The last thing Carli expected to hear was the buzzer to her apartment ringing in the middle of the night. She ignored the first buzz, thinking it might be a prank, or the night doorman mistakenly hitting the wrong button. He was new to the job since she had gone out west. The buzzer sounded again, and several more times after. Maybe someone needed help.
“Yes?” she barked into the call box.
“There’s a man with a bike here to see you,” said the doorman.
“Can you put him on the line?” asked Carli. “He probably doesn’t have a phone.”
Carli heard some muffled conversation and then heard Grant loud and clear. “Carli? Did I wake you?”
“Grant, what are you doing here? Are you okay?”
“I’ve got my bike. I’m a man of my word. Let’s ride!”
Grant had arrived on Royal and sat with elbows resting patiently on the handlebars and with his chin in his hands. He beamed as Carli stepped outside.
“You’ve never been on the front of one of these before?” he asked.
Carli shook her head. “You know as well as any that I haven’t.”
“Not to worry. You’ll be comfy in no time. Nothing to do but relax and leave the driving to me.”
“No, Grant. Let’s go. Inside. We’re not riding right now.”
“Of course, we are. Get on.”
“No, Grant. It’s dangerous.” Carli reached for Royal and said, “Get off.” Grant dug his feet into the sidewalk, and clutched the brakes with both hands. Carli tried jostling him a bit. For every bit that Carli jostled Royal, Grant jostled back. In fact, he finally pulled Royal so hard he ripped the handlebars from Carli’s hands. Then he said, “Nice try ... Forget it.”
Carli fought with words another few minutes, but to no avail. As much as she wanted to return to bed, she knew she had to keep an eye on him. He was clearly losing control to impending mania. If she let him ride off alone, she would worry about him all night.
After a short discussion on how to ride, she cautiously backed herself onto the handlebars. Grant lifted one arm into the air, shouted, “And they’re off!” and started pedaling.
A few uncomfortable tilts taught powerful lessons on when and how to lean. Carli learned to keep a wide straddle so shoes stayed clear of spokes, and learned it was best to not block the driver’s view. Mostly, she heard the Delaney twins bickering loud and clear as they went weaving down Fifth Avenue.
Grant pedaled block after block. The ride was generally smooth, and Carli began to feel oddly comfortable. Before she knew it, they were all the way downtown, approaching Wall Street. She never took much notice of Manhattan’s hills, but, on more than one occasion, Grant had stood slightly to give the extra push needed to make the grade. She felt his breath on her neck.
When they slowed to a stop in the park at the island’s southern tip, Carli slid from the handlebars, grateful to have her feet touch the ground. The water surrounding Manhattan looked beautiful lapping the concrete edges of the city. Nearly as soon as they arrived, Grant was ready to leave. They rode northward again, block after block toward Central Park, and then turned south once more. He didn’t stop at her apartment. Instead, he said, “Missed something. We’re going back down.” Goosebumps inflated on Carli’s arms, even in the August evening air. She feared they were headed for the piers. Around two in the morning, Royal slowed to a stop at the entrance to the Staten Island Ferry. Grant parked his bike quickly and loudly.
“Look at it,” he said as they crossed the water by ferry. “The moon, I mean. It’s full tonight. Pregnant.”
Carli looked at the moon and then at Grant.
“Wanted to see the moon from the water,” he said. “And the moon on the water. It’s like shimmering silver!”
“Grant,” she started, knowing he needed help, and certain he had ditched his meds.
“Shh,” he said. “We’re alone. With the waves and the sea. Listen.” He was right. Not a single other person was with them in the passenger space on the ferry.
The ride across the water to Staten Island was followed immediately by a return trip to Manhattan. Grant pushed harder on the pedals as they road uptown. He talked as they rode, leaving huffs of breath to catch the wind in between his words.
“We have to keep going, Carli. It’s too beautiful to stop. We might get to Heaven this way. I think we have to ride all night.”
Grant’s energy was overwhelming. His words raced in tandem with his pedaling legs and spinning body. If he could have made his dear Royal fly, he would have. As it was, he came uncomfortably close.
When he finally returned her home, Carli convinced him to stay, knowing she was staring face-to-face with the manic side of bipolar. The couch would be fine for his sleeping purposes, and she didn’t want him out alone. The doctor was right. It was as though someone had flipped a loud, clanking light switch in storage, and had catapulted Grant into a radiant blare of white-lighted thought. He was heading back up. Only God knew how high or for how long.
Grant was interested to see the photos again. The ones of their family, including one of Henry and Bonaventura. Grant stared at that one for a long time. Then he straightened up and stared at Carli, seemingly deep in thought.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Grant looked at the collection of photographs, then slowly said, “I don’t know.”
“You remember Tura, don’t you?” she asked.
“The dog? Of course,” he said.
“What about the people?” she asked.
“I know them,” he said. “Yes. And I know you. It was good, wasn’t it?”
“Very good,” she said. She wished she could have it back.
By the time Carli awakened late morning, Grant and Royal were gone. Miraculously, she found him dining at St Mary’s, as his note had directed. He had already visited Wilson, Canada, and most everyone else. She knew he hadn’t slept and wondered what he had said to any of the street clan. He had a telltale odor of liquor. After lunch, and into the evening, they walked, as though desperately trying to walk off his jumbled thoughts.
Doctor Greenberg’s message had been plenty clear: send him up to see her or tell him to phone. Carli looked at Grant, wishing she could. Repeated requests were met with denial. Her heart wept. It was his decision to make.
For five tense days, Grant was a mass of energy, changing thoughts and direction, jumping curbs, leaping over benches, bumping people in parks, expounding the merits of many things – love and parakeets and goldfish—to anyone who would listen, including crowds at Times Square, families strolling in the park, and tourists standing by the piers. Oh, how he gravitated to the piers. Carli spent several sleepless nights in storage. By the start of the next week, he made marginal sense to anyone but himself, if he even did that. He continued to yearn for the piers. She continued to chaperon.
After two more long nights traveling and talking, Grant was ready to return to his storage room and stay awhile, or so she thought. Carli studied him carefully after he flopped upon his mattress. Somehow, she believed him. She returned to her own bed for four short hours of sleep and hoping for a chance to paint and make her visits in the morning. She had as good as neglected everyone all week, except Wilson, who was slowly improving. She made a point of walking Grant over to visit every day. Carli wondered how the rest were faring, especially Sarah and Vera.
As Carli prepared to walk at her pace, for the first time in days, Grant phoned, with a chilling request.
“Help! I need you. Fast.”
Carli found the door to his room open. Grant sat comfortably in his thinking chair. A partially eaten cake sat in the middle of his mattress. The cake in his hand was chocolate frosted, the one on his mattress was topped with vanilla. Another dozen cake boxes, at least, were neatly-arranged in four stacks beside him.
“Grant, what is this?”
“Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.” He swung his fork through the air like a baton.
“It’s your birthday?” she asked. Apparently, Grant was born in August. Henry, she knew, was not.
“Was. Yesterday,” he said proudly. “Got a cake for each of my old college frat brothers. Delivered, even. Should have seen the delivery person! I need help getting these addressed and to the post office. Got one for you too. Vanilla or chocolate?”
Carli stiffened, hardly feeling relieved the emergency was about cakes. Mania had not receded after all. Dear God, help him.
Carli assisted with the wrapping and labeling of the goods. In the end, the cakes looked to be going out for delivery by special courier, but an extra tip slipped to Neuman at Cooper’s, while Grant showered, assured Carli the cakes wouldn’t get far, which was just fine. After, she walked with him, as slowly as she could, trying to keep him quiet – a difficult task.
A loud booming sound outside her doorway sent Carli bolting from bed and wondering if Grant and Royal had returned. Her next-door neighbor was moving out. With any luck, Grant was still in his room, but her call to him went unanswered.
The storage room door was locked. Grant was out. The guard – Neuman – confirmed it. “Left early this morning,” he said.
She should have stayed after addressing the cakes. Oh, Grant, please ..., she thought.
Her gut told her he was at the piers. When she checked, he was nowhere in sight. She trolled the city by car, and then acquiesced to the game called “wait and see.”
Gloria’s was dead, except for the new man Carli had seen before her expedition. Her instincts were right. He was definitely moving in somewhere in the neighborhood. She looked at him and sent a partially committed smile. Maybe he would remember her, and the smile would mean something when it came time to try to get him in. Grant had always reached out to the new ones, so she wasn’t sure.
Wilson opened his eyes as soon as Carli entered his hospital room. He was sitting upright in bed, propped up by pillows and surrounded on both sides by more of the steadying white supports.
“Good to see you awake,” she said. Carli approached softly and spoke with a calm coating on her voice. It’s what Wilson needed. “I’ve been visiting,” she said. “Grant too. Well, was ... We didn’t want to wake you.”
“Ahh, you could have.” Wilson’s voice was raspier than usual and softer, as well. “I’ve got plenty of time to sleep.”
Carli noticed he was shaking a bit, a sure sign his brain and body were not used to their lower-proof state. His color looked better, although she wasn’t trained in the nuances of jaundice. “The doctor reports are good,” she said.
Wilson’s only response was a flicker of his eyes, from his bed to her face and back.
“I have something,” she said.
Carli hesitated before reaching into her bag. The doctors had given her the go-ahead to share the scents if Wilson was willing. She watched his reaction when she placed four small bottles on a bed tray. Wilson was weak, and his grin barely slid up from one corner of his mouth, but she saw it. “Curious?” she asked quietly.
Wilson gave a feeble nod, barely raising his chin. It was enough.
Carli quietly twisted off a simple silver-colored cap from an aqua blue glass vial. She held the bottle in one hand, several feet from Wilson’s face, and slowly waved her free hand over the opening to send its invisible floral scent floating toward Wilson’s face. Wilson closed his eyes. She thought he might have fallen asleep, but many seconds later he looked back at her.
“It’s Oceans by Antoine,” she said, not wanting Wilson to waste energy speaking.
Wilson smiled, both with his eyes and with another slight upturn of his left lip.
“Some other day, you can tell me more about it,” she said. “I’ll bring these others back next time too.” Carli gave the bottle a quick tilt downward, with one finger covering its open neck. It was just enough to collect a single oily drop on a finger. She dabbed part of the drop on the sheet on the left side of Wilson’s bed. Then she walked around the foot of the bed and back up the right side, continuing to slide her finger across the bedcovers. It would be just enough, she thought. Wilson’s gaze told her she was right. Carli took ahold of Wilson’s hand, as gently as possible, and said, “Rest well.”
From Wilson’s bedside, Carli traveled to Vera’s place. Luck was on Carli’s side.
“Vera Dear-a,” she called.
Vera swung around, a smile lighting her face. It was such a gift to see. “I thought you got lost somewhere,” said Vera. “Either that or got some kind of amnesia and didn’t remember where to find me.”
“I told you I was going away,” said Carli. “I wanted to see you days ago, but something else came up.”
“Well, you missed a good one,” said Vera.
“Good what?”
“Couple nights ago. Fireworks. Just like Fourth of July, but shorter. Over at that tennis stadium,” said Vera.
“You saw them from here?”
“Of course. Just like last year. Well, not from right here exactly, but you didn’t think I crossed the river to see ’em all the way in the other borough, did you?”
“Lucky you,” said Carli. “You always liked a good show.”
“Yes, indeed.” Vera nodded and smiled.
“So, are you doing okay?” asked Carli.
“I guess so. I don’t like to complain,” said Vera.
“Guess so? What’s wrong?” asked Carli.
“We had a bunch of storms while you was gone. Thunder booming. Lightning like the fireworks. And rain. Whooeee! Did we ever have rain. Like cats and dogs. Water was flowing on some of those streets like rivers. Day and night.”
“Did you go in anywhere? You know, to get out of it all?”
Vera cocked her head slightly to the side and shrugged. It was the answer Carli expected. “My place has a good enough overhang,” said Vera, “but the water coming off some of the awnings nearby was splashing up. Didn’t have any place for it to go. I put some plastic over me though. It did okay.”
“Vera, please, remember what I said last time I was here?”
“What part of what you said? Sometimes you say a lot of different things. I’m not complaining, mind you. Just saying,” said Vera.
“The part about ... you know, your husband. The part when I asked if he would want you out here,” said Carli.
“I remember. Sure, I do. I’ve been thinking about it,” she said.
“I have something for you,” said Carli. “It’s not socks.”
Vera looked at Carli with her brow raised. Carli reached into her bag for a single photograph that she had laminated not once but twice before she went to Wyoming. The second she placed it in Vera’s hand, Vera brought it to her chest, where she embraced it with one hand over the other. “Oh, Lordy be,” she said. “My home.” Vera looked ready to keep the simple gift close to her heart all night, at least, but moments later pulled it away from her chest to gaze at it and, no doubt, consider a flood of good memories.
It had taken Carli hours of digging to find an old real estate brochure of Vera and her husband’s Minnix House early post-opening. She hadn’t minded. The Historical Society had moved right up Carli’s list of fascinating city attractions, alongside the main branch of the library. Its collections presented intimate stories of architecture and people, which together helped make the city. Were the heart and soul of it in fact. Carli made the find, then made the copies and laminated them. Maybe if Vera could bring it with her, with memories of her husband, she would one day be willing to leave the standpipe and sleeping alcove. Time would tell. It was worth a shot.
Canada was nowhere to be seen. Carli figured he was working Wall Street since a check of his usual Midtown spots found him nowhere. She did another check of Grant’s room. The lock was still in place.
Carli found Sarah on her bench, with no lure and no popcorn. Carli sat near, and Sarah looked up. They sat silently for five minutes, maybe more. Sarah was off duty. Carli was perfectly fine with this.
When Carli returned to Cooper’s the next morning, she found the outer lock missing. Grant was back. She stood outside for a moment to listen. Then she whispered, “Grant?” No answer came, so she placed her ear on the door’s metal finish. “Grant?” she whispered again. “Are you awake?”
Grant’s was the only door with a lock inside as well as out. He had installed it himself, of course.
“Open up. I want to see you,” she said. Something told her he was listening. “I have sandwiches,” she said. By God, they were the same words from the Church Run.
The door stayed shut, but she heard him shuffling. After several soft knocks and no response, she slid herself to the floor to wait, thankful he was home. “I brought food,” she said. Five minutes passed, and she launched another plea through the door. Then another. Finally, she heard the shaking of the lock.
He was unshaven, unchanged, hardly dressed for the street. How quickly the transformation occurred. With the roller coaster changing course, the dog-eared Grant was back. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and protect him from everything. Instead, she barely grazed his shirt sleeve with one finger. Truly, he was fragile.
Pizza boxes and telltale signs of Chinese food littered the room. New shoeboxes climbed the wall. Royal lay parked mid-room. Grant bit into the deli sandwich and dropped it onto its wrapper. It wasn’t what he wanted. Most likely, nothing was. Carli eased down upon the floor. He spoke a few words. They were lifeless waves of sound, flat and empty, gone almost before they flowed from his mouth. She knew the answer, but asked anyway, “How do you feel?”
Grant didn’t answer. Didn’t seem able.
Carli spoke to fill the void. “Wilson was awake but awfully weak. At least he’s still going in the right direction. I brought some perfume. He loved it,” she said. Grant didn’t respond “Vera was nearly flooded out when I was away, but she rigged up some plastic for protection,” said Carli. “She’s doing okay. Sarah was quiet. And Canada was nowhere to be found.”
Grant’s expression remained unchanged.
“I heard the umpires might strike,” said Carli. “That would put a quick end to the season.” She looked at Grant’s face. After a long silence, she said softly, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to see Doctor Greenberg. Please, let me help you.”
Grant’s eyes moved up a trifle with one of his next breaths, then slid down as he exhaled. He heard, but couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to go out, eat, walk, or even turn on the light. So, they sat quietly together in the dark. He was withdrawn deep inside himself, once again, and no amount of convincing would move him until, or unless, he somehow managed the energy. With a blanket around her shoulders, Carli prepared to sit and keep watch. Tomorrow, she thought. Please, tomorrow.
When Carli awakened, still sitting upright, Grant was asleep and looked to be staying put. She gathered her bag, left a note on the floor, and rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. Before slipping through the open door, she slid the inside padlock into her bag. The bin would be safe, locked or not. No one ever came to the sixth floor; Grant had practically purchased penthouse privacy from Neuman. She wouldn’t be long, and she refused to be shut out again.
Grant’s bin was temperature controlled, nothing like the city’s brutal August heat, which slowed everything. Call it wishful thinking, but Carli carried in her bag the four perfume bottles. How she wanted to remove their tops and send their fragrances wafting through Wilson’s room in a fireworks of perfume. Before she entered his room, she braced herself for what she might find. Wilson was asleep. With sheets and blankets tossed loosely off his chest, she gained a more complete view of his condition. His skin-and-bones body looked mighty ill. Carli took a quick peek into his single closet, curious if anything was inside. As soon as she swung open the door, she reached forward. She couldn’t help herself. She touched his favorite winter coat, hanging properly on a hanger, and nearly cried. Thank God they had let him keep it. This really was a topline place, she thought.
Carli paid another visit to Vera. She saw her standing at her usual spot, but before Carli could catch her, Vera hopped on a bus. It was one way to find cheap air conditioning. Carli was happy to let her ride.
At Lucy’s church, most dined lightly. Many took in extra water and juice, although some still downed hot coffee with plenty of sugar. A few fanned themselves with napkins. Others simply sat still. Conversation at the op-ed table was loud, owing to the standup fan humming wildly in the room’s corner. The talk of the day was the heat, of course. It was the fifth pronounced heat wave of the year; three days in the hundreds so far, and untold more expected. The weather headliner was coupled with news of faulty air conditioners, baseball stats, and a media queen marriage. Lanna was the only cool one in the bunch. She had a job, salaried and insured. No amount of hot air could bring her down. At last, another success.
Though curious to learn what Sarah did to beat the heat, Carli trusted fully in the woman’s ingenuity and ability to stay cool. It was Grant who needed her. She was on her way to Cooper’s when Canada caught her exiting St. Mary’s. “How’re you doing in the heat, big guy?”
“Fine, fair lady. You?” Canada always called her “lady” now.
“Awful. Can’t stand it,” she said.
“A body gets used to it. Just like the cold,” he said. “Library’s a good spot. Or some of the subways, but you have to get one of the Wall Street routes. They have the best equipment.”
Canada never wore shorts, not even as August had sauntered in and was sweltering its way past. A few of the others did. He likely knew something they didn’t. “Come, talk with me a minute,” she said. Carli beckoned him over, but Canada insisted they walk to a set of steps near a corporate fountain. With the blessing of a light breeze, the fountain’s cool mist brushed against them, as he knew it would.
“I know you and Grant go back quite a ways,” she said.
“That we do,” he said.
Carli wanted to say, “Actually, Grant and I go back a long way too.” Instead, she said, “He’s struggling with something.”
“Grant? Moods or booze, most likely. Am I right?”
Carli turned to face Canada directly. “You’ve seen this before?”
“Oh, yeah. Seen just about everything with him. He could say the same about me. Is he up or down?”
“Just started going down. I know there’s medication that can help. But he isn’t taking it.”
“Not surprised,” said Canada.”
“Will you keep an eye out for him?” she asked.
“Sure. I doubt I can do anything about it, but I’ll keep a watch out and see if he needs anything.”
It was exactly what Carli needed to hear.
Grant was awake when Carli returned. He asked about Wilson, before turning to the subject of death and an edgy talk of knives. Grant began explaining details of carving and sharpening, serrated edges and smooth. She didn’t like the tone of it. A small steak knife lay exposed on his mattress. She picked it up with a dirty plate and headed to the bathroom on the pretense of cleaning. Water flowed swiftly from the faucet and gurgled down the drain. Was he bluffing or, God forbid, preparing? She hated how well he played poker. When she returned, she said, “We need to see the doctor.”
Grant looked up, with no change in his expression.
“You mean so much to them,” she said. She relayed news of Vera and the bus, lunch at Lucy’s, the new job for Lanna, and the particulars of Marvin and Leo. Then she said, “Canada asked about you.” It was news of Madison that interested Grant most.
“He wants to see you, but you ought to see Dr. Greenberg first.”
Grant’s stare remained vacant. It didn’t surprise her to hear him say, “Tomorrow.”