X-rays showed the phlegm-covered fingers of TB crouching inside Cedric’s lungs. It would be two weeks before Cedric felt better, and six months of medication after, but with a barrage of medication he was improving. Grant was given family privileges, allowing him to visit with a mask; TB liked to spread. In the meantime, Carli tended to Sarah.
With a cool wind shooting its final spring claws at her, Carli sketched as Sarah sat in her usual spot. Carli was merely doodling until, in an odd instant, she hit upon an idea. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled package of soup crackers. In a matter of seconds, a few deliberately dropped crumbs brought scores of flapping bodies to her feet. In their race to peck at the loot, they careened off one another’s wings, nearly knocking heads. One flapped so near Carli’s face, it set hairs on her forehead flying from the breeze. Carli hid the rest of the crackers, and the clamor stopped as soon as the final sidewalk crumbs vanished into greedy gullets. Carli saw Sarah look her way.
Exiting the park, Carli stopped directly in front of Sarah and gave her name. The woman barely nodded before shifting her weight just enough to turn her shoulder toward Carli, and her face away. Although the message was clear, Carli said, “Let me know if you need anything. I’m here to help.” Oddly, it felt like progress.
With Grant putting in extra time with Cedric, Carli finished her painting for the day and decided to check on Wilson. She found him at the picnic table in his park, resting his head on his arm, as usual. Carli came upon him slowly, as she had seen Grant do many times before, except for during their last frantic visit.
“Wilson,” said Carli. “It’s Carli here. How are you?”
Wilson raised his head and said dreamily, “Honey ... suckle.” He closed his eyes and slowly folded his head down upon his arm. “Yup. One of my favorites,” said Wilson, still resting on his arm.
“Wilson. It’s me, Carli.”
Wilson raised his head again and said, “I know ... who you are. I like your perfume.”
Carli stared. Technically, it was body wash, but Wilson was right, it was honeysuckle.
“How do you know this?” she asked.
“I know all the perfumes,” he said. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the fog. “Not all of the newer ones. Don’t know what they’re called. But I know when they go past.”
“Go past?” asked Carli.
“Yeah.”
“Wait,” said Carli. “What are you saying?”
“What do you mean, what am I saying? Ahhh ...” Wilson closed his eyes again. “Lily of the valley lady again.” He slowly turned his head toward the street and said, “Yup. That one, over there.” His eyes followed a couple of pedestrians, and he said, “Blonde with the shopping bag. Must live near here. That’s her, all right. Lily of the valley.”
Carli looked to the sidewalk. She saw the woman. Then she inhaled deeply and caught barely a scent of perfume. It was faint. Carli couldn’t distinguish it as anything specific. But Wilson could.
Carli swung her legs over the bench, directly across the picnic table from Wilson, to sit. “Talk to me,” she said. “How do you know this?”
“Know what?” he asked.
“Different scents,” she said.
“I don’t know. Maybe I was a chemist or something.”
“Chemist?”
“Maybe.”
Carli waited for Wilson to give her another clue. Anything.
“It’s one of the reasons I sit here,” he said. “It smells nice.” Wilson closed his eyes and looked to be nodding off to sleep when he said, “Honeysuckle.” Carli watched his baby-faced smile rise into his cheeks. In another moment it faded, and Wilson said, “Wonder how much they spend on this stuff now.” Wilson would soon be asleep to the world. Although Carli had hit a wall, she was certain a wall could have cracks.
Cedric was ready for discharge in two weeks’ time. With proper pills, he’d be safe to others and to himself. Carli sat across the table from Grant at St. Mary’s. Grant’s request to meet had sounded urgent. “We’ll have a hell of a time getting him to take his pills,” said Grant. “The minute he feels better he’ll balk.”
“Makes sense,” she said.
“There’s something else.” Grant’s somber tone grabbed her attention. “We have to be tested.”
Carli didn’t understand.
“TB.”
Carli’s throat tightened as the words sank in.
“Can take a couple of weeks to show, and for your body to react to a skin test. We start periodic testing in a couple of weeks. Might want to take a preventative just in case.” He pursed his lips, then added, “Sorry, but we got so close to him. Almost certain infection. Doesn’t mean we’ll feel sick. Our bodies are surely stronger than his.” Grant reached across the lunch table and grazed her hand with his.
After a quick lunch, they headed to the hospital. Cedric was ready to go, dressed in a fresh set of clothes Grant had delivered the night before. Enough life had been pulsed into him that he rebuffed even the most modest hint of inside living. They began the mandatory wheelchair ride through the hospital halls in routine manner, but Grant abruptly pushed aside the attendant and began driving the wheelchair himself. Grant’s driving was fast and reckless. Cedric seemed content. Grant was thrilled. The attendant protested, but Grant left her shouting far behind. Carli watched in disbelief.
At the lobby entrance, Grant sent the empty wheelchair spinning unescorted to the main desk as Cedric, Grant, and Carli stepped into a waiting car.
“What was that?” asked Carli.
“Had to get him out of there. Otherwise, they might have kept him.” Then he faced Cedric and said, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace. Shelter or not?”
Cedric looked at the floor. “Not.”
“Mercy could …”
“Not.”
At the drop-in center, Grant explained the routine. “I’m coming by every other day with these pills. You’ll take them with me.”
Cedric nodded.
“No backing out. We’re pushing the limit with every other day instead of daily. Also, no alcohol.”
Cedric nodded again but was fidgeting. Carli searched for clues to his movements. All she saw was a man who seemed to have lost twenty pounds since they first met, but now looked like he would live instead of die.
Cedric cleared his throat. Carli and Grant exchanged glances. Perhaps he was already balking. “Ahem,” Cedric started. Carli caught Grant’s eyes again, before darting to Cedric. “Miss Carli…,” he began again. “I … want … I mean …” Cedric continued to fidget and shift his weight from one foot to the next until finally emitting a raspy statement. “Thank you. I feel better.”
His eyes flickered toward Carli’s like a stun gun. “Good,” she said. “And sometime you’ll have to tell me how you ditched me at the clinic.” Cedric’s smile revealed the gap between his front teeth. The overhead light caught his teeth just right. They sparkled like a chandelier.
Leaving Cedric, Grant asked, “Want some coffee?”
“Not today,” said Carli. “I’m checking on Sarah.”
“Come on. One day won’t matter. She’s been there for years, just like the dinosaurs in the sewer. No, a day won’t matter at all.”
Grant had mentioned dinosaurs a few minutes earlier, as he was leaving Cedric with Mercy. It had sounded amusing, but it had also sent both Mercy and Carli on alert. Hearing it again was equally alarming. All she said was, “Tell me what you find. I’m going to Sarah’s.”
It was late afternoon when Carli finally reached the park. Sarah was taking her afternoon inventory and would be leaving soon. Carli waited until all items were tallied, then followed behind. Staying close to buildings, and lagging a bit, she saw Sarah stop a few short blocks from the park, near a service entrance to a high-end apartment building. Almost immediately, a woman came out the door, left what looked like a meal, and disappeared back inside. Had Sarah been adopted? Was her real family inside? Anything seemed possible. In fact, everything seemed both possible and impossible these days.
According to Grant, Cedric proved a model patient, easily dispensing with his pills every time Grant showed. Occasionally, Carli met them together at Cedric’s usual spot. Several bags of cans usually kept him company, proving he was on the mend. Carli knew, even with a newly-borrowed postal cart, that his can business was a body-buster so recently off bed rest and fettered by crippled lungs.
“I’m telling you,” Grant said, gaining Cedric’s full attention, “Mercy’s got a job for you. If it’s outside you want, you got it. Some places’ll give you a bed and a job when you’re ready. You wouldn’t have to be lugging and storing cans. Besides, housing comes in handy.”
Cedric shrugged. Nothing more.
Not long after leaving Cedric, Carli and Grant came upon Canada, with his eyes closed, face to the sky, and sunning, as he leaned against scaffolding set up aside a block-long construction site.
“Madison, my man!” Grant loved running into Canada. “Need to get you off these streets,” said Grant. “My partner says she’s seeing you a lot. Might make me jealous.” Grant shot a smile. Carli shook her head.
“You never change,” said Canada, punching Grant’s shoulder. “Guess what I did?”
Grant looked curious.
“I got to another meeting.”
“So?”
“Yeah. I got my five bucks.”
“This must be your twenty-fifth meeting. You’re only supposed to get paid the first time you do it.”
“That’s what they say, but some people are lucky.”
“Learn anything?” asked Grant.
“Yeah. There’s too much paperwork.”
Grant sighed. “That’s why you have Mercy. She can help with everything. Of course, if you’re wanting a lawyer to read the documents, I used to know a good one. Can track him down if you want. Thing is, you have to want it.”
Canada scratched his ear. Grant said, “Glad to see you’re thinking it over.”
Perhaps it was the relief of having Cedric back on his feet, or perhaps it was the warmth in the air, but after taking leave of Canada, Grant was upbeat and talking nonstop, with energy to spare.
“Cedric’ll be off the street by summer,” he predicted. “Along with your Sarah, and probably even Wilson. Never underestimate people, especially yourself. I know you’re going to get to her. We might even get Lenny, and I have a good plan for Harry.”
Gliding under a few spring clouds, Grant’s words flowed. So did impulses. Twice he pulled Carli close to him as they walked. Twice she said something to regain distance.
“And for those who aren’t in, we’ll find another atrium.” Grant looked to the clouds and laughed at the thought of it.
“You said last week Cedric would be out a while.”
He pulled up, looking askance. “Not Cedric. We’ll get him. We’ll get ’em all. I know someone in the mayor’s office. Election’s coming up. That should help.”
Before the atrium blowup, Carli had clung to Grant’s positive attitude. Since then, doubt was her ally. Although his batting average with predictions was indisputably high, and the conviction of his statements hard to fight, Grant still had several hits against him, including the unresolved poison question and the atrium fiasco. Besides, she had heard these promises before.
Grant stomped through Midtown as though pressed to make a deadline. In the mid-Fifties, Carli finally asked, “You in a hurry for something?”
Grant looked perplexed. “No, but we need to go to the park.”
“For Sarah?”
“No, to head to the museum. Seen some prospects. They might be going in.”
“Museum?”
“The Met.”
“What?” Not once had Carli seen a hint of a street sleeper at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was armed with guards. Real guards.
“Yeah,” said Grant. “Let’s go.” The sound of an arriving subway train sent him into a jog down subway steps.
“Grant, I’ve been to this museum many times and have never seen a street sleeper.” Carli yelled to override the clatter of train wheels on steel. “Well, maybe one, outside the parking garage.”
Grant shouted back, “Why not?”
“There’re guards jamming the exhibits.”
“So? Can’t evict them. Museum’s free.” He continued to look ahead. “It’s like people going to films during the Depression and war years,” he added. “They’re always looking for a nice distraction. It’s as nice as the atrium, and there’s even more room.”
Carli said nothing more, but her entire insides screamed in turmoil. On the steps to the museum, Carli found no one with black plastic bags. She wasn’t surprised. But it did seem unusual. These days, instead of noticing everyone except them, she now noticed them alone. And they were everywhere. Grant cleared a path around a tour group and headed straight for Egyptian Art. Glancing around, as though searching for someone in particular, he finally said, “This is where they could stay.” He looked up at the reconstructed blocks of a centuries-old monument, with its encircling moat, and added, “They’d have a private bath and everything.”
Carli was stunned into silence.
“Quick, let’s check the next floor.” Grant bounded up the stairs and paced the galleries, curled around corners, casually glancing in many directions before taking his steps. He looked like a spy.
“Grant, stop.”
He seemed not to have heard. Then, as though pulled by strings on a marionette, he stood next to her, his face showing anger resulting from her intrusion. She nearly remained silent on account of it, but finally asked, “What’s going on? There’s no one here.”
He blinked and resumed walking. “You’re right. But they could be.” He spun around. “All of them could fit.”
“There’s no way they could stay in here. What are you saying?” she asked.
“Forget about that for now. Let’s look at the Impressionists.”
“I think we ought to leave,” said Carli.
“No, we really need to see this. It’s special.”
The last thing Carli wanted was to make a commotion in a busy museum. Especially one filled with guards. She followed as Grant started his private tour.
“He did his best work before he became famous, but most people don’t know it,” said Grant. They stood in front of a Monet. “Someone estimated five thousand and sixty-two brushstrokes for this one, but my bet’s with six thousand at least.” Grant was absorbing the fiber and fabric of the canvas. “This one he did for his mother. Used a friend as a model. Took a half year to paint,” he said.
Carli stared at Grant. “How do you know this?” she asked.
“Just do,” he said. “Look at these layers. All these dabs and stabs of brushstrokes. Which one do you think he did last? Which is the one stroke he put on top of all the other thousands?” Grant spun around. “Don’t you just love this stuff?”
Carli wasn’t sure anymore. An hour later, after rushing through three more exhibits, they parted ways, with Carli prepared to visit Mercy in the morning. In the meantime, Carli reached out to Kristin.
“I don’t know what just happened,” said Carli.
“Where are you?” asked Kristin.
“Home, but I came from the Met,” said Carli. “Grant said we needed to search for street people in the museum.”
“What? That’s crazy,” said Kristin.
“Exactly.”
“What was he thinking?”
“That’s just it,” said Carli. “I don’t know. He went from looking for homeless to saying we could move homeless into the exhibit space, and then he gave me a tour of some of the Impressionists. He’s losing it. Something is definitely amiss.”
“So, what did you do?” asked Kristin.
“I went along with it so we didn’t have a blowup. I have to talk with Mercy again. This is bizarre.”
“It’s beyond that.”
“Hope you can spare a few minutes,” said Carli, speaking into her phone.
“For you? Anytime,” said Mercy.
“He’s running like a racehorse. Without a track.”
“I assume we’re talking about Grant?”
“The one and only.” Carli described the latest behavior. Grant’s actions worried them both. Carli and Mercy would be taking Grant under their wings, through their own sort of personalized Outreach.
“Thanks for the update,” said Mercy. “When it rains, it usually pours.”
“Oh?”
“Right now, Lenny’s really got me steamed, jumping out of that special shelter we got him in,” said Mercy. “But do you know, his mother and aunt don’t even care if he’s out. They’re not making it easy on him, but maybe that’s what he needs. Sometimes, a family just wears out trying to help. He’s caused them a whole lot of pain.” Carli was beginning to know how it might feel, as she contemplated her possible relationship to Grant.
Carli settled herself well within eyesight of Sarah, feeling relieved to have Grant handle the rest, but half wondering if he might stop by. She sketched a feathery subject in full, jerky, hesitant strut. The study turned more serious as she filled in details – five noticeably large feathers with pointed tips on the wing and more delicate plumage interspersed. Rounded, overlapping feathers along the tail. Tiny breast feathers puffing out as though ruffled by a playful April wind. Carli started down the scaly feet, and suddenly felt eyes upon her and a shadow close by. She glanced between the bird and her pad and sensed the figure move closer. She drew and shifted her eyes back and forth, each time feeling Sarah’s dark blue presence creeping closer still. She stiffened.
Sarah slid within three feet. Carli selected a different pencil and glanced at Sarah. The woman’s eyes were glued to the emerging bird. Sarah continued to inch over, looking between the pigeon sketch and people passing. Carli recognized the woman’s odor and heard her labored breathing. Then, Sarah emitted a short squawk, that sounded like she had said, “Nice.” Carli startled. She had never before heard Sarah speak a word. Carli was afraid to move but finally chanced it.
“Glad you like it.” Carli took another chance, scaling out several light marks on the empty space near the pigeon’s beak. She rounded and shaded. Sarah watched intently. Spongy-looking popcorn formed on the paper. “More?” asked Carli.
“Mo-re.”
Two more kernels popped within reach of her pigeon. Carli drew lines higher on the page. As she did, several cooing sounds flew forth with Sarah’s labored breaths. Part of an illustrated hand reached downward toward Sarah’s paper pigeon, with two kernels ready to roll off its fingertips. Carli peeked at the woman. Sarah was silent. It seemed she wanted to speak, but nothing more came out. Demon silence had returned.
As Carli poked at the print again, Sarah squawked loudly. Carli looked up to see Sarah rushing back toward her bench. A young couple had slid into unguarded territory. Sarah fled to reclaim her stakes.
“See you soon,” said Carli, on her way out of the park. Sarah said nothing from inside her fortress. Carli’s heart soared, nonetheless.
“She spoke with me!” said Carli. She couldn’t wait to relay the news, but a lot was going on at Grant’s end of the line.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Sounds like you’re in a construction zone,” said Carli.
“One of the neighbors is moving some stuff or something. There must be a thousand people here. Let me close the door,” said Grant.
It sounded as though he dropped his phone. “You always keep your door open?” Carli asked when his voice returned.
“No. Just pulled in. What did she say?”
“She said the word, ‘Nice.’ That’s about it. But she watched me draw a pigeon.”
The line was silent. Grant finally said, “Huh? What kind of poop is that?”
“Grant, she came over to me, watched, and said something!”
For another long moment the phone remained quiet. “Grant?”
“Yeah. Good. I mean, great,” he finally said.
Carli hung up quickly, wondering why she had called.