The Vanderbeekers Make a Wish

by Karina Yan Glaser

  “Pop-Pop watched every single game live on television, and there was always a message from him afterward. He loved basketball so much.”

  “Just like Oliver,” Hyacinth said.

  “And just like your dad,” Jamal said.

  “I had no idea that Pop-Pop played,” Oliver said. “And I can’t believe you were at the Olympics.”

  Jamal looked at Oliver. “Life is a peculiar and mysterious thing,” he said. “Sometimes one moment changes a life forever.”

  “What was our dad like back then?” Jessie asked.

  “I didn’t know your dad that well. We were eight years apart, so by the time he was in middle school, I was in college. But from what I know of him, he’s just like your grandfather. A strong, noble man with a wonderful heart.”

  “Papa is the best,” Laney declared.

  “We found a letter our grandfather wrote to our dad,” Isa said. “It was right before our dad’s graduation. He talked about a trip they were going to make. Do you know anything about it?”

  Jamal nodded. “I remember Pop-Pop telling me that he was surprising Derek with a trip. He was so excited about it. It was going to be the first time they’d traveled together since he had started college. Their trip was a month long, so he asked me to coach the basketball league while he was gone.”

  “What did you know about the trip?” Oliver asked.

  “Not much. Just that he wanted to see a place by the ocean. I had just gotten a new job and was working long hours, so I didn’t see him very often in those few months when he was planning the trip.”

  “Do you have any idea who would know more about it?”

  Jamal thought. “I think his best friend from the sanitation department is still around. They were partners on their collection route for a decade. If there’s anyone around who might know about it, it would be him. They were two peas in a pod.”

  “Do you know his name?” Isa asked.

  “Sure do. Yardsy Loughty.”

  “Yard-see what?” Laney asked.

  Jamal spelled it, and Isa typed it into her phone.

  “I don’t have his contact information, but maybe you can find it online.”

  “Thank you,” Isa said.

  “Any more questions?” Jamal asked.

  “I have one,” Oliver said. “Can we play basketball now?”

  * * *

  It wasn’t long after they started their basketball game that Aunt Penny returned, coffee in hand.

  “I just had the most fascinating conversation with the guy at the coffee cart—”

  “Get on a team!” Oliver yelled.

  “Okay!” Aunt Penny said as she set down her coffee. “Where should I go?”

  “Over there,” Oliver said, pointing to the other group. He was with Jamal, Isa, and Hyacinth.

  Aunt Penny jogged over to Jessie, Laney, and David, who had finished his pickup game. “Did I tell you I’m on the recreational basketball team at work? And I’m really competitive.”

  “Perfect!” Jessie said.

  “What do I need to know about the other team?” Aunt Penny asked.

  “Keep an eye on Hyacinth. She’s deceptively good because she helps Oliver with his drills.”

  “Good to know,” Aunt Penny said as she did some quick hamstring stretches.

  “Also, Jamal played for the United States Paralympics basketball team.”

  “We’re toast,” Aunt Penny said.

  From the other side of the court, Oliver yelled, “You ready to play or are you scared?”

  “And Oliver loves to trash-talk,” Jessie added.

  They played for an hour with no break. The score was close, but Oliver’s team won. After all, they had a former Olympian playing with them.

  “Next time we get Jamal,” Laney said.

  “How about we give you Isa instead?” Oliver said.

  “Not Isa!” Laney protested.

  “Hey,” Isa said. “I’m not even supposed to play basketball. Mr. Van Hooten doesn’t want me to jam my fingers.”

  “So that explains why you never caught the ball whenever I passed to you,” Jamal said.

  Everyone was sweaty and hungry, so Aunt Penny took a bag of apples from her backpack and passed them around.

  “Can we do this again?” Oliver asked Jamal. He used his shirt to wipe away the sweat.

  “I’m here every Saturday morning,” Jamal said.

  “Thanks for everything,” Isa said. “We really appreciate you telling us about Pop-Pop.”

  “I feel like we’re getting to know him,” Laney said.

  Jamal smiled. “Your grandfather was the best of men. I hope you know that and are proud of it.”

  “If you’re not doing anything this Saturday, you should come by our dad’s birthday party,” Oliver said. “It’s at the community garden on 141st Street near Frederick Douglass Boulevard. Three o’clock.”

  “There’s going to be a balloon drop!” Laney told him.

  “Maybe we will,” Jamal said. “It’s been a long time.”

  Fourteen

  Aunt Penny wanted to see the cat café on the way home, so they stopped by for ten minutes to say hi to Mama, grab a cookie, meet the cats, and get Aunt Penny another cup of coffee.

  “I’m on a three-hour time difference, people!” she said.

  On the walk home, Aunt Penny could not stop talking about Mama’s café.

  “I just love those cat siblings! Did you see them sleeping in that cat bed shaped like a hamburger?” Aunt Penny exclaimed. “And that cat with the really smooshed-up face! Just adorable!”

  “Do you have a pet?” Laney asked.

  “I wish,” Aunt Penny said. “I would love a cat or a dog.”

  “You should adopt one!” Hyacinth said.

  “I work so much,” Aunt Penny said. “I would feel bad leaving a pet home alone for so long.”

  “Cats are pretty independent,” Oliver said. “George Washington wants to be left alone.”

  “You could get the sibling cats,” Laney suggested. “They would keep each other company while you’re at work.”

  “Their names are Peaches and Cream,” Hyacinth said. “We love them!”

  “How would I get them back to California?” Aunt Penny asked.

  “You could get a cat carrier and bring them on the plane,” Laney suggested. “I like those bubble backpacks where there’s a plastic piece so the pets can look out. I have one for Tuxedo.”

  “That’s nice,” Aunt Penny said, then changed the topic. “So what are we going to do today?”

  “We have to do some research on a person who knew our grandfather,” Isa told her. “Papa’s dad, who we never met because he died when Papa was in college.”

  “Oh, I remember that,” Aunt Penny said. “Your mom was so sad. I’m sorry you never got to know him.”

  “We’re trying to find out more about him,” Laney told her.

  “I can help,” Aunt Penny offered.

  “You don’t have to,” Jessie said. “You came here for vacation. You probably want to go out and have fun, not try to track down random people who knew Pop-Pop.”

  Aunt Penny shrugged. “I’ve got all week. Anyway, a big part of coming here was to spend time with you all and redeem myself as the ‘cool aunt.’”

  “Like Auntie Harrigan?” Laney asked. “We love her.”

  “She does have the distinct advantage of having lived near you for your entire lives,” Aunt Penny said. “It’s hard to top that.”

  “You could take us to a Knicks game at Madison Square Garden,” Oliver said.

  “Or skydiving,” Jessie suggested.

  “Or let us help you adopt two adorable, homeless cats,” Hyacinth said.

  “I’ll get back to you about that,” Aunt Penny said. “But you should probably lower your expectations.”

  The Vanderbeekers approached the brownstone, all looking forward to getting on the computer to look up Yardsy Loughty. If they had any chance of putting together a
trip for Papa by Saturday, only four days away, they needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Jessie stuck her key into the door, but before she could turn it, the door swung open to reveal Grandma and Grandpa.

  “Where have you been?” Grandma demanded. “We didn’t come all the way to New York City to be stuck in this apartment!”

  “You could have gone out on your own—” Oliver began.

  “We don’t know how to get around New York City,” Grandma snapped. “We don’t want to be robbed or killed.”

  “Grandma,” Jessie said as she stood in the living room, puzzled by Grandma’s sudden display of concern, “New York City is one of the safest large cities in the world.”

  Grandma shook her head again. “I don’t know why your parents let you run around like delinquents.”

  “We’re very responsible,” Isa told her.

  “And we know a million people in the neighborhood,” Laney added.

  “Mama and Papa trust us,” Jessie said. “And if we need them, we just call.”

  Grandma shook her head. “Never mind. Today you will take us to the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  “I thought you were scared of going out into New York City,” Oliver pointed out.

  “Grandma, there’s actually something we need to do right now,” Jessie began.

  But Grandma’s mouth was set in a straight line. “Grandpa wants to go to the Brooklyn Bridge. We will go.”

  * * *

  The last time the Vanderbeekers had gone to the Brooklyn Bridge, Laney was three years old, and she managed to create a fifty-three-bike pile-up in the bike lane. It had been a hot summer day, and the Vanderbeekers plus Miss Josie, Mr. Jeet, Auntie Harrigan, and Uncle Arthur had planned a lovely afternoon. They headed downtown on the number 2 subway train and got off in Brooklyn, where they walked by beautiful brownstones on gorgeous, tree-shaded streets.

  It was the middle of the afternoon by the time they had stepped onto the bridge, and the Vanderbeekers were getting tired. After a few wrong turns, they finally found the entrance and got on the pedestrian walkway, joining thousands of overheated and grumpy tourists who had also thought that walking across the Brooklyn Bridge was a good idea.

  The pedestrian walkway had a thick white line painted right in the middle, which separated pedestrians and bikers. Unfortunately, with so many people angling to take the best photos on the bridge, it became impossible to have a nice, leisurely walk. Instead, Mama and Papa were constantly reminding the kids to watch out or to stay in the pedestrian lane and not step into the bike lane.

  Laney had the worst time of it. Being only thirty-one and a half inches tall at the time, she was often invisible to zealous photographers who swung their bags over their shoulders and accidentally smacked her in the face or who hit the back of her head while raising a selfie stick. Thirty minutes later, the Vanderbeekers and their friends were hot and sweaty and grouchy—and they were only halfway across the bridge.

  “How much longer?” Laney had asked, looking up at Papa.

  “We’re almost to the end,” Papa said, scanning the crowds to make sure all his kids were still accounted for.

  At just that moment, a bike passed over into the pedestrian lane. The rubber handgrip hit Laney in the back, and she fell down. The bike and the biker continued on without so much as an apology. Papa didn’t see it happen—he had just noticed that Oliver was nowhere to be seen—and Laney got up and took one big step into the bike lane.

  “Watch it!” yelled a man on a sleek black bike who swerved around her.

  “Get out of the bike lane!” yelled a woman who zipped past her.

  But Laney had had enough. She continued into the bike lane and reached her arms out as far as they could go, effectively blocking bikers from passing her. Unfortunately, a bike tour group from France, who were all wearing matching T-shirts with the French flag embroidered on the pocket, were in a tight group and heading right toward her. The leader, who had a flag hanging from her bike basket, was saying something to the person behind her as she gestured toward the Manhattan skyline.

  She didn’t see Laney standing tall and angry in the middle of the bike path, daring cyclists to run her over. At the very last moment, the French tour leader glimpsed Laney, swiveled her handlebars, and ended up crashing into the side of the bridge and falling down. This subsequently caused a massive collision of the entire fifty-three-person tour group, which led to lots of angry French words spoken as the leader searched for the person responsible.

  Fortunately, she only caught a quick glimpse of Laney before she rammed into the side rail, and Laney, scrambling back over to the pedestrian side to avoid being run over, had become enveloped in the crowds of people.

  “There you are!” Papa said. “I lost track of Oliver, and by the time I found him, there was this huge bike crash and I couldn’t see you and I thought you had somehow gotten in the middle of it. Our relaxing walk across the Brooklyn Bridge hasn’t been so relaxing, has it?”

  And so Papa lifted her onto his shoulders and they headed toward the Manhattan side of the bridge. When they were a safe distance away, Laney looked back to see the tour leader scanning the crowds for her. Laney quickly turned away and vowed to tell no one about her role in the Great Bike Pile-Up on the Brooklyn Bridge.

  That was the memory that flashed through Laney’s mind when Grandma said the words “Brooklyn Bridge.”

  “How about we go to City College instead?” Laney suggested. “It’s pretty there.”

  Grandma shook her head vigorously. “Brooklyn Bridge. That is where Grandpa wants to go.”

  Laney looked at Grandpa. It did not look as if he had any preference for the bridge whatsoever.

  “Ugh, Brooklyn,” Oliver muttered. He was not fond of long subway rides.

  Isa cleared her throat. “It’s probably going to be crowded. It’s very popular with tourists.”

  “Remember the last time we went to the bridge?” Jessie said. “We lost both Oliver and Laney.”

  “You didn’t lose me,” Oliver said. “I was just stuck behind a bunch of people and no one could see me.”

  “I wasn’t lost either,” Laney said. “I was there the whole time.”

  “Papa lost track of you and freaked out,” Isa told her.

  “We are going to the Brooklyn Bridge,” Grandma said firmly and loudly. Then she took Grandpa’s hand and marched right out the front door, and there was nothing for the Vanderbeekers and Aunt Penny to do but follow.

  Fifteen

  For Jessie, the ride down to Brooklyn felt much longer than it actually was. This was because they first had to convince Grandma that the subway was safe.

  She had initially refused to go down the stairs, proclaiming them “dirty.” Jessie could see that she was torn between her deep desire to go to the Brooklyn Bridge (which Jessie could not understand) and her distaste for the New York City subway.

  “Grandma, do you want to go home?” Jessie asked with the infinite patience required of a botanist studying the growth rate of Arctic moss. “It’s fine if you’re not comfortable with the subway. We can go home if you like.”

  The threat of not going to the Brooklyn Bridge must have been enough to finally convince Grandma to steel herself. She set her eyes on the stairs and marched her way down to the station. Everyone followed her, and Isa distributed MetroCards.

  When the train arrived, it was crowded, but they managed to find a car empty enough to squeeze their big group inside.

  “Hold on to the pole,” Jessie said to Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa obeyed, but Grandma hesitated. She was looking at the pole as if someone had just licked it.

  “Germs,” Grandma said, but then the subway lurched and Grandma stumbled.

  Jessie tried to grab her before she fell, but missed. Grandma fell right into the lap of a guy who looked as if he were a professional weightlifter. He wore a tight T-shirt, and his arm muscles bulged. From the top of the shirt emerged a tattooed snake that coiled around his neck and ended just bel
ow his left ear. The man wore a black hat with white stitching that said “What Are YOU Looking At?”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Grandma said, her face blooming with color.

  The man looked at her and grinned. “Glad I could break your fall.” He helped her back to her feet, then stood and offered her his seat. Because he was so broad, he actually opened up two seats when he rose, and Laney jumped at the chance to sit in the other one.

  “Thank you,” Grandma said.

  “You’re all red,” Laney told her.

  “It’s a reaction of the sympathetic nervous system,” Jessie told her. “When you’re embarrassed, adrenaline is released, speeding up your heart rate and dilating your blood vessels to improve blood flow and oxygen delivery.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” said the tattooed weightlifter. “It happens to me all the time.”

  “Really?” Laney said, looking at him. “You fall into people’s laps in the subway?”

  “Not really,” he said, smiling at her. “I just said that to make her feel better.”

  “That’s sweet,” Aunt Penny said.

  Grandma nodded at him. “Thank you.”

  “We’re going to the Brooklyn Bridge,” Laney told him. “I like your tattoo.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Snakes represent the creative life force in all of us.”

  “Huh,” Oliver said. “I’m going to tell Mama that. She has a thing about snakes.”

  “She’ll never let you get a snake,” Jessie said. “It’s the ophidiophobia.”

  “What’s oh-phee-phobia?” Laney asked.

  “An abnormal fear of snakes,” the tattooed weightlifter replied. “It’s a shame that so many people experience that, because snakes are actually symbols of rebirth, transformation, immortality, and healing.”

  “I’m going to get a snake tattoo when I grow up,” Oliver decided.

  “Me too!” Laney declared.

  “Brooklyn Bridge, huh?” the weightlifter said to Grandma. “It’s gotten mighty crowded there. Be careful you don’t get knocked out by a selfie stick.”

  “I will be careful,” she assured him.