Grant arrived at Carli’s wearing a spring tweed jacket, Oxford shirt so well pressed it looked new, and brown Oxford tie shoes, which also looked new. “To Lucy,” he said, handing Carli a single white rose. “And to Cedric,” he added, leaning to kiss her on the forehead. Grant was intent on the evening’s details and didn’t notice Carli’s eyes solidly affixed to his every move.
“The best place in town is the piers,” he claimed. They caught a ride to the edge of Manhattan to dine within view of the Statue of Liberty and New York’s rippling harbor.
“What’s new?” he asked, once seated at an oversized table for two.
“Nothing. Some things change. A lot doesn’t.”
“Gets stagnant sometimes,” said Grant, “but mosquitoes need stagnant water. Their season’s coming up fast here,” he added.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing.” The arrival of drinks interrupted their conversation. Grant proposed a toast. “To Cedric. God rest his soul. I mean, may he long find peace inside … resting. And, to you.” Grant rattled Carli’s glass. “Knew the minute I saw you with that chowder that I wanted you with me.” Carli stared, frozen by his gaze. “It’s not that I wanted Lucy to die, but I did want to meet you again.” Grant seemingly tried to backtrack. “You know what I mean, right?” Grant smiled and shrugged at the same time that he turned his palms upward, and added, “What? You reminded me of someone. It was that split second you turned from the chowder bin,” he said. “I thought you were my ex-wife, but only for that second.” Grant quickly changed the subject. “I want you to be the first to know. Next winter, I’m shooting for another atrium.”
“Huh?”
“They’re going to love it,” he said.
Carli was stunned, once again, and unable to speak. He had jolted her with both thoughts, but it proved only the start of an awkward meal with extremely disjointed conversation. Grant continued to speak of atriums, street lives, and the piers. Through it all, he sipped scotch and occasionally pulled a breath mint from his tweed pocket to pop in his mouth. He crushed the mints forcibly, grinding them with his molars and nervously swallowing the pieces.
“Do you ever stay in bed all day? Just slip under the sheets, all clean, and stay all day and all night?” he asked.
“Haven’t done that,” she said. “Unless I was sick.”
Grant let it drop.
“Short walk?” he asked. The park was nearly empty.
“Ah, look at her!” Grant’s eyes surfed across the choppy waves to Lady Liberty, with her sparkling lights and verdigris shroud. He released a hefty sigh.
“She’s beautiful,” said Carli. She had never seen the statue from so close at night.
Grant handed her a pair of vintage binoculars. “Those scopes never work,” he said, nodding at the viewers on the promenade. “Got these at the thrift shop. Probably from someone’s estate. I’m sure whoever owned them had ten other pairs.”
Masking tape patched the strap together. Carli focused on the statue, and Grant began reciting. “Give us your tired, your poor, your indigent, your downtrodden, your huddled masses … God knows we have a number of those here.” His tone changed. “Just look around, Liberty. Look around.”
Carli pulled the glasses from her face. He was taking liberties. With the inscription on the Statue of Liberty. What was going on?
Grant stared at her. “What’s the matter? We have poor. We have indigent. We have downtrodden. In fact, I’d say we’re doing a damned good job of collecting, wouldn’t you?” Carli suddenly felt the weight of Lady Liberty’s two hundred and twenty-five steel tons plunging through her chest. Canada, Sarah, and Wilson had all been tossed through rough waves, but why was Grant bringing it up now?
Peering through the binoculars again, she stated boldly, “We have them all right. It’s up to us to help.”
“Well, my dear, there’s no second verse with instruction on that, but, hey, I think we can do it – give this Mother of Exiles a second verse.”
Carli heard Grant fiddling with his jacket. The next moment, he was blocking her view. As she lowered the binoculars from her face, she stiffened and nearly dropped them to the ground. Grant balanced perilously on a grouping of three wooden posts. They jutted upward several feet from the depths of the water. Each post looked barely wide enough for a seagull to rest upon, yet Grant was on them, a good three feet from land. Grant’s jacket lay in a heap near her feet. As he raised his arms to the sky, his shirt billowed out behind him like a sail catching wind. Waves chopped against the posts and sent water splashing over his shoes.
“Grant, what are you doing? Come back on land!”
Grant laughed. “I’m getting a better view.”
“Grant, please …”
“Give me your tired. Give me your poor. Give me … oh Christ, just give ’em all to me. I’m ready. We have shelters. We have drop-ins. We have work programs. We have lunch lines.” His voice broke into a cynical laugh. “We have two-for-one sales. We have discounts. Bargains. Don’t hold back. We’re ready for them.” He slapped his arms down to his sides and addressed Carli directly. “We’re ready, right?” Before she could answer, Grant started broadcasting again. “Yessiree. … Oh, Carli, I love it when it’s like this out here.” His energy and mood had refocused.
“Please, Grant …” Wind whipped against her face. “Come down … or … sit. Yes, sit.”
“On a beautiful night like this? No way.” He held his arms straight out, with his head nearly straight back. “Just look at those clouds. Like a herd of flying carpets. They’re moving. Wish I could jump on one and go.” A gust of wind caught Grant. He jerked his head down from the sky and waved his arms for balance.
“Henry! No!” Carli froze. She hadn’t meant to say it.
Grant turned his head toward her. “Say what? Can’t hear you.”
Dear God, she thought.
“Grant, I’m going to call … for help. We need help. If you don’t come down, I’m leaving.”
“Go ahead and yell, but you’re safe with me.”
“Anybody? Can anybody hear me?” Wind carried her words uptown. “Help! Is anybody here? We need help!” She waited in silence, then called again. “We need help! Is anyone around?”
A voice suddenly sounded. “Hey, man. You crazy? Get down from there.” The stranger moved toward Carli. She nearly cried.
“Can’t you see it’s dangerous out there?” the man asked.
“Heyyy, want to join me?” asked Grant.
The man extended his hand across the watery gap, and Grant instinctively responded with an outstretched arm of his own. The two barely locked fingers before the stranger’s handshake turned into a sharp tug. It brought Grant lurching forward and falling to the ground on top of the man.
“What’d you do that for?” asked Grant.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to climb on things like this?”
“I was fine,” said Grant.
“You weren’t thinking of jumping, were you?” asked the stranger. “Water’s mighty rough around here tonight and gets deep mighty fast. Currents can run the water out in no time and take a body with them. Not a good place to get wet.”
“I love this place,” said Grant. “No worries, mate.”
“Sure,” said the stranger. “But you scared your lady, here, half to death.” Turning to Carli, he said, “Best bet is to get him home.” Shaking his head, he added, “Haven’t seen anyone do this for a while. Long while.” Home, thought Carli. If the stranger only knew.
From the sidewalk in front of her building, Carli watched the cab with Grant slide away from the curb. It wouldn’t matter to the driver that his next stop would be a storage facility. Too bad she couldn’t tell him she knew. As soon as she stepped into her apartment, she dropped to her knees.