Paul Cleave - The Cleaner

Yesterday afternoon, she stayed by the corner of the police station just out of sight watching while Joe talked to the woman. She fought with the idea of approaching Joe and asking him straight out what was going on; she was also regretting the chance she’d passed up to look through Joe’s briefcase. If the opportunity arises again, she will take it.

Then she drove to the graveyard and, while standing above the grave of her dead brother, she concentrated less on grieving and more on Joe. She wanted to know, no, needed to know what was going on. She decided she couldn’t wait. She apologized to Martin, promised him she would return the following day, and drove toward Joe’s apartment. She was going to confront him. She had to, if she had any chance of helping him. Anyway, his stitches would need removing, and she had to give back the copy of his key she’d had made.

Only she didn’t make it all the way there.

A few blocks from his apartment she saw him driving a car. And she is certain, absolutely certain, it was him.

She drives her car slowly down the street, checking every few mailboxes, watching the numbers climb. Most of the houses look as though they’re only a coat of paint away from being charming character homes.

When the door she wants opens not long after she knocks, she knows immediately she has the right place. The resemblance is obvious.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not buying,” the woman says, and starts to close the door.

“I’m not selling anything,” Sally quickly says, but the door doesn’t slow down. “My name’s Sally. I work with Joe, and I was hoping-”

“Well, why didn’t you say so,” Joe’s mother says, swinging the door open nice and wide. “I’ve never met any of Joe’s friends. I’m Evelyn. Please, please, come inside. Would you like a drink? A Coke perhaps?”

“Sure. That’d be nice.”

“Sally, Sally. That’s a pretty name.”

“Why. . thank you,” Sally says, and nobody has ever said that to her before.

Joe’s mother leads her down the hallway and into the kitchen. The décor is around thirty years old, Sally thinks, and suspects Joe’s mother has been living here that entire time. She sits down behind a Formica table, and Evelyn opens the fridge and a moment later joins her.

“So what time is Joe getting here?” Evelyn asks.

“Joe’s coming here?”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’re meeting Joe? It’s a bit late for dinner, but I suppose I can still whip something up. Perhaps I’ll call him and see if he’s on his way.”

“Actually Joe doesn’t know I’m here.”

Joe’s mother pauses and the edges of her mouth turn downward. “I don’t follow, dear.”

“I came here because I wanted to talk to you about Joe.”

Now the rest of Evelyn’s features follow the direction of her mouth. “About Joe? Whatever for?”

From the moment Sally looked through Joe’s personal file earlier in the day to get his parents’ address, she knew the questions his mother was going to ask.

“I, well, there were a few things I wanted to talk to you about. I have some. . concerns.”

Evelyn starts nodding, slowly, as if she is suddenly saddened by Sally’s possible concerns. “I know what you mean, dear.”

“You do?”

“I have concerns of my own,” she says, the downturned features of her face softening. “Tell me, do you like my son?”

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m here.”

Evelyn starts nodding. “I always thought more women would like him, but he doesn’t seem to have any interest in them. He’s. . special, you know.”

“I know. He reminds me of my brother.”

“Oh? Your brother is that way?”

“He. . is,” she says, not saying was, because was has a finality about it that she doesn’t want to think about right now.

“And you like Joe.”

“I like Joe a lot,” Sally says.

“That’s good, dearie,” Evelyn says, and she pops open the Coke she got for Sally and hands it over. “I like hearing that. It means there’s still a chance for Joe.”

“But these concerns, well, I don’t really know where to start.”

“We’ve already started, dearie.”

“How long has Joe been able to drive?”

“What was that, dear?”

Sally takes a sip from the Coke. It’s warmer than she thought it would be, either the fridge isn’t set that cold or Evelyn only just put the can in there. “How long has Joe been driving?”

“I don’t see how this relates to you liking him.”

“Well, it doesn’t, not exactly. But I saw him driving last night, and-”

“He was coming to see me. He’s such a good boy.”

“I know. It’s obvious Joe has a big heart. He’s really such a lovely guy. But I didn’t know he could drive.”

“You didn’t know he could drive?” Evelyn asks, sounding surprised. “I thought you said you work with him.”

“I do work with him.”

“Then surely you must have seen him driving the cars around.”

Does Joe tell her he drives the police cars around? It would be the sort of big-kid thing he’d do. She doesn’t want to spoil the illusion for Evelyn. It’s bad enough just being here, invading his privacy. Even now she’s fraught with guilt, and scared about how Joe will react. By trying to help him, she’ll likely end up hurting him, and he’ll likely end up hating her.

“Sure. I was just curious as to how long he has been able to do it, that’s all.”

Evelyn gives the statement a dismissive shrug. “I don’t know,” she says. “Years, I imagine. But what I’m more interested in is you, Sally. I take it you’re not married?”

Sally smiles. “No, no, not married,” she says, and takes a mouthful of Coke.

“Do you have family? Any other brothers and sisters? And what do you do with Joe? Are you his receptionist? Do you clean the cars? Are you a cleaner?”

“I live with my parents,” she says, wanting to get through this part quickly so she can get back to talking about Joe. “I don’t clean the cars, and I don’t think Joe does either.”

“No, of course he doesn’t. Why would he?”

Sally shrugs in reply. Why would a cleaner have a receptionist?

“What do you do then?” Evelyn asks. “At work, I mean.”

“Well, I’m a maintenance worker. I kind of keep things in order.”

“Oh, that sounds very interesting, Sally. You don’t see many female mechanics. Do you want to sell cars one day?”

“Sell cars?”

“Yes. Do you want to sell them?”

Maybe selling cars is a dream of Joe’s. “I guess I’ve never thought about it.” She picks up her drink and takes another large swallow. Speaking to Joe’s mother is turning out to be just as difficult as some of the conversations she has had with Joe. “The thing is, I came here to talk about something I think might be happening.”

“Between you and Joe? Oh, that would be marvelous!”

Sally leans back, struggling not to sigh. Suddenly she can’t go through with it. Joe has created a world for his mother to see him in, and no doubt it’s taken a long, long time. She could destroy all of that with some careless words. No, she is best to end this. There are no answers here as to why Joe can drive. No answers as to who attacked him. She takes another mouthful of drink, trying to get through it quickly, wanting to get out of here.

“I knew Joe would find somebody.”

“He really is something,” Sally says, unsure of what else to say. She takes another mouthful. Only another mouthful to go.

“After his father died, well, I was unsure how that would affect him, you know what I mean? I thought it might mess him up a little. Make him a little odd.”