by E. B. Lee
She headed to the shadows of the elevated highway to seek out Harry and Grudge. The two were already up and out, but Sarah’s cart was boosted against a trestle, looking like part of the bridge. She wanted to take it, but doing so could endanger Sarah. If Harry happened to go looking for it again, Carli wanted him to know she had taken it, not Sarah.
Carli walked away empty-handed. Taking Harry’s “new” cart would be robbing him, too, and not only of his new cart, but of his trust. There were other ways to keep them both, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t ask him about it very soon. After all, hadn’t Grant tapped Harry on the back about Lenny?
With the logistics of street life being new to her, Carli didn’t know if Sarah might have a way of finding a new cart on her own. But when she returned, as she had promised, she saw Sarah’s bags jumbled on the bench, with no cart by their side. Together, they schlepped the bags out of the park. Many people stared. None gave a hand. According to Grant, Sarah didn’t go far – across the street and up and down a few blocks was about it. Without a cart, she likely wouldn’t be leaving her neighborhood or going to Lucy’s church. The next morning, following another bag delivery to the park, Carli set off to find Sarah a new set of wheels.
It took some searching, but Carli finally found what she needed tucked in the corner of a dusty top shelf at First Avenue Hardware. She steered her acquisition onto the sidewalk, wondering how long it would take for it to mellow to the rusty patina of street life.
Carli was certain Sarah would scorn a gift, so she helped move bags one more time, and waited until after dark to make an undercover delivery. Surrounded by night, Carli slid the cart under a shrub near Sarah’s favorite bench. With any luck, Sarah would lay claim to it before anyone else. Carli fled fast, shuddering at the thought of Sarah being out by herself near the empty park, at this very moment, and night after night.
The next morning, as soon as Carli spotted Sarah, she smiled. Sarah was already chatting with the pigeons, with her new cart sparkling in the morning sun. For all Carli knew, Sarah saw her leave the cart and claimed it in the middle of the night. The new cart was a bit wider than Sarah’s first, and the woman had tied two bags to the sides using strands of mismatched twine. The bags in the middle anchored their weight, and Sarah could now push her pram with bags no longer piled so high as to block her view. She could walk with two hands on the handle, instead of using a hand to balance the top bag. Going over curbs would be easier. In some respects, the theft was a blessing, but Carli hardly felt like thanking Harry. Yes, it was time to find Harry for a talk.
Carli slid into a seat directly across the table as soon as Harry and his tray sat at Lucy’s soup kitchen.
“I heard you got a new cart,” Carli said, reaching for salt for her lunchmeat.
Harry glanced up.
“Where’d you get it?” she asked.
“Found it.”
“Near Sarah?”
“Just found it.” After taking a bite he added, “But I sold it.”
“Sold it?”
Harry continued eating. “Needed it, but then didn’t, so I sold it.”
Someone else was now walking around with Sarah’s cart.
“Why didn’t you give it back to Sarah? And why did you take it in the first place?”
“I had my reasons.”
“But she needed it,” said Carli. For all the good she had hoped on Harry over the past months, Carli momentarily despised him.
After lunch, Carli returned to the park. As she sketched, Sarah approached with shiny new cart wheels making crinkling sounds as they rolled over the gravel path. Carli looked up to see Sarah reaching her hand straight toward her to offer a plastic bag. Instinctively, Carli reached to accept it but immediately regretted doing so. Nothing jingled like a bag full of coins.
“Cart,” Sarah said slowly.
Carli tried returning the bag, but Sarah turned, and her cart turned as well, ready for another crinkly stroll.
“Sarah, wait …”
“Sister! What’s up?”
The moment Carli heard Kristin’s voice on her phone, she smiled. “Hey. Good to hear your voice,” said Carli. “I’m doing a bit of research.”
“Paintings? That kind of research?”
“No. Perfumes. Trying to find Wilson, last name unknown, occupation chemist ... possibly ... but also unknown for certain. I mean, how many Wilsons could there be in the perfume world?”
“Wilson ... the man in the park?” asked Kristin.
“Yes, that Wilson. He claims he used to be a chemist. In the perfume industry. I don’t know if it’s true, but he has an incredible nose for fragrances. I don’t know how he does it. A lot of him is in a fog, but, somehow, his nose picks up these scents. And knows them. Like, identifies them. You should see it. It’s amazing.”
“Sounds like a gift.”
“Well, with any luck, it will be a gift that tells me a bit more about him, and helps get him out of that damned park,” said Carli. “I’m hoping something, or someone, will let me make a stronger connection.”
“I thought you were only visiting two women,” said Kristin.
“That was the idea, but how can I not help a man with a childlike smile, who wouldn’t harm a flea, and who is grateful to receive two new coat buttons? A man who somehow knows perfumes ... and who seriously needs to turn in his bottle before he dies with his head on a park bench.”
“Good points.”
“I mean, he’s not just a drunk in the park. He’s Wilson,” said Carli. She paused, realizing the full meaning of her words.
“So, give me the deets. I’ll help you search. Two keyboards are better than one.”
“You’re always a team player,” said Carli.
“You got my back. I got yours.”
“So, here’s the thing ... what I likely need are old annual reports, company publications, or maybe an industry directory. I’m guessing from five years ago to fifteen years ago. I’m just getting started. I considered calling our friends who did Workables and Living Easy, to see if they can give a few leads to Fragrance Industry or Fragrance Creators materials.”
“Good idea,” said Kristin. “Let me do that for you.”
“I have no idea if Wilson was a higher-up, production chemist, or master blender of some sort. If I had to guess, I would definitely go with the latter. All he said was ‘chemist.’”
“Any reason to think he’d make that up?” asked Kristin.
“Could have. But he said he studied chemistry. He also said ‘Princeton,’ but I didn’t get anywhere with that. Maybe I just didn’t have the right range of years.”
“Maybe, but honestly, this all seems like we’re being total creepers. What are you going to do if you find out something?”
“I’m trying to come up with anything that will connect. I have no intention of telling anyone who isn’t trying to help,” said Carli.
“It still feels like creeping. On the other hand, people look for all types of information about all types of people. I guess this is no different.”
“Who knows?”
“Hey, the other reason I called is I want to know about your vacation. Are you still taking it?” asked Kristin.
“It sounds so weird when you say it like that. Sounds like we’re talking about taking time off from work. You know, like when you have to schedule in your time off from the office,” said Carli.
“Those were the days, right? At least for one of us. The other one, here, is still living it.”
“Yes, I am going,” said Carli. “Well, I hope so. I’m worried about leaving Grant. He said he saw Dr. Greenberg. Hey, I didn’t tell you about that, did I?”
“No. You’re holding back on me. Fantastic.”
“I guess I believe him,” said Carli. “As long as there is no major emergency, it’s Wyoming here I come. Can’t wait. Two weeks of total brain crunch with my artistic side.”
“You need to get away,” said Kristin. “Not only for your painting, b
ut for you.”
“Agreed. I definitely need to get out there for my show though. The whole premise is to have contrasting landscapes from oceans to mountains. To show the different power of it all. I considered adding in desert works but decided to make that a separate study. I’d likely drop dead in the desert heat right now, anyway.”
“Oh, God. Forgot about that,” said Kristin. “Head to the mountains, Sister.”
“I will, but right now I’m heading to sleep. Long day. Thanks a billion for the call.”
Twenty-Six
Dr. Greenberg’s evaluation returned a simple translation: bipolar disorder, or manic depression. Grant was a man of many internal faces, whose bouts with alcohol served as last-ditch efforts at homemade fixes meant to level his head. His unexplained absences were proof positive of depressive waves far too massive to swim through by will alone. It was no wonder he left rehab, apparently several times. It was a matter of biochemistry, not will and not steps. The diagnosis left Carli feeling helpless once again, and wondering if she could have any impact. It was up to Grant to make the right decisions.
Doctor Greenberg prescribed mood stabilizers and psychotherapy to sort through baggage and heal emotional wounds. Grant was one of the luckier ones, having thus far been spared delusions and other debilitating psychoses known to difficult cases. He could never be cured, but he could be helped. That was the news before Independence Day weekend.
Carli watched Grant struggle with his diagnosis in textbook style. There had been comfort in denial and ignorance, even when it gave free run to an uncomfortable being. While relieved to have a known condition, he was angry. He felt betrayed by a malfunctioning brain and emotionally wounded at having a named mental illness, even if he had likely known of it all along. Grant fell into the quiet and safety of his room, where he digested the meaning of his diagnosis and became spiteful of the world, which included Carli.
The drugs would kick in over a couple of weeks, and demanded careful monitoring, as too much could be as bad as none. In fact, too much could be lethal. Carli gave him time before making her way to Cooper’s storage. In the meantime, she painted on pins and needles, waiting it out, and swatting away the many “what-ifs.”
“Do you feel like working?” she asked, when she finally visited.
“Outreach? Sure.” He smirked bitterly. “Was working all along, and I’m supposed to be getting better.”
Carli nodded.
“On second thought,” he said, “don’t really feel like going today.”
Carli didn’t feel like going out either, but she went. It was Vera who crossed her path first, after picking Carli out from a mass of pedestrians and calling her by name first. Carli called back. “Vera Dear-a, what’s new? How are you doing?”
“I can’t complain. Nothing good comes from complaining. Say, where’s that Grant? I need to ask him something.”
“He stayed home today,” said Carli.
“Have you seen them ticketing for boxes again? I thought I saw that dumbbell new cop,” said Vera.
“As far as I know, The Sweep’s been quiet,” said Carli. “Did the cop bother you?”
“I thought I saw someone else getting bothered. That’s all. No one did nothing to me.”
“Tell me, how’re your joints doing?” asked Carli. “It looks like you’re walking a bit worse on your left side. What’s going on?”
“Some days it’s better than others. Sometimes, I think it’s all that sleeping on the ground that does it to you. Puts a lot of pressure on the hip, you know. Then I think I could be in a nice, comfy bed and still have this happen ’cause I sees a lot of older folks its happening to and they all got beds, at least so I thinks. I don’t complain.”
“I can get you mobile medical if you want it,” said Carli. “Told you about this before.”
“And I told you I wasn’t interested,” said Vera. “Like a hundred times.”
Carli sighed and stared at the women’s feet. “You don’t deserve this, Vera, and I know you tested out the atrium. Doesn’t that tell you something? Listen to yourself. I’d like to help if you want to do something about it. It’s okay to change your mind.” Carli paused a moment for Vera to consider her words. Then she took another risk. She knew Vera could always walk away, but something told Carli she wouldn’t. “I just wonder,” said Carli, “wouldn’t your husband want you to take care of that hip of yours? And your feet?”
Vera looked directly into Carli’s eyes, seemingly stunned. Then she slowly lowered her gaze to the ground. The next moment, Carli was certain she saw Vera’s eyes flicker in the direction of the old Minnix House, before quickly returning to their downward gaze.
“Vera Dear-a, we’re due for some nasty thunderstorms this week. Please, stay safe,” said Carli.
Vera knew. She knew. But she couldn’t do it. Not yet. She said, “I’d best be getting home,” and began walking.
“Wait,” said Carli. “There’s something else.”
Vera halted her step and raised her eyes. Her head maintained its downward tilt. “I am going away for a bit,” said Carli. “Not right away, but I want to give you this heads-up. I don’t want you thinking I’m leaving you if you don’t see me.”
Vera nodded.
“Maybe I’ll bring you back another gift,” said Carli. It brought a smile to Vera’s face.
“Thanks,” said Vera. “You know, for giving me the heads-up.”
Not finding Cedric at Penn Station during the past months gave a peculiar thrill every time Carli walked past or came up from one of the subway trains. Some days, Carli went out of her way to visit his spot, just to stare at the empty space. It was a welcome reminder, so she went again on her way to Wilson’s.
What she saw, nearing the glass tower, made her slow her step. A figure was stretched on the ground near Cedric’s old resting place. It wasn’t Cedric. Thank God. The man didn’t flinch when Carli stepped near. Maybe he was the punk can stealer, or maybe someone else – someone new.
The man, out cold, was a good catch for the cops if, as Vera said, they were out. If he was moving in, he was poorly furnished, with not a bag on him. She hoped he had a different story, like a long night out and a missed train ride home. She would tell Mercy and check back the next day. With any luck, transit cops, or street cops, would remind him there were better places to sleep. It could be the best “worst lesson” he might ever get. Right now, Carli had another important stop.
Before Carli was a block from Wilson’s park, she realized she was smiling nearly ear to ear. Surely other pedestrians noticed, but no matter. She couldn’t wait to hear what Wilson would say about the four bottles of perfume tucked inside her bag. Maybe he would recognize them. Surely, he would identify some of the separate elements of their scented blends, just as he had done with the others. Carli couldn’t wait to share her new game with him. She hoped he would be as excited about it as she was, and hoped the fog of his wine had not yet settled around his bench. Carli hastened her step.
When the park came into sight, a wave of disappointment washed over. The picnic bench sat empty, save for a few weeds clinging to one of its legs. Nobody stood near the back wall. A couple of brown sparrows flitted past, picking up seeds from the ground, but Wilson’s park was otherwise empty. Carli leaned against the outer fence and felt her mouth turn downward.
As Carli cut through library park, she saw the screamer, the woman Grant had loosely pointed out on her very first day of Outreach. Carli still didn’t know her name. Carli watched her, standing, mumbling, and very much self-contained. For some reason, Carli decided to approach. A few feet away, she said, “Hi.”
The woman gave one angry, fast, penetrating look at Carli and sounded the alarm. With Carli as her target, she screamed loud and fast and rattled words off her tongue like lottery balls bouncing in their glass container. The car alarm woman continued to honk and flash and Carli turned and walked swiftly away. The woman’s voice followed Carli down the block but, thankfully, the woma
n did not. The contact had gone nothing like Carli had planned. She couldn’t wait to get home and raise a paintbrush to her canvas.
Carli stared at her unfinished waterscape and saw her life swirling around on the watery surface, like powerless flotsam being lifted over swells, pummeled under breakers, and churned up by waters receding from the shore, only to have it repeated. She lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the wooden floor, with her head leaned all the way down into her hands on her lap. Grant was a mess. She couldn’t save Vera or Wilson. And Lila and Terrance were no longer dancing their happy toenails across the room.
In a few moments, she resettled with her back flat on the ground and eyes looking to the ceiling. She had crossed tough roads before. Countless times at work. Occasionally she had felt overwhelmed by the demands and details and had felt lost, but it had always worked out. In the end, she had her internal compass to guide her. Carli knew her patience and faith were part of that compass and were both being tested. Surprisingly, she also realized it was okay. As she continued to stare at the ceiling, Carli no longer felt she was failing, but merely being impatient, and, perhaps, still untrusting. Yes, patience and faith would see her through. Isn’t that what she saw daily on the streets? Men and women, with nothing but faith?
Despite her renewed willingness to be patient, it felt like an eternity before Grant was ready to rejoin Outreach. In the meantime, Carli painted and kept track of Vera, Sarah, and the others becoming increasingly familiar. The man at Cedric’s place never returned, but another new one popped up at Gloria’s – same time every day, his clothes barely changed. The worst news was Wilson did not look well. Jaundice was a threatening sign that his kidneys and liver were in decline.
Carli frequently visited Cooper’s to assure Grant of her support. One day, finally, he was ready to go out.