“Carli ... or should I say Tess ...” Grant looked deeply into her eyes. “I want out.” He continued to stare deeply for many seconds more. “I don’t want to be here any longer, even if I have some liver problems, as they say.”
Carli held him close. It had been almost a week, with daily visits, sometimes for hours, that Carli had carried the guilt of sending him to the hospital. Finally, she heard the words she had hoped for. She continued to hold him close in her arms, overwhelmed by the power of love.
The next day, he asked about the others. Finally, she could share the news of Sarah.
“No way!” Grant’s voice boomed.
“She asked me to keep something.” Carli paused. “Her money. Don’t know if she’s staying put, so I didn’t check it with anyone.”
Grant was interested. “Some of that probably came from me. Dropped a share of twenties to her over the year.”
“Really?”
“A benefit of living where I do. Usually have extra to pass around.”
“She conned you.” Carli spilled the details. “It was nearly eighty thousand dollars. All kinds of bills.”
Grant buried his face in his hands. Muffled laughter grew into a hearty laugh, as infectious as ever. He, of all people, appreciated a good con.
Sarah Melissa Stewart, Carli thought to herself, thank you for bringing him back.
“Technically,” said Grant, “you ought to tell the shelter so they can figure her assistance and benefits right. Non-technically, I suggest you keep ahold of it for a while longer to be sure she’s staying, like you said.” Carli agreed.
“Speaking of living where you do,” said Carli, “what was with the apartment on Lexington Ave.? The one you told me you lived in when you first visited my apartment?”
“You went?” he asked. “Hah! I should have known. Just something I do, rent one of those short-term vacation rentals every so often. Different places across Manhattan. To keep Nirvu off my trail. Don’t want them to know where I really live.”
Grant’s words of the cult sent shivers through her body. She said, “Grant, I think we’re safe. Both of us.”
Grant shook his head ever so slightly. Maybe it wasn’t time yet for him to be released after all. “I see,” was all she said.
“By the way,” he added, “Canada stopped by. Thanks for telling him.”
Discharged from the hospital, Grant dismissed any suggestion of moving out of his storage room and sharing space in Carli’s apartment, even on the most temporary basis. He did visit a few times, once to officially meet Kristin.
“You remember her, right? This is a long-time friend,” said Carli. “Just about everything I’ve done over the past few decades, I have done at least once with Kristin.”
“That’s right, Sister,” said Kristin.
Carli noticed a strange look on Grant’s face. “It’s a nickname. She’s not really my sister.”
Grant laughed and then looked at Carli for a long moment. “Don’t you think I would know that?” he asked. He continued to grin and look Carli straight in the eyes. “You know what else I know?”
“Haven’t a clue,” said Carli.
“If you two are as close as you say you are, Kristin, here, likely knows exactly who I am, maybe even knows more about me than I know about myself.”
Carli and Kristin were silent.
“Just as I thought,” he said. Grant gently tapped Carli on the arm, as he had done through childhood. “It’s okay. I get it.” Then he looked at Kristin and said, “I’m sorry you got to know her all these years and I didn’t. She’s a good one.”
Henry was back.
In another few days, Carli and Grant met at St. Mary’s. It was like starting over. It felt terrific. The energy he carried was better than ever. Carli guessed most of the street clan would never know how lucky they were to have Grant visiting. She certainly would.
Walking into his storage room afterward, Carli saw he had cleaned. Much had been tossed, and even more had been sorted. Paintings lined one wall, clothes another. She saw so many from Outreach skillfully captured on canvas. She didn’t recall seeing as many paintings during her other visits. The shoes he kept were organized in pairs; his shirts and pants were folded and stacked.
“Where did it go?” she asked.
“New Hope Thrift. Where else?”
“Should have known. It looks great. Say, Thelma would like us to visit. She’d like to meet this man called Grant. Knows he helped her friend Lucy.”
“Give me a week,” he said. “Maybe Tuesday.”
It was barely midnight when Grant phoned several nights later. He sounded desperate.
“Man, I just had a nasty crash. Stomach hurts like a bull’s inside, but Royal looks salvageable.”
“I’ll be right over,” she said.
“No need. Just want you to know. I might be late getting out tomorrow.”
“What were you doing riding in the rain?” she asked.
“You call this rain?” he asked. “Hah! It’s a deluge! But I couldn’t sleep. Thought a ride would help wind me down.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? I can take you to Emergency.”
“No. I’m fine. I didn’t call to worry you. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Carli clicked off her phone and tried to fall asleep. Half an hour later, she grabbed her car keys. He was right; it was a deluge. She couldn’t imagine controlling a bicycle through the intermittent riverways winding from buildings to sidewalks and streets to drains. Her car’s wipers couldn’t keep up with all that was falling. It made for very slow driving, even with relatively few cars. Most of the taxis, she suspected, were carrying show-goers home post-performance, at least those who had been lucky enough to beat others to a cab.
Carli found his storage bin unlocked and with its light on. Grant lay spread across his mattress. His room was even tidier than the days before. He had even hung his wall tapestry from the ceiling. It hid the tangle of ugly wires, but he had cut a hole in it for the lights. It looked like a canopy bed. The room looked oddly cozy and, at the same time, spacious. She stepped past Royal in the hall, with part of its front fender badly bent.
“Knock knock,” she whispered. “It’s Carli. I came anyway.”
Grant didn’t move.
Carli stepped closer to sit on his mattress edge. She noticed his clothes were soaked through. His hair, too, was wet with rainwater. Wet sneakers covered his feet, and a slight puddle lay on the ground beneath his left shoe hanging over the edge.
“Grant,” she said. “It’s Carli. Wake up. You should change into dry clothes.”
Grant didn’t move. She touched him lightly on the shoulder and said his name one more time. As she did, she stiffened. From her hand to her chest and her head to her feet she felt the awful, undeniable grip of panic. Everything hit at once – the small plastic bag of white pills on the bed, one half of a pill near his turned head, his bloodless, pale face, and his way-too-still body. Her hand didn’t rise and fall with his breaths. It didn’t move at all.
“Grant!” she screamed.
Carli dialed 9 -1-1. Then she began chest compressions with all her might.
“Please, Grant. Wake up!” She tried shaking him alive. “Grant ... Grant ... Henry, no!” She continued CPR. No pulse and no breath responded back. As soon as emergency teams arrived, they began the resuscitation and naloxone routines. Come on, Grant. Come back. Please, come back. She said it over and over to herself, as she helplessly watched the others.
Grant’s heart suddenly came to life. “Oh, Dear God,” she whispered. “Thank you. Yes, thank you, Lord.” She watched the team assess him. Grant’s face gained a blush of color. Ten seconds later, his heartbeat stopped, and it all ended again. For good. He had been given only ten more seconds of life.
Carli stared at her brother, feeling as though she might faint. Then she made a rash decision. Yes, it was the right thing to do. She dialed Wilson’s hospital. The conversation was brief, with a disappointing result: without a directive from Grant, he couldn’t give Wilson his badly-needed organs. Besides, she was told, Wilson’s body wasn’t yet strong enough for major surgery. Carli sat on his mattress edge again, lowered her head to his back, and wrapped her arms around him, wondering what had gone wrong.
“Just when I had you back,” she said. “Dear God, please tell me what happened. And why you had to have him.”
In automated fashion, Carli went through the practicalities of moving Grant for an autopsy and addressing other arrangements. It was almost sunrise, but the sky was still dark when she knocked on a cardboard box near the Midtown Synagogue.
“Canada?” she called. “Mad? It’s Carli. Are you here?”
“Who’s there?” asked a voice from the box near her feet.
“Carli, from Outreach. I need Madison. It’s an emergency.”
“Emergency? He’s down at the end. Closest to the bank,” said the voice.
“Carli?” It was Madison’s voice.
“Come out,” she said. “Please. I have to see you.”
With the streets still dark, and the group’s having chosen a sleeping spot away from the night lights of stores, Canada’s familiar gray hoodie was almost upon her before she saw him.
“Sorry to wake you,” she said. “It’s about Grant.”
“Where is he?” Canada asked.
“It’s bad news,” she said. “It’s ... well, he’s gone. It happened a few hours ago.”
Carli thought she saw Canada stumble backward a step before he asked, “What happened?”
By now, the other boxes were rustling.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know. Grant called and said he crashed his bike. He said he couldn’t sleep. I went to check him, and he was still soaking wet and sprawled across his mattress with a bag of pills. One pill was broken in half on his mattress. I’m thinking he took the other half. I need to know something. Did you give Grant any pills lately?”
“Pills?”
“Yes, white pills ... here, look. I need to know what this is.” Carli took a pair of pills from her pocket and said, “Close your eyes a minute.” She switched on the spotlight of her phone and focused it on her hand.
“Let me see one of those.” Canada held a pill between his fingers and lowered it into the light. Carli saw him squinting to get a better look. “I’ve seen these before,” he said. “They’re bad news.”
“Are those the ones?” asked one of the other men.
“Think so,” said Canada. He passed the pill over to the others for a second opinion.
“That’s the one. Has the red fist. See it?” said one of the others.
“Saw it,” said Canada. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Carli.
“I don’t ever, and I mean ever, deal any of these,” said Canada. “These are to help you sleep. A bunch of them got on the market. Often around college campuses. Those kids take one kind of pill to keep them up and get their work done. Then they take one of these to get to sleep. From time to time, someone adds in some fent, and it becomes a killer. Might only take half a pill to do it. In fact, be careful how you hold it.”
“Fent?” asked Carli.
“Fentanyl. Tens of thousands dead from it a year,” said one of the others.
“Oh my God,” Carli whispered. “He said he was trying to sleep.”
“It creeps into other types of pills too. Like, party pills. You sure it wasn’t the crash?” asked Canada.
“We’re checking,” she said.
“Well, my guess is we’ll know in a couple of days, autopsy or not. If this is what we think it is, we’ll hear about a rash of overdoses. I could kill the guy who’s doing this.”
“Oh, my God. I had no idea,” said Carli. “I thought maybe you gave it to him. Why didn’t he get something from the pharmacy?”
“I don’t sell this stuff.” He looked straight at Carli’s eyes. “I can’t believe it.” He opened his arms wide to share a hug. Carli felt his chest gently contract and lurch as he released some of his pain.
The last thing Carli recalled was collapsing on Grant’s mattress. It smelled like his shampoo, and the sheets were still wet from the rain. This time he was truly gone, the boy who had held her captive when he playfully tugged her pigtails, and the man who teased her and captured her with his laugh. Late afternoon, after nearly a full day’s sleep, Carli crawled into his thinking chair. She touched the sides as though she were touching Grant. She looked at his paintings. They were the only things she had left of him that revealed his soul. There was no good answer. Never would be. On the heels of sadness, she hated everything, including herself. Why didn’t she come over right after his call? He would have been alive. She could have saved him.
Sister Anna, Mercy, Gretchen, and the others held a simple, private prayer of thanks in the lunchroom of St. Mary’s. Carli left it to Sister Anna to deliver the news to those who could handle it. Mercy was in her own state of shock and grief. For the first time ever, Carli saw Mercy wear black.
One afternoon, Carli found Canada leaning against the wall of the synagogue, taking a day off from work. “You okay?” she asked.
“Nothing you or I can do about it,” said Canada. “I’m sorry it happened to you. Hard to lose someone.”
“You lost him too,” she said.
“Not like you did.”
It took a moment for Canada’s words to sink in. When they did, Carli directed her eyes straight toward Canada’s.
“He told me,” said Canada. “One of the days I visited him at the hospital.” Carli slowly nodded. “He was happier than anything to have you in his life. All he ever wanted to do was protect you. Never hurt you.” It was what Grant did all his life. It was her brother’s way.
“Did Grant ever tell you why he got off the streets?” she asked. Canada shook his head. Carli told Canada about the dirty drug den. “It’s like you were meant to help them. You already got Grant in by sending him into that rattrap and making him think.”
Canada smiled painfully. “Could be.” Then, seized by something unseen, he raised his eyes skyward and shook his head. “You knew you’d get me. One way or another, you knew, didn’t you? Well, rest in peace, bro. Rest in peace.”
Carli and Canada locked eyes. Then, as though by some hidden signal, both knew it was time to move on.
“I’ll go see Mercy,” said Canada. After taking a step, he added, “Grant’s right. I know them all. We used to talk, Grant and me.” He turned quickly, but not fast enough to conceal a wet drop sliding from his eye. A hand raised to his face confirmed it. Carli wished more than ever Grant could be with her, flesh and soul, to witness it. Finally reaching Canada, the boisterous stalwart, felt empty without him.
Carli entered and left St. Ignatius several times, searching for answers. Then she fit herself back into Grant’s room, content to keep everything out of her life for as long as she could. She joked cynically, calling his storage room “Grant’s Tomb,” but the real tomb, she knew, had been his body.
Late one evening, feeling oddly immune to danger or, perhaps, simply unable to feel much of anything, Carli stood at the ferry terminal. The boat for Staten Island was docked, and the water was calm. She moved to the piers. They stood strong against the gently lapping water. “You bastards,” she barely whispered. “You got him. You finally got him.”
She walked along the empty streets near City Hall, convinced the powers that be were solving nothing at all, for weren’t they all still out? Sleeping church after sleeping church seemed to jump in her path. She scorned them all, but Carli knew her anger was simply a part of her grief. Unfortunately, she had felt it before. Just north of Grand Central Terminal, she saw two light-colored vans surrounded by a cluster of people. The Church Run. No doubt, Canada had met it at one stop or another along its route, along with others she knew. She didn’t stop. Couldn’t bear to. Wanted nothing to do with them. What she needed, more than anything, she couldn’t have.
Kristin was a good sounding board, as always. She even took a couple of afternoons off from work to sit with Carli on the window seat, either in silence or conversation.
“It’s ironic,” said Kristin one afternoon. “All this time, Grant claimed others were poisoned by the cult, and he ended up on the wrong end of something totally different ... but exactly the same.”
“Maybe. Or maybe Grant was right. Maybe the cult was poisoning people ... and they finally got him.”
Kristin gently took ahold of Carli’s arm. “I hate to say it, but I wondered that myself. It couldn’t be, could it?”
Carli lifted her eyes to Kristin’s. “Time will tell,” said Carli. “I’m banking on Canada being right.”
“What do you mean?”
“If others start making the news, we’ll know it was some lousy dealer. And if others are anything like Grant, they’ll drop like flies ... very soon.”
“In the meantime,” said Kristin, “you can’t make up for losing him by going out at all hours of the night by yourself. I mean, retracing all of his steps, and doing these night visits you’ve been doing, isn’t safe. And,” said Kristin slowly, “it won’t bring him back.”
“Canada comes with me sometimes,” said Carli. “And I don’t think we really look for anyone. Mostly we just walk the streets. Sometimes all we do is sit on a bench in the dark and listen to our hearts. At times, mine sounds like a kite soaring because I think of how loving he was. And how much I loved him. Other times, my heart feels like it’s gurgling down a drain, and it can’t get through, so water is backing up, and it’s making this awful sucking sound. That’s how it feels sometimes.”
Carli felt warm tears roll from her eyes. “I finally had him again.”
“I am so sorry, Sister. I really am.”
Carli sat alone through the cremation, clutching his turquoise ring; his police cap was with him. When the nighttime Run from First Church came creeping into the City two weeks later, Carli sought it out. Pastor Miller was welcoming, as always. She had already phoned him about Grant. He opened his arms to her, and she to him, knowing Pastor Miller had relied on Grant to help the same ones he was helping.
“It was a bad pill,” she said. “A couple of others made unexpected trips to the hospital on account of them. One other died.”
Carli visited Vera, Sarah, and Wilson as best she could. Visits felt empty. A few times, Canada walked with her, chaperoning and nudging the street clan. He even slept a few nights in a shelter, and, as promised, he had talked with Mercy. Yes, he was seriously considering a change. Carli was too. It was time to find Tessie again, and undertake a new mission, one that only Tessie Whitmore could tackle.