Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  On one of the first cold days of autumn, Carli sat with Canada on the same stone steps where she had watched him greeting his people below when she and Grant had searched for Cedric. After a few quiet moments, Canada lowered his head and spoke softly. “You know,” he said, “losing Grant hit me hard. Real hard. It’s not the same out here.”

  Carli nodded, unable to speak.

  “I keep thinking,” he continued, “about what happens if one of my guys down there turns out to be another Grant.” Canada nodded at the building where he usually set up his backpack office. “What if I’m pushing someone out onto the street, when maybe I could be helping them go in … and maybe helping another Grant find himself again.” He stopped to look straight at Carli. She managed a half-smile. “Maybe I could do it.”

  Carli took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled.

  “Yes, you could do it. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’ve already started.”

  Grant was clearly still with them all.

  A week before Thanksgiving, it was time to make it all count. Every loss. Every gain. Every fit and start. Inside Rocky’s atrium, Vera watched Carli and Kristin pull the protective wraps off Carli’s paintings and seemed mighty thankful to have been invited to help supervise, as Carli had described it. When Vera said she had pushed the limits of her arthritis, and she turned to leave, Carli said, “Wait, I have something.” Vera turned around. “You never saw the second painting I did of you,” said Carli. She removed the wrap from the last painting and slowly turned it for Vera to see.

  Vera pulled her hand to her face. “Oh, my ... Oh, my. Oh ... my. Look at this.” Vera’s mouth remained open as she panned across the painting.

  Carli said, “I have something else.” She pulled a postcard-sized print from her bag. It was laminated, an exact print of the painting. When she handed it to Vera, she saw Vera’s outstretched hands begin to tremble. Together they looked at the print of Vera and her husband standing along a sidewalk, with the Minnix House – Vera’s house – standing clearly in the background. “I wanted you to always be with your Minnix House and ... you know, your best friend.”

  “Darling, darling, darling,” said Vera. “Thank you. I wondered why you wanted to see that old photo of us two. This means ... well, it means the world to me.”

  “It can go anywhere in the world with you,” said Carli. “Or, maybe, just anywhere in the city. You’ll always have him with you.”

  Vera continued to rest her eyes on the print. “Uh-huh, you sure know. You sure know,” said Vera.

  As Vera pushed through the revolving glass door, Carli knew that she had finally reached her Vera Dear-a.

  “A bit lower on the left,” was all Carli needed to say. Philip, the building manager at First Century Properties, was happy to oblige, having hoisted the last of Grant and Carli’s paintings onto the lobby walls. It was a clean sweep, and a good one. She wished Grant were here to see it.

  “Are you all right?” asked Rocky.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Are you?”

  Rocky nodded and said, “It’s a nice thing you’re doing for all of them.”

  Carli walked the floor. It was unsettling seeing Vera through the atrium’s glass window, wrapped in a new, full-length trench coat, standing close to the wall half a block away, and seeing Vera in an oil wrap, striking a similar pose in her first work of Vera, right beside Carli in the atrium. It shook her, knowing Harry and Grudge would be shacked up outside again tonight, when part of them was inside, practically shaking hands with every office worker who crossed the marble floor.

  Oh, Grant. She whispered his name silently, speaking with her inner voice—the voice a person can’t control but always hears inside their own head. Thankfully, Carli’s inner voice was kind and worked in synch with the rest of herself and the world around her. It wasn’t menacing. It wasn’t controlling. Others, she knew, weren’t so lucky.

  On the walls, Carli viewed the best work of her lifetime. There were four portraits for Lucy, renderings created from Thelma’s collection of photos: in childhood, swinging under a tree; in love, dancing with her beau – William – her gown trailing, with softness and a lover’s drape to it. She was also reflective as a widow, resting sullen eyes on her husband’s portrait; and vulnerable, curled up and sleeping with her dear Lila and Terrance, gray hair covered by a teal-green winter hat. Finally, Lila and Terrance, well-groomed, with matching teal collars and ribbons, sat next to a bench at the Elmsville church. Carli closed her eyes and swallowed hard, remembering all it had taken to bring Lucy home and to give Lila and Terrance to Thelma.

  After a moment, her eyes moved on. Wilson looked stately at his Princeton, New Jersey, prep school, and far less prestigious in a second portrait, clinging to a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag, the same color and texture as his hair. Thank God he was still alive. “Conflict” depicted a troubled young adult – Lenny - meeting with a counselor. It was juxtaposed with “Conflict Too (2)” which showed him as a child, sitting in the shadows of his mother and an aunt, dreaming of his lost father. He, too, was going back home. Mercy and his aunt had finally reached him again, and he was willing. “Trusted Vets” showed Harry and Grudge in uniform, right next to “Common Bond” depicting their new two-person regiment. “Hope” was named not for a person, but a circumstance: Lanna in her new job. “Freedom” was a simple portrait—a bicycle with royal blue fenders, leaning against a light post, with no chain and lock around it. Under it, the sign read, “Just as a child learns to ride a bike by toppling, sometimes falling, and getting back on, these men and women must learn and be helped to ride again. And they can.”

  Next in line was “Simply Sapphires” with Sarah wearing her sapphire heels in a corporate office. Carli had found the photo mixed in with the money. The last time Carli visited Sarah, her woman in blue had spoken a full sentence. Several in fact. They did not come easily, but they came. Just in time for the show, Carli had fleshed out her sketches of Central Park and the Plaza. A number of sleepers rested on the benches. All of these were joined by “Triumph,” and Rocky exalting the world in his work uniform. Carli, of course, knew it had taken many triumphs along the way – the triumph of going to a clinic, of admitting the need for help, of pushing away abusive substances, of simply facing every new day … and facing himself.

  Suddenly, Carli felt resentful. Grant had just gotten it all together. He could have been here, standing next to her. Carli was back to putting on the biggest show of her lifetime, even bigger than the collection of art around her. She understood, now, how Grant had masked it all. He was a Master, indeed.

  Carli viewed Grant’s work last, as she posted a sign next to his paintings.

  “These works were done by a man named Grant White. He was gifted in many ways. He was homeless for part of his life and then chose to help the homeless by gently encouraging them, in his own remarkable way, to move off the streets and into shelter. Before that, he was Phi Beta Kappa and a New York attorney. He was also my brother. I knew him as Henry.”

  Carli stared a long while at “Henry and Tessie,” a painting of them standing arm in arm as children. Bonaventura—beautiful Tura—sat in front, looking up at them in his dog-happy way. She then looked at the many other photos and paintings of her brother from their childhood and read the next sign.

  “Often, one has no choice but to follow what life gives you. As an adult, Grant was given bipolar disorder and he chose not to treat it. Later in life, not long after he was admitted to one of the country’s top art schools for advanced work, he died of an accidental overdose. May those who see this exhibit reach out, as Grant did, to the many who are given difficult life challenges. No one says, ‘When I grow up, I want to live in a box on a sidewalk.’”

  Carli stared at his work for many more moments. She smiled at the sight of Grant’s paintings of Madison and Cedric. She imagined him painting and saw clearly his arm and hand traversing the canvas. She had added to the exhibit Canada’s portrait of denial. Surprisingly, C
anada had recognized denial’s sad picture and had owned up to it when he saw it in his painted reflection.

  Carli sat among the plants in the atrium for nearly an hour, watching many rushing by, in their usual way, with their usual quiet clamor. A few were inexplicably drawn in, taking time to look and ponder, perhaps even willing to take the next bus or train home. Would it mean anything in the end? The leaves of the plants brushed together as she slid down the granite wall and glided gently into a circle of critics.

  “I’ve seen this woman,” said one observer.

  “Yes,” said Carli. “Usually halfway down the block. Her name’s Vera. Some street people don’t want to be approached, but Vera would like it if you said hello.”

  The young man nodded and walked outside. Carli watched him walk that half block and saw him turn and look back as though seeking reassurance. Then, even from a half-block away, Carli was certain she saw Vera’s face turn a smidgeon brighter. He must have called her by name.

  Acknowledgments

  My gratitude overflows for several outstanding editors who helped make Clean Sweep the novel it is. Thank you to Stephen Parolini for thoughtful and astute comments on early drafts, helpful nudges, critical suggestions, and an affirmative, educational, and kind pen. Not only did you help bring greater depth to the characters and a more complete story out of rudimentary drafts, but you pushed me to become a better storyteller and writer. Thank you to Mary-Theresa Hussey for copyediting that went above and beyond as though undertaken by a detective who noticed, questioned and investigated all, and pointed out invaluable options for strengthening this story. Thank you to Louise Stahl for proofreading with the utmost of care, professionalism, good humor, and a welcome touch of humanity. I feel most fortunate to have worked with each of you, my creative and talented editors. Also, thank you to Kathleen Lynch/Black Kat Design for presenting a wonderful array of cover options, and developing a professional, appealing, and appropriate final design to bring readers together with this story.

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  In addition, I extend gratitude to many former teachers for lessons taught at Kathleen Laycock Country Day School and Greens Farms Academy in Greens Farms, Connecticut; and at The Taft School in Watertown, Connecticut. To each of you, I am indebted.

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  My love of family is second to none. To the family that has gotten me through my debut novel and much, much more, you are my strength, and I thank each of you with never-ending love: my husband Chick, for offering unwavering support and for standing beside me through life’s many travels, both rough and smooth, and for encouraging me to pursue my dreams, varied as they have been; my daughters, Bonnie Lee and Emily Lee, for cheering me on and showing me what awesome can look like; Emily Lee, for reading drafts and commenting wisely, and Bonnie Lee, for staunchly holding out for the published hardcover; my brother, George Barata, for a lifetime of steadfast big-brotherly support, as well as an hysterically keen understanding of human nature and motivation, plot—both real and fictionalized—and life’s many stories; and the memory of my mother, Ellen Morrison Barata, and father, Joseph G. Barata, both writers, and readers forever, who gently shaped the person I have become through their own exemplary actions, and humble appreciation of life.

  About the Author

  E. B. Lee was raised in Weston, Connecticut, where she enjoyed the best of a then-rural town and easy train access to the high-energy world of New York City. She brings together elements of both worlds in her debut work of literary fiction, Clean Sweep, a heartfelt story of human connection, tough choices, and compassion. Ms. Lee and her husband have two grown daughters, one middle-aged dog, and have loved a variety of family pets along the way. Ms. Lee now writes in North Carolina and Connecticut.

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  Sign up for E. B. Lee’s author newsletter for a fun look at the writing life, thought-provoking musings, and news of future releases. www.eblee.me

  Also, check for posts in Quinnifer’s Book Club, a blog about dogs and books and the magic of both. www.littlebrowndogpress.com

  Discussion Questions

  1. Chapter 1 of Clean Sweep opens with our protagonist, Carli Morris, helping to deliver sandwiches to homeless men and women living on the sidewalks of Manhattan. If you were in Carli’s shoes during this overnight mission, how might you have felt when Lucy was found? What might you have done?

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  2. By the end of chapter 3, we learn more of Carli’s past. Do you think Carli would have reacted differently to Lucy, and to Lila and Terrance, if she had not lost Henry? At this point in the novel, what most drives Carli’s actions: guilt for not having saved Henry, a lingering sense of sadness and loss, a genuinely strong desire to help others, a combination of these, or something else?

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  3. We first learn in chapter 4 that Outreach is about connecting with people who are living on the sidewalks, in the parks, in other outdoor spaces, or on public transportation. It is about encouraging street homeless to recognize the benefits of accepting help and voluntarily moving into some sort of housing. Moving inside is now prioritized by a number of programs as a critical first step in enabling help for other problems. Imagine spending 48 hours on the streets. How much time might you have to spend traveling to secure meals, water for thirst or for taking medication, bathrooms, showers, dry clothes if it rains or snows, heat, or air conditioning? Where would you stay without shelter? How safe would you feel? How would you feel if people glared at you, spat on you, or talked negatively to you?

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  4. In Chapter 7, Carli watches a stranger – a homeless woman in blue – for over twenty minutes as the woman inspects her belongings. What does this tell you about Carli and her inability to turn her back? Have you ever noticed or watched someone who is homeless and living on the street or in a park? For how long?

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  5. In Chapter 8 we meet Mercy. I will let you in on a secret. Mercy was not always Mercy. She was initially named Theresa. An editor pointed out Tessie (Carli’s real name) might likely be a nickname for Theresa. Two characters with the same name would not do. So, Theresa became Mercy. But Mercy almost became Izzy, short for Isabella. Why? The meaning of “mercy”—being associated with compassion or forgiveness based on one’s power to punish or harm—was not the sentiment I wanted attached to this character. Also, the name Izzy seemed well-suited to this character’s strong personality and flamboyant exterior. In the end, however, I set Izzy aside because I like the way “Mercy” sounds. It is soft-sounding, easy to read, and easy for other characters to say in dialogue. It rolls well off the tongue of my internal reading voice. “Izzy” has a harder sound. I feared this would negatively impact the voice of the novel and lend a different feel to the reading experience.

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  Choosing names for characters is not always easy. Consider the names of the characters in Clean Sweep. Are they memorable? Distinct? Do they need to be? Is a name better if it is not memorable? Are the Clean Sweep character names likable or not? Does any particular name impact the way you see that character?

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  6. Before reading Clean Sweep, what might you have thought of a homeless person you saw on the sidewalk, a bench, or sleeping in their car or in a subway car? If you came across someone like Wilson—who you first meet in chapter 9—how might you have viewed him if you did not know him or know his story, as Carli comes to know it? Might you have labeled him as a “bum,” drunk, lost soul, victim of bad circumstance? How would his appearance – a man in need of a shower and with clothes coated with food and a bottle held in his hand – influence your thoughts? Might you have felt at all threatened? Indignant? Sad? Concerned? Indifferent? Compassionate? Something else?

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  7. Chapter 10 introduces the City Sweeps, which move street homeless off sidewalks, ostensibly for the benefit of a neighborhood and for those who are homeless. In Clean Sweep, we see that individual characters living on the streets sometimes prefer to stay put. Is it “ri
ght” to move street homeless off the streets? Is it right to allow individuals to live on the streets? Consider the visual results of a Sweep. How different does a city block look with or without desolate beings in sight? Might a homeless person’s presence impact your perception of your surroundings? Could it make you feel a different sense of safety or different sense of cleanliness in your surroundings? Would you feel threatened or turned off? Would it not be noticeable? Or, might it seem normal, and either unchangeable or in no need of being changed?

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  8. In chapters 13 and 15, Carli confronts denial, not only in herself, but in those on the street as well. Denial slides into Clean Sweep in several other chapters. Denial can be a strong personal defense mechanism. It comes part and parcel with a number of mental health challenges and addictions. Denial can be a double-edged sword, providing temporary respite, but also prohibiting steps to longer-term solutions. What characters in Clean Sweep employ denial, knowingly or not, to help with their situations, and how does each of them manifest their denial? How difficult do you think it is to break through the walls of denial? Does the break have to come from within?

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  9. Compassion and human connection are vital elements of Clean Sweep. Both are seen as strengths and saving forces, but, as we see in Carli’s story, compassion and connection can have associated vulnerabilities. Can a person have true compassion or human connection without opening one’s heart and allowing oneself to be vulnerable?