Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  Rocky was grateful.

  “Wasn’t too sure about this atrium thing,” said Rocky. “But like I said, everything’s been cool, and when Grant asked, how could I say no?’”

  Carli jerked up her head. “When Grant asked?”

  “When he asked to use the atrium,” said Rocky. “What did you think we were talking about?”

  “Grant asked you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Anyone else?” asked Carli.

  Rocky shrugged.

  “He talked to you?” Carli repeated. “I thought he talked to the law firm.”

  “Don’t know anything about that,” said Rocky. “But don’t worry whether he did or didn’t; my boss ain’t gonna wake up at three a.m. to see how I’m doing my job. Grant, yes. Boss, no. As long as they’re out by six, they’re fine.”

  “What about the cameras?” asked Carli.

  “These things?” Rocky gave a nod toward his monitor. “No one ever checks them unless there’s a problem.”

  Clearly, Carli was headed for another day away from her studio. Normally she shared everything with Kristin in near real-time, but Carli first needed to absorb today’s news alone. She sat in her window seat, back propped against the sidewall, considering, once again, Grant might be Henry. It seemed impossible, except his laugh, his handshake, and the silly childhood song all pointed in that direction. But why was Grant, or Henry, acting so strangely? She had never known the person she saw earlier. And why was Rocky the atrium “in”? For that matter, why did Henry change his name? Maybe there was never a cult, and Henry simply wanted to leave the family. Why would he do that?

  Early in the evening, Carli finally called Kristin.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Kristin.

  “I have to ask him,” said Carli. “But I don’t know how. For starters, I would have to tell him I’m Tessie, not Carli.”

  “Do the nickname thing we talked about. Just tell him I started calling you Carli way back and you got used to it,” said Kristin. “I’ll cover for you. You know I will.”

  “I could tell him he looks like someone I used to know and see what he says,” said Carli, “Except it will sound like the oldest pickup line ever.”

  “It’s definitely one of the top five,” said Kristin. “Pickup lines, that is.”

  “I just can’t make sense of it,” said Carli. “Maybe I’ll punt.”

  “Do nothing?” asked Kristin.

  “Exactly.”

  “Right,” said Kristin. “Except, you’ll worry yourself to death in the meantime.”

  “I don’t do ‘nothing’ very well, do I?”

  “Depends. Look what you did for Lila and Terrance ... and Lucy. Do you call that nothing?”

  “He’s acting so strange,” said Carli.

  “Maybe he figured it out too. Maybe he knows who you are,” said Kristin.

  “How could he? I wasn’t the one singing our song.”

  “Who knows. But are you certain?”

  “Not at all. One minute I am, and the next I think I’m going nuts,” said Carli.

  “Like I said before, maybe you want him to be Henry so badly that you aren’t seeing it objectively anymore.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I think you have to out and out call him Henry and see what he does,” said Kristin. “Tell him who you are, while you’re at it.”

  “I tried,” she said. “Then, I didn’t have the guts to do it when he ran off and seemed like a complete stranger.” Carli thought of the moment she learned Henry was missing. She had been drawing a self-portrait when her mother and father quietly entered her bedroom together. It was going to be an addition to her portfolio for college applications. After they delivered the news, the portrait was ruined by tears. She looked at it a week later and realized its tear-weathered look was as accurate a self-portrait as she could have created. For weeks, Carli had felt numbed by the news. She wondered why she felt even more numb now.

  Carli hung up with Kristin and immediately phoned Pastor Miller. Her first words, “Thank you for taking the call,” were met with a jovial laugh.

  “When someone phones after dinner,” said Pastor Miller, “I know they need to reach me. What’s on your mind?”

  “Divine Intervention.”

  “Oh, my. Is that all?” Pastor Miller laughed again, but the tone was decidedly different.

  “How long have you known Grant?” she asked.

  “Known Grant? Let’s see ... must be a few years by now. I don’t see much of him, of course. Just doing the Runs. He checks in just about every time I do one.”

  “Any idea where he came from?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I keep seeing little things about him that remind me of my brother. I’m doing some Outreach visits now. Two women. I don’t think I told you that.”

  “Wonderful. No, you didn’t. But you said your brother joined a cult.”

  “Yes. At least ... we think he did. But Grant’s laugh is somewhat familiar. He keeps reminding me of Henry. I was wondering what you knew about him.”

  “Carli, it sounds mighty unlikely.”

  “I agree it doesn’t add up, but I can’t stop thinking we have, somehow, been brought together.”

  “Uh-hum. Divine intervention?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, as you likely already know, things do work in mysterious ways we can’t always understand ... or explain,” said Pastor Miller. “I suppose it’s possible. But at times, too, we are asked to accept things we don’t want to accept. Unfortunate things ... or events ... like losses. Times like those are the biggest tests of our faith. Our strength, as well.”

  “When we lost Henry, I lost my faith. I guess it was a bigger test than I could accept. Lately, I have been trying to strengthen it, but seeing the men and women on the streets is cutting some of the fragile strings again.”

  “Happens to most everyone somewhere along the way. To one extent or another.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You know, you could always compare your DNA. I believe it’s pretty accurate. Usually, though, it is helpful to meet life head on ... and trust the outcome.” After a moment, Pastor Miller said, “Talk with him. See what he says.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” said Carli.

  “Good. Maybe it is,” he said. “On another note, I hear Lucy is going home soon. The weather is finally with us, even though they won’t be holding her memorial until spring’s end.”

  “Yes, we did it. We actually did it.”

  “I spoke with Thelma. She cried at the thought of it. Or, maybe, it was for having let Lucy slip away in the first place. Wasn’t her fault, of course.”

  “No, of course not,” said Carli. “Thank you again for reaching out to her with me. I couldn’t have done it on my own.”

  “My pleasure. Always helps to ask for help. Speaking of which, I’m glad you phoned. Feel free, anytime.”

  Carli hung up, still considering the need for an appointment with a psychiatrist, and wondering if, as Kristin had said, she wanted Henry back so much she was seeing things that didn’t exist. Carli closed her eyes. She realized the likelihood of Grant and Henry being one and the same was near zero. Then she thought of Canada’s eyes. And she contemplated denial.

  The next morning, with no appointment or forewarning of her visit, Carli sat as soon as Mercy invited her into her office. Mercy rose to close the door. Before she returned to her seat she said, “I’m hoping you are not going to waste a single minute of my time, or yours, with small talk, and you are going to tell me straight away what’s wrong. Because to my eyes, something looks mighty wrong.” Mercy knew how to make a person feel at ease.

  “It’s Grant,” said Carli. “I think he’s my lost brother, but it doesn’t make sense that his name is Grant. Or that he would be here. What do you know about him?” she asked.

  “You know, you could be asking him all these questions yourself,” said Mercy. �
��You would likely get better answers than asking me about him secondhand.”

  Carli understood but wanted a different answer. She decided to open her second can of worms. Mercy listened with raised eyes. No, the atrium visits were not sanctioned by Four Bridges. When Carli brought up Grant’s recent euphoria, Mercy, again, listened intently. Yes, she had seen it.

  “Any idea where Grant is right now?” asked Carli.

  “Best way to reach him is to call,” said Mercy.

  “We both know he doesn’t answer his phone.”

  “True,” said Mercy. “But, eventually, he gets back to you.”

  Mercy placed her hands on Carli’s forearms. “I hope you found him ... for both of your sakes. But, hey, keep an objective eye on it.”

  Carli nodded.

  “And, as to the atrium, let me know what he says, if you see him, please,” said Mercy. “Or, better, have him come talk to me. You and I both know no atrium has city approvals for sleeping space.”

  For days, Carli was forced to wait. Grant wasn’t picking up her calls and hadn’t cleared room for new messages. Carli found herself anxiously touching her shirt collar. She wasn’t surprised, and she knew what it meant: her resolve to act was growing by the minute, but the more she had to wait, the edgier she felt. Fortunately, Sister Anna got in touch when Grant was at St. Mary’s, just as Carli had requested. Carli didn’t bother cleaning her paintbrushes; she just ran to catch him before he left.

  “Like I said, you have your contacts, and I have mine.” Grant had the gall to smile. “Rocky’s a good friend and has a great atrium. Wilson, by the way, visited Mercy to ask about help. I think the atrium made him do it.”

  “Wilson saw Mercy?” asked Carli. “When?”

  “Couple of days ago.”

  “I spoke with Mercy a few days ago, myself,” said Carli. “Told her how it was going at the atrium.” Carli’s next words were slow and deliberate. “Mercy hadn’t seen Wilson in over a week. Didn’t know about an atrium either.”

  Grant looked surprised. He didn’t say a word.

  “Where have you been, anyway?” she asked.

  “Me? Shopping. Cruise wear’s out.”

  “Shopping?”

  Grant smiled.

  “What about Outreach? Cedric? Wilson?” she asked.

  “They’re doing great. They think the atrium’s the bomb.”

  “The bomb? Grant, what’s going on?” she asked.

  “What’s going on?” he said. “I told you already. The atrium is great, and cruise wear is out.”

  Grant’s words prompted a change of plan. Instead of asking about his childhood, Carli probed for more details of the atrium. Grant dodged them well. She left to ferret out the truth.

  “Like I told you,” said Rocky, “one of the local cops poked his nose in last night. I told him it’s cool, that it’s a type of special experiment, and he left, but I know he’ll be checking in again, even though he might want to help them. You and I both know you don’t see this kind of thing – street sleepers allowed in these fancy places.”

  “Did he talk with any of them?” asked Carli.

  “No. They were sleeping. Or pretending. You get pretty good at faking it sometimes.”

  “Does Grant know?” she asked.

  “He came by but was in such a rush, he couldn’t stay still. Told me to do whatever I wanted. And he had on this odd summer hat. Looked mighty funny.”

  Cruise wear, thought Carli.

  “I figure I’ll put up a couple of portable barriers so they won’t be so noticeable, and ask Grant again, next time I see him.”

  Carli slowly nodded. “Last time I saw Grant, he was acting weird, like you said. Have you ever seen him like this?”

  “Wearing funny clothes, you mean? Oh, sure. Every so often. I think he does it to start people talking. Break the ice. But, come to think of it, he hasn’t done it for a while.”

  “Does he usually rush around so much? Lately, I can’t keep up,” said Carli.

  “Oh, sure. Sometimes he stays forever, practically the whole night, like there’s no rush at all. Sometimes checks in like usual, chats a bit, and goes. And, sometimes, like now, it seems like he’s popping wheelies and roaring in and out of here.” Rocky added, “I don’t know if this is normal or not. But I know it’s normal for Grant.”

  A few days later, Carli caught Grant rushing down Lucy’s steps, following another call from Sister Anna. The police visit to the atrium was old news to him. A night stop at Rocky’s had delivered the update.

  “We had a couple of complaints,” said Grant. “Had a couple more visitors too. Even Vera went into the atrium,” he added. “She told me it was worth a try and liked how peaceful the water sounded. Then Rocky let Clyde in ... I don’t think you know Clyde yet. A couple more pulled up inside, too. So, we got some complaints ... because it was pretty noticeable. One of them – I think Rocky said it was Clyde – couldn’t get himself out on time. So, Rocky can’t do it anymore. He’s afraid he might lose his job. Say, how come you didn’t call me about the police?” asked Grant.

  Carli was too stunned to respond. A moment later, Grant added. “Lucky thing I stopped by.”

  Barely whispering, Carli asked, “Where have you been the past few days? I’ve been trying to leave messages, but you have too many on your phone. Don’t you ever check them?”

  “Where have I been? I’ve been everywhere,” said Grant.

  Unfortunately, Carli believed him. Then she asked, “How’d they take the news?”

  Grant gave a peculiar look. “What news? Cronkite retired.”

  “The news they can’t stay,” she said slowly.

  “Right,” said Grant. “We need to tell them. Doubt it will bother them in the least.”

  Carli knew they would have to tell Madison and Wilson before they settled in again. She stared at Grant for another few moments as though to somehow siphon clues to explain his behavior. He didn’t seem at all like her brother, let alone anyone she wanted to know.

  As Grant turned to leave St. Mary’s, Carli put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Wait.”

  Grant looked annoyed. He was ready to go.

  “Sit,” she said. “Here. On the steps.”

  Grant sat, and Carli asked, “What is wrong with you?”

  “Wrong with me? Nothing. Anything wrong with you?”

  “No,” said Carli. “I’m fine, but something is wrong. You seem like you’re in a huge rush and are preoccupied or something ... like ... I don’t know what. Just ... different.”

  “Different?” asked Grant. “That’s the best you got? I prefer, ‘unique,’” he said. Grant stood and said, “Coming? Or am I telling them myself?”

  Carli stared, silently. Then she followed to see what more she might learn.

  Wilson sat in his park. He accepted the atrium news without question, exactly as Grant predicted. To Carli, it seemed a setback. To Grant and Wilson, it was another fact of street life. Grant immediately left to find Canada and the others to pass along the atrium news by himself. Carli walked home. Passing Vera across the street, Carli was in no mood to reach out, not caring that a few days earlier Vera had almost accepted her first cup of coffee and had tried the atrium, or so Grant had said. Vera didn’t seem to mind that Carli waved but didn’t stop. Near Grand Central Station, Carli crossed paths with Harry, heading to his highway home, and displaying his familiar lopsided gait. Carli would have ignored him had he not been so close. “Heading back to Grudge?” she asked.

  “Yup. Settling down early. Tonight’s going to have a lot of wind in it.” Harry’s words rattled with disgust. Carli wanted to talk, but she couldn’t make herself do it. The confusion tied to Grant and the atrium was like a full-body restraint preventing any Outreach beyond a most basic greeting. Most distressing was that Grant was in charge of the restraining straps. Carli needed to break free.

  Late morning, several days later, Carli walked to Four Bridges, once again. The tires and exhaust of city traf
fic had turned March’s overnight snow shower into an unappealing mix of dark-gray slush and rivulets of dirty laundry water. Together, they made passing through crosswalks with dry shoes impossible.

  “What brings you here?” asked Mercy.

  Looking at Mercy’s astounding blue blouse with a double-row necklace of faux pearls, Carli wanted to say, “You,” and that’s exactly what she said.

  Mercy got a real thrill out of it. “That’s just what I needed. Today’s been a hard one.”

  “Oh?” asked Carli.

  “A couple of tough cases. I thought they were doing one thing, but it turns out they were doing something else. Weather is mighty dreary, too.”

  “The snow?” asked Carli. “It was beautiful ... until the city started painting over it with road oil and all. That mix of fluorescent colors—purples and pinks—always looks pretty cool skimming on top, though I hate to think where it goes.”

  “Ah, know what you mean,” said Mercy.

  “Has Grant talked with you about the atrium yet?” asked Carli.

  “He’s been in. He didn’t want to do much talking about it. He doesn’t understand why it wasn’t a great idea. He still thinks they should be in there. He was mighty annoyed with the city. And with me for pressing. Have you had any trouble with him? Being angry, I mean?”

  “Annoyed, yes. And impatient. But not angry. And I won’t tolerate it if he goes there,” said Carli. “Actually, I’m worried about him,” she added.

  “I’m still keeping my eye on him,” said Mercy.

  Carli motioned to the drop-in room. Nearly all of its chairs were occupied. “Do they ever go in? Really go inside?” she asked. “Not in an atrium, but back home?”

  “Why do you think I’m here all day?” asked Mercy. “Of course, they do. Lenny? We’ll get him. He and his aunt have continued to talk, and that’s a great way to begin his trip back home. Rocky? He’s doing great. You see him. I know you do.”