Bad news hit the following week. Carli and Grant found Cedric sitting with arms crossed and face oozing with anger. His work gloves and stick, used to root out cans, lay between him and a well-groomed hedge outside Penn Station. After a long silence, he shared his wrath.
“They got ’em all. Found my stash. Last night.” Raising his eyes slightly, he added, “Gone.”
“After I saw you?” asked Grant.
“Yes. I was at the shelter. I have to find out who did it and get ’em.”
“I thought you had a place to take your cans.”
“They went traitor on me,” said Cedric. “They won’t take them anymore. Either I cross the city to hawk ’em back, or I gotta store ’em. It’s not like I’m stealing or nothing. I’m keeping the city clean.”
“Maybe it was the garbage collectors,” said Carli. “They pretty much grab everything once they hit a spot.”
“She’s right,” said Grant. Then he suggested, as he had apparently done dozens of times before, a different kind of work, with a paycheck and safety from the streets. Cedric wasn’t interested. Cans were his thing.
Grant slipped Cedric a couple of dollars to cover the loss. Then he said, “I’ll check on you later. Every business has setbacks some time or another.” His words, more than the money, seemed to mitigate the loss.
A short walk across town brought Carli and Grant to Vera. Carli was ready. Thankfully, Grant gave her the green light to say anything she wanted, a nice change from Sarah. But even without knowing her yet, Carli sensed trouble and became reluctant to engage
“What’s wrong?” Grant asked, jumping right in.
“One of those runt cops gave me a ticket,” said Vera. “I never got ticketed for nothing before, my whole entire life.”
“Ticket?” asked Grant.
“He said my box was blocking the door.”
“Was it?”
“Of course. How else is it supposed to fit in here? No one ever uses this door at night because it’s locked. Got to go around.”
Carli listened carefully to Vera’s every word, spoken with a distinct New York accent. She also heard a slight rattle in her voice, a wheezing sort of rattle, likely from age or the cold weather.
“What happened?” asked Grant.
“Well, he said I had to leave or he’d ticket me. I told him I wasn’t blocking anything since it was night. He said I was supposed to go to some sort of shelter. I told him they’re dangerous. He seemed shocked by the news. But then he asked if I had relatives. I told him they were six feet under. He said, ‘Do you have any friends?’ I asked if he had friends. That’s when he told me again to leave. I didn’t want to, and that’s what I told him. So, he gave me a ticket ... and still made me move.”
“Where’d you go?” asked Grant.
“Walked around this whole big, lousy block, then came right home where I belong. Don’t you know, he showed up the next night? Only, I moved before he got me, and then I came back as soon as the lousy roach left.”
Carli learned Vera had debilitating arthritis, and it wasn’t improving in the cold. It surely wouldn’t improve with extra walking.
“I thought they were supposed to protect us folks,” said Vera.
“They are,” said Grant. “Maybe he was trying to tell you something.”
“Hmph.”
“You’ve been dodging them long enough to know about that cheesy Sanitation Department Regulation,” said Grant. He turned to Carli with an explanation. “It’s meant to keep abandoned cars and boxes a.k.a. ‘vehicles and other movable property’ off the street. Unfortunately, Vera’s box qualifies. When the city decides to Sweep, it goes all out. Right, Vera? Goes all out?”
Vera nodded. “Wish they’d just go right out the city. Cross the bridge and leave me alone.”
“Sometimes they even enforce the ‘no camping without a permit’ regulation and ‘everyone out of the parks by one a.m.’ They’ll quit soon enough, though,” said Grant. “They don’t like enforcing it either. Just following orders.”
Vera released another indignant snort.
“Do you need anything?” asked Grant.
“Just to be left alone.”
Carli and Grant departed with one message: stay well and stay safe. Then they headed to lunch at St. Mary’s.
“It might take you a while to reach her, but we’ve got to try,” said Grant. “She’s plenty talkative with me but won’t budge when it comes to changing her lifestyle. Something’s stopping her, but I can’t get to it. Maybe you can. Who knows?”
“How long have you been trying?” asked Carli.
“With Vera? Must be four or five months by now. Not too long, but she looks worse than she used to. Street life is tough on her.” He paused. “It’s tough on everyone.”
The soup kitchen felt like a congenial family restaurant, metal stack-up chairs and all. Carli felt oddly excited when she stepped inside. She was sure others felt what she felt – the goodness of seeing Gretchen and other familiar faces and the goodness of having a “family” bound by common threads. After Grant visited with several others, he took a seat next to Aquaman Harry. From her seat at the op-ed table, Carli overheard Grant ask about Lenny’s attack, and saw Harry glance up from his soup and shrug, seemingly unconcerned. Grant gave an extended stare.
After lunch, Carli asked, “What’s with Harry and the park? Does he go there?”
“He does sometimes. Right around midnight. And that’s when it happened. It may not look it, under his hat and all, but Harry’s got good ears. And he knows I know it because we’ve had a couple of interesting talks. I figure he might know more than he’s saying.”
“Do you think he did it?” she asked.
Grant shrugged, but Carli knew Grant rarely cast a line without purpose. Harry suddenly looked different.
When everyone else left Carli’s birthday celebration, Carli and Kristin shared a ride to Carli’s apartment for a final toast. “Sister!” said Kristin.
“Sister!” said Carli. “To another year.”
“You said it. To the best one yet.” Kristin put her nose in the air, as though sniffing scents wafting past.
“You look like a dog,” said Carli. “What the heck ...”
“I smell oil,” said Kristin, trying to hold in laughter. “How are your paintings coming? Do I get to see them yet?”
“Yes, Rover. Come on in,” said Carli.
Together with Lila and Terrance, they walked into Carli’s studio. “It’s coming back to me,” said Carli. “Finally.”
Kristin immediately crossed the room to a finished waterscape resting on a tarp. Carli had propped it against the wall to dry. “Look at this! I love it!” said Kristin.
Carli smiled. “It’s my favorite so far. I don’t think I can sell it.”
“No kidding. I get it.”
The painting was one of several ocean scenes Carli planned for her show. This one painting had evolved into the most serene moment she could have imagined capturing. One single, long wave broke gently and curled forward on the low horizon, barely a quarter of the way up from the bottom of the painting. The rest of the water was calm. Meeting it from above was a fully clouded sky, mostly white, but with a smattering of light gray puffy undersides, showing no threat of rain, but, rather, a melding together of soft-looking nebulous masses. It looked like something you would want to touch or rest upon. Or simply gaze at for hours. It was the cloud-enriched sky, as much as the slightly darker gray ocean calm, that drew one’s eyes to the wave curling in between on the horizon. Except, there was something else about the scene that caused a deeper review. Maybe it was simply an odd shadow of a cloud, or, much more likely, something under the water. It appeared ever so slightly darker than the surrounding water. Was it some sort of raised sandbar? A concealed outcrop? Maybe covered with blue-shelled muscles glued tightly by their home-woven threads? Soft white brushstrokes hinted at the water having very gently washed over it, whatever it was. Carli looked over her completed painting. Everything about it was calming.
“When things are hectic out on the street, I come here and get lost in its calm,” she said. “With everything going on, I wonder how I even made this one happen. It’s the exact opposite of my current world.”
“Well, you sure did it,” said Kristin. “And I need it for my office. And my apartment. Make some prints, please! Or let me make them.”
“You definitely know how,” said Carli.
“Yes, I do. But something’s wrong,” said Kristin. Carli looked at the painting and said, “Wrong?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” Kristin turned her eyes toward Carli and said, “Birthday or not, I’m going to be nosy. I know something’s bothering you. What’s up?”
“You know me like a sister, don’t you,” said Carli. She took in a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling for a moment. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
Kristin’s look demanded information.
“Grant reminds me of Henry,” said Carli.
“Your brother?” asked Kristin. “That Henry?”
“Yes, my brother,” said Carli.
“Is that a good thing?” asked Kristin. “Or is it a downer?”
“I don’t mean he reminds me of him,” said Carli. “I actually wonder if he is him.”
“What? Tessie, come on. Look-alikes are pretty common. I mean, think of all of the Elvis look-alike contests. They not only make themselves look like Elvis, but they act like him. And sing like him too.”
“That’s just it. Grant doesn’t look like Henry, but he acts like him. Well, not exactly acts like him, but there are certain things that seem ... familiar.”
“But he would know you,” said Kristin. “He knows your name. And he would recognize you.”
“Name change, remember?”
“Oh, right. But why would Henry change his name? Is it some family genetic thing, changing names? That’s a joke, by the way, but I mean, really. This doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m telling you, Grant seemed familiar the first time I met him at the Church Run,” said Carli.
“Right. And you said it was dark, and he seemed spooky. Is that how you think of your brother? Come on, Tessie.”
“What if he changed his name? Came to New York after leaving college and living with a cult?” asked Carli.
“That would be weird. Not to mention totally unlikely.”
“I know. I know, but ...”
“Too weird. And he would still know you,” said Kristin. “And you would know him. But if you really want to find out, ask if he has a sister.”
It was a simple enough solution, but Carli wasn’t ready to ask.
“One more time and the shelter’s history,” said Cedric. Barely a week had passed, and someone had swiped his stash again. Just as Cedric had finally accepted the offer of sleeping inside, his life was upended. Grant’s words were useless. Carli guessed Cedric might never move inside for good and make a different life for himself on account of his stolen cans. They left him to brood alone. Tomorrow Grant would visit again.
Wilson was nowhere in sight. According to Grant, he had become invisible for the past six days, leaving Grant to question if Wilson were finally in a hospital. Carli knew that would mean bad things but was thankful they didn’t find him frozen to a tabletop.
After another quick brush past Sarah in the park, which practically followed the first disappointing Sarah meeting to a tee, Carli and Grant found Vera. She had just disembarked from an M103 city bus.
“Very interesting,” said Grant. “Doesn’t usually come this far up. I call her the Matron of the Fire Standpipe at Thirty-Seventh Street because that’s where she likes to hang out during the day. Usually, she rides the Third Avenue and Lexington Avenue buses back and forth for heat, then stations herself at the standpipe on Third.”
Vera ambled southward far more slowly than others on the sidewalk.
“She must have been riding a while,” said Grant.
“How do you know?”
“In the right seat of the bus, the heater can burn the flesh right off your calves, right through the pants.”
Carli didn’t see any pants. All she saw was a four-inch gap between Vera’s navy anklets and the bottom of her long skirt, exposing bare skin to sub-freezing temperatures.
“Usually, it’s about midway back, but old bus, new bus, makes a difference where the heater is,” said Grant. “Yessiree, she must be warmed to a toast, given how slow she’s moving. She’s savoring it. I know how she feels.”
Carli couldn’t take her eyes off Vera’s ankles.
“Vera spends a good part of her days hugging buildings, pretending to wait for a bus. Every so often, she gets on one for the heat. Or in the summer, for the cool air.”
Grant jumped the curb the second the light switched and cut an angle to Vera. The woman’s legs were ashen gray from winter, but, thanks to the M103, they were likely warm.
“What do you want today?” Vera asked, barely interested in meeting Carli again.
“You need a sandwich?” asked Grant.
“No. What I need is some heat out here.”
“I thought you knew where to get some of that,” said Grant. “You know where Four Bridges is, right?”
“Yeah, I know where it is all right. The heat is good. But I get tired of just sitting in there. I like to see people. You know, see ’em all scurrying around. Going places. Talking to each other. Sometimes I hear them making plans to meet people on their phone calls. I wonder what the person looks like that they’re talking to. That’s a whole lot more interesting than watching people sit in a chair at drop-in. Too much going on out here to miss it all,” said Vera.
“Oh, Vera,” said Grant. “You’re quite the socialite, aren’t you? Either that or just plain nosy. And I go with the first one.”
“You just do that,” said Vera.
With Carli and Grant beside her, Vera slowly made her way to her standpipe. Once there, she seemed ready to stand awhile and watch her usual buses.
“Maybe Carli, here, can catch up with you over a cup of coffee sometime,” said Grant. “She might want to hear some of your thoughts on all these people.”
Vera half shrugged and half tilted her head, her meaning clear: thanks, but get lost.
After Outreach, Carli descended into Grand Central Terminal’s underground café and noticed a familiar figure following her every move. Canada waved a hand slightly, and she dared to approach, thinking how odd it was to know him.
“Catching a train?” he asked.
“No, just getting coffee. With all the people and trains running, there’s nothing like it,” she said. “High energy, and I love it.”
“Most people this time of day either need coffee or a stiff drink,” he said. “Have you been out with Grant lately?’
“Just finished.”
“Is it going all right?”
Carli wondered how much Grant and Canada spoke of her. She eyed his backpack and said, “Sure, but I’m not doing much yet.”
“Give it time,” said Canada.
“Say, you’ve known Grant awhile?”
“Sure. A bunch of years. Like a brother to me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Just ’cause. We look after each other. It’s good to have someone watching your back.”
“Maybe that’s why he says he might get you inside one of these days.”
Canada laughed it off. “What good would that be?”
“So, he calls you ‘Madison,’ even though that’s not your real name. Is ‘Grant’ some sort of nickname too?” she asked.
“As far as I know, Grant is just Grant. Always has been. Not everyone has a nickname.”
“I see,” said Carli. She was sure her body sagged.
Canada gave two thumbs up.
By the time Carli settled in with her coffee, she assumed Canada was back on the streets. She looked around. Had anyone else noticed Canada was here? Were any of them, God forbid, his customers? Or worse, undercover cops ... who had just seen her with him? With her first sip of coffee warming her insides, she wondered who she was fooling. Vera and Sarah were way out of her league. She rose quickly and started home, eager to find a pair of dogs and her studio.
Sure enough, as Carli unlocked the door to her apartment, she heard Lila and Terrance scamper across the wood floor. It was their daily race to set their paws onto her knees, in a futile attempt to reach their noses to her face. As usual, they licked her hands as she reached to pat them, and their tiny bodies wiggled as though powered by their tails, which were now wagging like a pair of windshield wipers at top speed. Within a minute, she found herself nestled on the floor, with one hand rubbing each of their warm bellies. The stress of the day eased away. Then she confronted a troubling thought: Canada knew Grant as Grant, which meant he couldn’t be Henry. But Grant’s laugh still seemed familiar. She had heard it before. Not quite as she was hearing it these days, but something about it continued to haunt and remind her of Henry. And he was so very kind to them all, which also seemed oddly familiar. Was it possible? Or were these crazy thoughts simply rising to the top, now that she lacked her shield of nonstop work? Carli phoned Kristin to ask a favor.
“There’s something I need you to do,” she said.
“Your tone of voice is scaring me,” said Kristin. “Am I going to regret doing it?”
“No, this time it’s easy,” said Carli. “I’m texting over a couple of pictures of Henry in college. I need you to accidentally—quote-unquote—run into Grant and me on the street and see if you see any resemblance.”
“Tessie ... or Carli ...”
“Please. It’s important.”
“Sure,” said Kristin. “Easy enough, but keep your hopes low. It’s about as likely as Friedrich having kittens. What day are you going out?”
“Wednesday. I’ll call when I know our timing.”
“I can’t believe you can’t tell if he’s your brother,” said Kristin.
“I get it. But you know what college reunions are like these days, right? Men change in thirty years. My last reunion, there were a lot of them I wouldn’t recognize in a million years. I was reading name tags all night. People change. I mean, Woody, who was barely the height of a parking meter, grew about two feet, added fifty pounds, and had a beard. Josh was bald, post-middle age, and looked like any other guy you see in the ad world. Carlos used to play football and was totally buff in college. At the reunion, he was skinny, hobbled around, and barely had half a head of gray hair, which was receding, no less. And glasses? Half of them wear glasses now. Their voices change. They mellow out. It’s not easy to recognize them at all.”
“Come on, Tessie. I’ll quote-unquote run into you, but I don’t expect to say, ‘Eureka, you found him.’ I still say Grant would recognize you, even if you aren’t certain.”
“Thank you. Fair enough,” said Carli.