and added, “What? You reminded me of someone. It was that split second you turned from the chowder bin,” he said. “I thought you were my ex-wife, but only for that second.” Grant quickly changed the subject. “I want you to be the first to know. Next winter, I’m shooting for another atrium.”

  “Huh?”

  “They’re going to love it,” he said.

  Carli was stunned, once again, and unable to speak. He had jolted her with both thoughts, but it proved only the start of an awkward meal with extremely disjointed conversation. Grant continued to speak of atriums, street lives, and the piers. Through it all, he sipped scotch and occasionally pulled a breath mint from his tweed pocket to pop in his mouth. He crushed the mints forcibly, grinding them with his molars and nervously swallowing the pieces.

  “Do you ever stay in bed all day? Just slip under the sheets, all clean, and stay all day and all night?” he asked.

  “Haven’t done that,” she said. “Unless I was sick.”

  Grant let it drop.

  “Short walk?” he asked. The park was nearly empty.

  “Ah, look at her!” Grant’s eyes surfed across the choppy waves to Lady Liberty, with her sparkling lights and verdigris shroud. He released a hefty sigh.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Carli. She had never seen the statue from so close at night.

  Grant handed her a pair of vintage binoculars. “Those scopes never work,” he said, nodding at the viewers on the promenade. “Got these at the thrift shop. Probably from someone’s estate. I’m sure whoever owned them had ten other pairs.”

  Masking tape patched the strap together. Carli focused on the statue, and Grant began reciting. “Give us your tired, your poor, your indigent, your downtrodden, your huddled masses … God knows we have a number of those here.” His tone changed. “Just look around, Liberty. Look around.”

  Carli pulled the glasses from her face. He was taking liberties. With the inscription on the Statue of Liberty. What was going on?

  Grant stared at her. “What’s the matter? We have poor. We have indigent. We have downtrodden. In fact, I’d say we’re doing a damned good job of collecting, wouldn’t you?” Carli suddenly felt the weight of Lady Liberty’s two hundred and twenty-five steel tons plunging through her chest. Canada, Sarah, and Wilson had all been tossed through rough waves, but why was Grant bringing it up now?

  Peering through the binoculars again, she stated boldly, “We have them all right. It’s up to us to help.”

  “Well, my dear, there’s no second verse with instruction on that, but, hey, I think we can do it – give this Mother of Exiles a second verse.”

  Carli heard Grant fiddling with his jacket. The next moment, he was blocking her view. As she lowered the binoculars from her face, she stiffened and nearly dropped them to the ground. Grant balanced perilously on a grouping of three wooden posts. They jutted upward several feet from the depths of the water. Each post looked barely wide enough for a seagull to rest upon, yet Grant was on them, a good three feet from land. Grant’s jacket lay in a heap near her feet. As he raised his arms to the sky, his shirt billowed out behind him like a sail catching wind. Waves chopped against the posts and sent water splashing over his shoes.

  “Grant, what are you doing? Come back on land!”

  Grant laughed. “I’m getting a better view.”

  “Grant, please …”

  “Give me your tired. Give me your poor. Give me … oh Christ, just give ’em all to me. I’m ready. We have shelters. We have drop-ins. We have work programs. We have lunch lines.” His voice broke into a cynical laugh. “We have two-for-one sales. We have discounts. Bargains. Don’t hold back. We’re ready for them.” He slapped his arms down to his sides and addressed Carli directly. “We’re ready, right?” Before she could answer, Grant started broadcasting again. “Yessiree. … Oh, Carli, I love it when it’s like this out here.” His energy and mood had refocused.

  “Please, Grant …” Wind whipped against her face. “Come down … or … sit. Yes, sit.”

  “On a beautiful night like this? No way.” He held his arms straight out, with his head nearly straight back. “Just look at those clouds. Like a herd of flying carpets. They’re moving. Wish I could jump on one and go.” A gust of wind caught Grant. He jerked his head down from the sky and waved his arms for balance.

  “Henry! No!” Carli froze. She hadn’t meant to say it.

  Grant turned his head toward her.
“Say what? Can’t hear you.”

  Dear God, she thought.

  “Grant, I’m going to call … for help. We need help. If you don’t come down, I’m leaving.”

  “Go ahead and yell, but you’re safe with me.”

  “Anybody? Can anybody hear me?” Wind carried her words uptown. “Help! Is anybody here? We need help!” She waited in silence, then called again. “We need help! Is anyone around?”

  A voice suddenly sounded. “Hey, man. You crazy? Get down from there.” The stranger moved toward Carli. She nearly cried.

  “Can’t you see it’s dangerous out there?” the man asked.

  “Heyyy, want to join me?” asked Grant.

  The man extended his hand across the watery gap, and Grant instinctively responded with an outstretched arm of his own. The two barely locked fingers before the stranger’s handshake turned into a sharp tug. It brought Grant lurching forward and falling to the ground on top of the man.

  “What’d you do that for?” asked Grant.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to climb on things like this?”

  “I was fine,” said Grant.

  “You weren’t thinking of jumping, were you?” asked the stranger. “Water’s mighty rough around here tonight and gets deep mighty fast. Currents can run the water out in no time and take a body with them. Not a good place to get wet.”

  “I love this place,” said Grant. “No worries, mate.”

  “Sure,” said the stranger. “But you scared your lady, here, half to death.” Turning to Carli, he said, “Best bet is to get him home.” Shaking his head, he added, “Haven’t seen anyone do this for a while. Long while.” Home, thought Carli. If the stranger only knew.

  From the sidewalk in front of her building, Carli watched the cab with Grant slide away from the curb. It wouldn’t matter to the driver that his next stop would be a storage facility. Too bad she couldn’t tell him she knew. As soon as she stepped into her apartment, she dropped to her knees.

  Twenty-One

  Carli half-expected Grant to stand her up for having hauled him off the piers. Instead, she found him ready to tackle some of their Outreach visits together, as Carli had requested. Grant was definitely her brother. She needed to learn more, and figure out how to help. She was definitely in deep.

  “Sleep okay the other night?” she asked, leaving St. Mary’s.

  “The city hardly sleeps a wink, and neither do I. Can’t afford to. Vera needs a pillow, by the way. I saw her after I dropped you off, on my way back down to the piers.”

  Carli stopped walking. “You went back down?”

  “Sure. I needed to see Canada. Had to tell him about a new Chinese restaurant that makes an excellent egg roll. The driver didn’t care. He got a bigger fare. Took me to Vera, Canada, and then home. I tell you, that man was born to drive. Rishad Agoul. Good ol’ Rishad. Bet he would’ve taken me to Harry and Sarah if I’d have asked.”

  “Rishad?” asked Carli.

  “Pretty sure that was his name. I’ve got his picture at my place,” said Grant.

  “Picture?” she asked.

  “Yeah, from his cab. Nice touch, don’t you think?”

  “Grant, you stole his ID.”

  “Nah. It was like a business card. I’m going to call him next time.”

  “Grant, I’m telling you, you took his ID. He needs it back.” Carli stared, as she did many times over the next week. No one else seemed to notice. In fact, most everyone found Grant a welcomed spark of life roaring into their lives, even if he reeked of muddled conversation.

  “Grant, your mints aren’t working,” she said finally.

  Grant smiled. “That bad? I tried this new cordial last night, and the taste really stays with you. Won’t happen again.”

  “No, Grant. It’s not only the mints. It’s all of you. What is wrong?” asked Carli.

  “Wrong? Nothing,” he said. “Everything’s good. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Clearly, a reasonable conversation was impossible. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

  Though smelling less like alcohol or mints over the next days, Grant continued to race through visits. Carli finally pulled him to a halt with a tug on his shirt. The sound of fabric ripping in her hands stopped them both.

  “What’s going on? You aren’t acting right,” said Carli. “And I need answers.”

  “Not acting right? Who says what’s right?” asked Grant. “Suppose we lived in some remote landscape … or one of those tree house platforms in a tropical rain forest. What would be right, then? All these people living outside might be right because housing wouldn’t have the same meaning. They’d be sleeping outside in the forest, and we’d be out there, and Madison and Sarah would be doing just fine out there. No one would bother them, not even us, because it would be okay and we’d all be acting right. As far as I’m concerned, all these other people dressed in their designer fabrics, cut into shapes known as suits, droning to cubicles or corner desks, are the ones who aren’t acting right. Sitting at a desk isn’t normal. If it were, all the other animals would be doing it, but they aren’t. So, what’s right? It’s all relative, Carli.”

  “Your drinking is noticeable,” said Carli. “You’re all over the place.” She tried to talk as gently as possible. “I think it might help for you to see someone, a professional.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For how you’re acting. I’ll go with you if you like. I know a good doctor.”

  Grant stared. It was deadly. Finally, he said, “Tomorrow?”

  Carli nodded.

  “Tomorrow I’m booked,” he said. “Have to see my agent. Booked solid.”

  Carli closed her eyes, only to feel his hands pressing on her shoulders. “I’m fine. Trust me,” said Grant. “Every so often a person has to let go. Speaking of go, I have to check on Cedric.”

  Grant was nearly at the light, while Carli remained fixed to the sidewalk, both fuming and defeated. She steered her way to Sarah.

  As soon as Carli said hello, Sarah pulled a wad of newspaper from one of her bags and began unravelling the limp paper packaging. Buffy’s picture was framed. It had a piece of plastic to cover and cardboard for backing. Together, they gently held Buffy on display in a recycled frame with a faux wood decal finish.

  “Beautiful,” said Carli. Sarah tried to smile, but smiling didn’t come easily to her. “Buffy will last longer like this. Nice.”

  Sarah nodded, then rewrapped Buffy’s portrait and put the bird away. She glanced at Carli and then stepped slowly to the far end of the bench, seeming to leave her bags entrusted to Carli’s care. Carli watched intently. Sarah slowly walked toward the man vending popcorn. Her legs were swollen like bloated zucchinis, the result of too much time with her legs in a vertical position. Sarah needed a bed to reduce the edema.

  Sarah seemed to agonize over a possible purchase. No one stood in line in front of her, but she was unable to step to the counter. For the several minutes that Sarah stood, Carli turned her thoughts to Grant. His illness, or addiction, was out of wraps, just like Buffy. How close to being like Sarah was he? She recalled the clutter of his storage room as she glanced at Sarah’s bags. It was no wonder he knew the system and understood their problems. Dear God, she thought.

  Sarah hobbled to her fortress, having made the leap. Sarah tossed a few pieces of popcorn to the ground. In a flutter, the pigeons arrived. Sarah continued looking straight ahead when Carli said, “I have to leave,” but her expression seemed to change ever so slightly to reveal a hint of disappointment.

  Carli opened her apartment door, and Grant walked in. “Nice place,” he said.

  “I’m glad you made it,” said Carli. She knew it was risky, and wished she hadn’t felt the need to put Kristin and Mercy on notice that he was coming for a visit, but she was willing to give it a try. Dr. Greenberg had given her an idea, even though she hadn’t precisely endorsed it. Thankfully, Grant looked clean-shaven and didn’t smell of
alcohol. “I was pretty sure you’d want to say goodbye to them before we took them to Thelma,” she said, “and without all the commotion going on with Lucy’s service.” Just as Carli finished speaking, Lila and Terrance came skidding out of the bedroom. “Speaking of the devils,” said Carli.

  Grant squatted down. “Hey ... hey guys,” he said. Lila and Terrance wagged and wiggled, happy to have a visitor. Grant patted each of them as they pranced. “They look great. Like real dogs. Yes, you do. Yes, you do. Real dogs. That’s you,” he said.

  “They definitely remember you,” she said.

  “Of course, you do,” said Grant, still talking with the dogs. “You guys are lucky little hounds, yes. Lucky little L and T. That’s who you are.”

  “Come, let’s sit. No need to squat,” said Carli. “They’ll follow. Might even jump onto your lap.”

  Carli led the way to the living room, with Grant and the dogs following. After several more minutes of watching Lila and Terrance, Carli drew Grant’s attention to a table of family photos. “That was my old dog,” she said. Grant looked at the photograph and nodded. Carli looked carefully at Grant. “He was amazing,” she said. Grant continued to look at the photograph. He shifted his eyes to the other photographs sitting alongside the first. Carli had placed several images of young Henry and Tessie alongside her picture of Tura. Mom and Dad in a family portrait, a couple of shots of the neighborhood, and one of their home completed the collection. Grant seemed deep in thought. Carli watched in silence. Finally, Grant said, “Nice dog.” It wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  “You said you had a dog,” said Carli. “What was he like?”

  Grant slowly shook his head. He turned back to the photographs but said nothing.

  Carli found herself rubbing her thumbs together to quell her nervous energy. Grant continued looking at the photographs.

  “He was gentle,” said Grant. “Sort of calm for a dog. Not like these little terrier types. Lila and Terrance, I mean. He’d follow me around, pretty much anywhere, and lie down and sleep or watch. I think he used to fetch a tennis ball, but don’t really remember.”