The Vanderbeekers Lost and Found
Page 9
“What the heck?” Orlando hissed at Isa and Allegra, when the dog owners were out of earshot.
“We can explain,” Isa said. “Let’s go inside.” She led the way, and the Vanderbeekers and Allegra dropped into seats around the biggest table. Orlando, however, crossed his arms and refused to sit down.
“Well,” Isa began in a quiet voice, “we had this idea that you probably wanted to earn some money, so Allegra and I made posters advertising dog-walking services. We wanted to, uh, surprise you with clients.”
“Isn’t that something you should have asked me about?” Orlando interjected, biting out the words. He glared at Jessie.
“Why are you looking at me?” Jessie said.
“It sounded like a better idea a few days ago,” Isa admitted. “We were just trying to help.”
Orlando swung around and glared at Oliver. “And you!”
Oliver had been staring at the cookie counter, and his head whipped around when Orlando said his name. “What did I do?”
“Did you send Coach Mendoza a video of me playing football? Because all of a sudden he’s calling nonstop, and I’m getting all these emails with practice information and uniform requirements and game-day instructions.”
Oliver beamed and pumped his fists. “That’s awesome! I knew they would want you!”
“But I don’t want to join the football team,” Orlando said. “You can’t sign me up without asking me!”
None of the Vanderbeekers was used to Orlando raising his voice. Laney pulled her turtleneck up so high it covered her eyes, and Hyacinth dropped under the café table and pulled Purl One into her lap for comfort.
A beat of silence followed.
“You love football,” Oliver said. “I thought you would be happy.”
“I’m not a charity case,” Orlando said. “You don’t need to pay for my phone or buy my food or get me a job. I can take care of myself.”
“We don’t think you’re a charity case,” Isa said quickly.
“We want you to stay with Miss Josie and Mr. Jeet forever,” Laney said from behind her turtleneck. “They want to be your guardians.”
“How do you know that?” Orlando asked.
Jessie raised a sheepish hand. “I told them. But in my defense, it was before you told me not to share it with anyone.”
Orlando was furious, and his voice grew even louder. “Did it ever occur to any of you that I don’t want your help? You Vanderbeekers have a serious problem with intervening. You think you know how to fix everything!” He pointed at Oliver. “You, setting up football tryouts when you know I’m doing another sport right now!”
Oliver looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
Orlando turned on Isa and Allegra. “And you two, setting up a dog-walking business without even asking me!”
“We were just trying to help,” Isa said again in a small voice.
“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!” Orlando exploded.
Purl One jumped off Hyacinth’s lap and fled to the back of the café. The eyes of every customer in the café turned toward them.
“Hey, guys, can you keep it down?” Jason called from behind the counter.
Their table descended into quiet before Orlando spoke again. “I wish you would—”
Orlando’s phone interrupted his thought. “Ugh, if this is Coach Mendoza again . . .” He held the phone to his ear. “What? Oh, hey, Aunt Josie. Oh no! I’ll be right there!”
The Vanderbeekers, alarmed at his panicked voice, stood up. “Is everything okay?” they asked.
Orlando shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed his backpack. “It’s Mr. Jeet. He just went to the hospital.”
Sixteen
As they rushed to Harlem Hospital, Laney thought about the last time she had been there. It was when Mr. Jeet had had a stroke, and Laney had gotten into Very Big Trouble bringing Paganini there.
“Come on, Laney,” Oliver said. “Hurry up!”
Even though her legs were tired and her chest was burning, she forced herself to keep going. Thankfully, the hospital was not far from the cat café. When they arrived, Mama was waiting for them in the lobby, and Laney launched herself right into her mom’s arms.
“What’s going on?” Isa asked as Orlando and her siblings clustered around Mama.
“What room is he in?” Orlando asked, breathless.
“Three-oh-two, but—” Mama said, and Orlando sprinted for the elevators before she could say anything else. Laney tried to follow him, but Mama held her back and put her arms around her.
“Give him some time alone,” Mama said. “Jessie, in a few minutes, you go up to make sure he’s okay.”
“Mama, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” Jessie asked, her eyes wide with fear.
Laney, who had run into Mama’s arms without even seeing her face, looked up to find her mom’s eyes were swollen and red.
“Kids, he’s not doing well,” Mama said.
“But he’s been taking medicine, right, Mama?” Laney said. “And we’ve been bringing him really healthy food. So he’ll get better.”
“How long will he be in the hospital?” Isa asked. Mama took a deep breath. “I think we need to prepare ourselves.”
“Prepare ourselves for what?” Laney asked, looking around at her siblings. Jessie’s face had lost color, and Isa looked as if she might faint. Oliver appeared as confused as she was, and Hyacinth had gone still.
When no one responded, Oliver spoke up.
“Prepare ourselves for what?” Oliver asked. “What’s going on?”
Mama closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Laney saw something she had never seen before. It was as if the light in her mom’s eyes, which usually brightened up a room, had been flicked off.
“We need to prepare ourselves,” Mama said, “because Mr. Jeet is dying.”
* * *
Jessie felt as if she were walking in a dream. She could hear Laney wailing and Oliver saying, “I don’t believe you. He’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine.” Mama was comforting them, and Jessie wanted nothing more than to stay there, in the warmth of her mom’s orbit. But she knew Orlando needed her right now, and she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other until she reached the elevator. She stepped inside, her sneakers squeaking on the speckled linoleum tile. She found herself alone, and she put both hands on the metal railing that lined the elevator, bowed her head, and took deep breaths. A few seconds later, the elevator doors opened, and she followed the signs for room 302.
The hallways echoed with machines humming, soft sneakers padding against the floors, and whispered conversations between people wearing light-green scrubs. Room 302 was down the hall from the nurses’ station, and when she peeked in there were two beds separated by a curtain hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Mr. Jeet was lying in the bed closest to the door, his eyes closed and machines surrounding him. Orlando, his back toward Jessie, was standing at his bedside, his tall body seemingly half its size with his shoulders hunched over Mr. Jeet’s body. Miss Josie was on the other side, one hand gripping Mr. Jeet’s hands and the other stroking his head.
A nurse bustled past Jessie, and Jessie moved back a few steps. For some reason, she felt that the dynamic in the room would change if she went inside.
“Hello,” the nurse said to Miss Josie, examining Mr. Jeet’s clipboard. “The doctor just told me that you have decided to provide Mr. Jeet hospice care at your home.”
“Yes,” Miss Josie said.
“We can make him quite comfortable in his last days here at the hospital,” the nurse continued, not looking up from his clipboard.
“We think he will be most comfortable in his home, surrounded by family,” Miss Josie replied.
The nurse nodded. “Of course. I have the discharge forms here. I understand that you already have a hospital bed in your home, as well as a nurse who can provide end-of-life care?”
“Yes,” Miss Josie answered.
“Thank you,” Miss Josie said, her voice cracking.
The nurse left the room, and Jessie made her way inside and stood next to Orlando. He didn’t look at her, and she had a feeling he was barely holding it together. Jessie leaned into him, and Orlando rested his chin on the top of her head. A few minutes later, the rest of the Vanderbeekers trailed in with Papa and Mr. Beiderman. They were so quiet that Jessie didn’t realize they were there until she felt Papa’s arm around her waist.
And there they stood, forming a circle around one of the greatest men they had ever known. And as they held hands and both gave and accepted comfort from one another, the ten people who loved Mr. Jeet the most each wondered how on earth they could possibly make it through one day without him.
Wednesday, October 23 to Friday, October 25
Seventeen
Orlando and Miss Josie had not left the apartment since Tuesday night, when Mr. Jeet was discharged from the hospital. They stayed by his side, talking to him as if he were listening to every word. The Vanderbeekers spent every moment after school with him, canceling all their afternoon activities. Mama and Papa reduced their hours at work and spent the rest of the time caring for Miss Josie, making meals and cleaning her apartment and managing the nursing staff who were there on a rotating basis. Mr. Beiderman stopped by multiple times a day to read poetry to Mr. Jeet. The days passed in a blur, the moments captured in vignettes.
Wednesday, 12:38 p.m.
Mr. Beiderman sat in the armchair, midday light streaming through the lace curtains. His spectacles rested on the tip of his nose as he read from a book of poems by Joy Harjo.
Remember the sky that you were born under,
Know each of the star’s stories.
In the kitchen, Ms. Fran stirred a small pot of broth on the stove. “Be at peace,” she said in a quiet voice.
Wednesday, 5:06 p.m.
Laney arrived with Paganini and nestled the gray rabbit under Mr. Jeet’s arm. She checked beneath the hospital bed and saw Billie Holiday lying there, her mournful eyes looking out. Laney flattened herself against the ground and wiggled her way close to Billie Holiday, then reached to scratch behind her ears. She scooted back out, stood up, and climbed onto the bed, her legs dangling off the side.
“Do you remember the first time I introduced you to Paganini?” she asked Mr. Jeet. “He was so little and cute, and you bought me a rabbit-ear headband so we could match. And remember when Paganini was a baby and he got lost in your apartment, and we looked everywhere for him? We finally found him sleeping in your boots!” Laney leaned over to look closely at Mr. Jeet’s closed eyes. “Can you hear me, Mr. Jeet? Are you sleeping?”
Wednesday, 6:43 p.m.
“Can I tempt you to eat something?” Mama asked Miss Josie.
“It smells good,” Miss Josie said, taking the small bowl of vegetable soup Mama offered her. She ate a few spoonfuls, then put it down on the side table next to her.
“Did I ever tell you how he proposed to me?” Miss Josie asked Mama.
The Vanderbeeker kids, who were sitting in various spots around the apartment, listened in.
“It was after work at the New York Botanical Garden, and we were taking a walk through the gardens at the end of the day like we always did. He suggested we head through the native forests, and we took a path that led to the Bronx River, where there was a pretty waterfall. There, on the stone bridge, was a whole line of our coworkers, all holding multicolored umbrellas, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. When I pointed it out to Mr. Jeet, he waved at our coworkers, and they all tilted the tops of the umbrellas toward us. There was a letter on the top of each umbrella, and all together they spelled out ‘Will You Marry Me?’”
Wednesday, 8:17 p.m.
Night had fallen on the city, and only one lamp and a few candles were lit inside Miss Josie and Mr. Jeet’s apartment. Orlando was standing by the hospital bed, his hand over Mr. Jeet’s, while Mr. Beiderman sat in the armchair next to Orlando, reading from a book of poems by Li-Young Lee. Princess Cutie sat on Mr. Jeet’s bed, her paws kneading the knit blanket that covered him.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
Thursday, 2:48 p.m.
“Why don’t you play the violin?” Miss Josie suggested when she saw Isa.
Isa shook her head. She felt as if her body had been trembling for days. Her fingers were cold and stiff, and she wasn’t sure she could find the notes. Instead, she put some of her favorite music on in the background—Niccolo Paganini’s duet for guitar and violin—and let it wash over her.
Thursday, 3:06 p.m.
Hyacinth finished the hat she had been knitting for Mr. Jeet, weaving in and clipping the loose ends. She had made the hat out of thick navy-blue yarn, and Miss Josie helped lift his head so Hyacinth could put it on him.
“It fits him perfectly,” Miss Josie told her. “It will keep him very warm.”
Hyacinth nodded; then she headed into the bathroom so she could cry without anyone seeing her. She sat on the edge of the tub, scrubbing her eyes with tissue, and soon she heard Mr. Beiderman reading a poem by one of her favorite writers, Lucille Clifton.
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
Thursday, 4:08 p.m.
“Orlando and I both qualified for the robotics team at school,” Jessie said to Mr. Jeet. She had no idea if he could hear her, and it felt weird to talk to him when he was so unresponsive. “Actually, there were a lot more applicants than spots, so it’s sort of a big deal. We start next week, and our first competition is in December.”
Jessie shuffled her feet, wondering why it didn’t seem to bother Laney to talk to Mr. Jeet. Miss Josie put a hand on Jessie’s shoulder.
“That sounds great, honey,” she said. “I’m proud of you and Orlando. I know you’ll do an excellent job.”
Thursday, 7:54 p.m.
Billie Holiday had not budged from under the hospital bed since Tuesday night, refusing to come out even for meals. Three times a day, Orlando squeezed an arm underneath the bed so he could take her outside to go to the bathroom. Laney had tossed multiple treats under the bed, but Billie Holiday never ate them. When Princess Cutie made her daily visits with Mr. Beiderman, she beelined for the hospital bed and hunted down the treats. Billie Holiday would watch her with sad eyes, not lifting her head from the floor.
And Mr. Beiderman read, this time from the poet Langston Hughes.
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
Friday, 2:14 a.m.
Miss Josie stood up and stretched. Orlando had fallen asleep on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes. The night nurse, a woman named Ms. Rudy, looked up from the dining room table, where she was doing a crossword puzzle.
“He seems like a nice man,” Miss Rudy commented, looking at Mr. Jeet.
“He is the best person I have ever known,” Miss Josie replied. “How much time do you think he has left?”
Miss Rudy stood up and checked his vitals. “It’s always hard to say, but I think we’re getting close.”
Miss Josie nodded. Then she climbed up into the hospital bed with Mr. Jeet and held him close.
Friday, 4:36 a.m.
Miss Josie called Mama that Friday morning to ask the Vanderbeekers to come up to the second floor as soon as possible. She also requested that Isa please bring her violin. Ten minutes later, the Vanderbeekers knocked on the door. Mr. Beiderman was already there, the lines around his eyes looking particularly deep. They found Miss Josie standing in her usual spot
next to Mr. Jeet’s bed. Orlando was next to her, his back bowed in grief. Mr. Jeet was awake: for the first time in many days, the Vanderbeekers saw his eyes opened. Billie Holiday lay under the bed, her ears alert.
“You’re awake!” Laney said to Mr. Jeet, taking his hand and giving it three squeezes, which meant “I love you.
“He’s not doing well,” Miss Josie said. “It’s time to say goodbye.”
“But he squeezed my hand back!” Laney said. “He’s getting better!”
When Miss Josie looked back at Laney and shook her head, Laney burst into tears and buried her head in his chest. “Don’t go, Mr. Jeet,” she sobbed.
Wordlessly, Isa took out her violin and tuned it quietly. Then she placed her bow on the string and began one of Mr. Jeet’s recent favorite pieces, “Casta Diva” from Norma by Vincenzo Bellini. As the rich notes echoed through the brownstone, the Vanderbeekers took turns saying the last things they wanted him to hear. Mama kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. Then she gently pried Laney’s hands from Mr. Jeet’s arms and pulled Laney into a hug.
Papa took Mr. Jeet’s hand in both of his. “Thank you for teaching my kids to be their truest, best selves.”
Hyacinth leaned over the bed and hugged him, tears streaming from her eyes. “I love you more than all the stars in the universe,” she said, her head nestled in the crook of his neck.
Oliver had no words; he just placed his hand over Mr. Jeet’s heart and stood there until Papa put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder and led him away so Jessie could say goodbye.
Jessie pressed a medal she had won at last year’s science fair into his hand. “I’m going to be a scientist one day. I’ll make you proud, I promise,” she told him.