The Vanderbeekers Lost and Found

by Karina Yan Glaser

  Orlando grabbed Mr. Jeet’s hand. “Thank you for treating me like a son.” Mr. Jeet blinked slowly, then squeezed Orlando’s hand back.

  The final words came from Miss Josie. “You’ve filled the last fifty-seven years of my life with laughter, friendship, and surprises. Your love has astounded me.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Now be at rest.”

  At 5:12 a.m. on Friday, October 25, as the final notes of “Casta Diva” lingered in the air, Mr. Jeet smiled and closed his eyes for the last time.

  Eighteen

  While Mama and Papa stayed with Miss Josie and Orlando to help with arrangements, the Vanderbeeker kids went back downstairs to get some rest. It was still dark outside, and when they opened the door, they found Franz, George Washington, and Tuxedo at the door. Franz woofed, Tuxedo meowed, and George Washington dashed to his food bowl. Hyacinth dropped to the ground and put her arms around Franz, weeping into his neck. Isa and Jessie put out food for the animals, and afterward, they all made their way to Isa and Jessie’s bedroom.

  Hyacinth could not stop crying. Laney went right for Isa’s bed and buried herself under the covers, Tuxedo nuzzling his way in behind her. Hyacinth sat on Isa’s bed as well, grabbing Isa’s stuffed wombat and holding it close to her stomach while occasionally wiping her eyes and nose with her sweatshirt sleeves. Franz jumped up on the bed and curled against Hyacinth’s side, and Isa didn’t protest even though she really didn’t like it when Franz got her white comforter dirty.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone,” Oliver said, falling onto Jessie’s messy bed and punching one of her pillows.

  Isa’s eyes were swollen and red as she nudged Hyacinth to the side and got into bed with her and Laney. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

  “He was doing fine,” Laney said, her voice muffled by the blankets she had buried herself under. “He squeezed my hand.”

  “He’s been sick for a long time,” Jessie said. “A long, long time.”

  The Vanderbeekers fell silent. Then the sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted the quiet. Jessie walked to the window and looked out.

  “It’s Orlando,” she said.

  Hyacinth got up and joined Jessie at the window, Franz following her. Orlando was going down the brownstone stairs to the sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pockets. A second later, the brownstone door opened again, and Mr. Beiderman emerged and hurried down the steps. He caught up with Orlando and put an arm around him. Then the two of them walked down 141st Street, and Hyacinth strained her neck to watch until they disappeared from sight.

  “Mr. Beiderman will take care of him,” Hyacinth said.

  “He’s going to leave us too,” Jessie said to herself, but Hyacinth overheard.

  “Who? Orlando?” Hyacinth asked, fresh tears filling her eyes.

  Jessie, seeming only then to realize she had spoken out loud, looked at Hyacinth and went toward her bed without answering. “I’m going to sleep,” she told Oliver, who was lying on her bed.

  Oliver grunted, rolled off the bed, and headed out the door. A few seconds later, his bedroom door slammed. Jessie got into her bed and pulled the covers over her head.

  Hyacinth was still by the window, and she slid to the ground. Franz was there to soften her landing, so she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his neck, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  It was late morning by the time Oliver woke up. The sun was shining through his tiny window, and birds were chirping. He could hear Miss Josie walking above him, her steady, firm footfalls. He listened for Mr. Jeet’s footsteps next: lighter, with a slight shuffle. When he didn’t hear them, he thought that Mr. Jeet was probably resting. And then he remembered: he would never hear Mr. Jeet’s footsteps again.

  Oliver rolled over and buried his head under his pillow to block out the light of the day. His eyes burned, but no tears came. A few moments later, his door opened. Maybe if he stayed buried under the covers, whoever it was would leave.

  “Hey, Oliver,” came Mama’s voice.

  Oliver grunted.

  “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” The scent of something familiar wafted through the room, made its way under the covers, and entered his nose. “I brought cookies,” she said.

  But cookies held no appeal. He wasn’t hungry; he just wanted to sleep and sleep and forget that there was a world without Mr. Jeet in it.

  “I’m here if you want to talk,” Mama said, laying a hand on the blanket where his head was. “I’ll leave the cookies on your desk. Here’s your water bottle in case you’re thirsty.”

  He felt a slight pressure next to him; then he heard the door close. He sat up and opened his water bottle and took a long drink, but the thought of getting out of bed for the cookies made him nauseous. Then the tears came back, as if a well had been replenished. He cried until he fell back asleep.

  * * *

  Isa woke up to the smell of cookies and macaroni and cheese. Macaroni and cheese was her comfort food, so she rubbed her eyes and forced herself to sit up. Early-afternoon sunshine poured through the windows. Isa’s twin sister was still asleep, a Jessie-sized lump under a pile of blankets. Laney was nowhere to be seen. Hyacinth lay on the floor with Franz; someone had put a pillow under her head and a thick knit blanket over her body.

  When Isa got out of bed, Franz opened his eyes and his tail thumped against the floor. He didn’t budge from his spot next to Hyacinth. Isa leaned down and scratched his ears.

  “Good dog,” she said to him. “Take care of Hyacinth, will you?”

  Isa put a hoodie on over her shirt and headed down to the kitchen. Even though she had slept for several hours, she felt exhausted. Her hair was dirty and her pajamas were wrinkled. When she got downstairs, she saw Mama at the stove and Laney next to her, standing on a footstool. The familiar sight gave Isa a tiny bit of comfort.

  “Hey, honey,” Mama said, kissing Isa’s temple. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m sad,” Laney interjected. “Mama said macaroni and cheese would make me feel better, but I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “Did I hear ‘macaroni and cheese’?” Papa asked as he came down the stairs, freshly showered, his hair wet. He kissed Mama’s cheek and then peeked at the several pots on the stove. “Are these collards? Be still, my heart.”

  “Thinking of Mr. Jeet made me think of his favorite foods,” Mama said. “He did love his Southern food.”

  “This makes me miss him more,” Isa said, looking gloomily at the pots.

  “It makes me sad, too,” Mama said, “but it also makes me happy thinking about him. He used to sit right there at our table and tuck into the mac and cheese, fried chicken, and collards like he had never eaten before in his life.”

  “Remember when you finally fixed cornbread exactly the way he liked it?” Isa said. “I thought he was going to do a dance right there on top of the dinner table.”

  “Took me two years to get that recipe just right for him,” Mama said.

  There was a moment of contented silence as they thought about Mr. Jeet.

  Isa coughed. “Will there be, you know, a funeral for him?”

  “Yes, we’ve been talking to the church about it,” Papa said. “It will probably be on Monday. Mama will help Miss Josie notify friends and family tomorrow. Which reminds me, I have to arrange for that company to pick up the hospital bed later today.”

  “He didn’t even have it for a week,” Isa said. “And we raised so much money for it too.”

  “It’s okay,” Mama said. “It was a rental, so the extra money we raised will go toward the funeral costs, which will be really helpful for Miss Josie.”

  “I don’t want to go to the funeral,” Laney said as she started to cry again. “It’s just going to make me really sad.”

  Papa gathered her in his arms. “I know, honey. But do you know what? All of these feelings we’re having are so strong because we loved him so much. And that says a lot about how amazing he was.”
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br />   “I wish I could talk to him again,” Laney said, tears spilling. “I have so many things to tell him.”

  “Me too,” said Isa and Mama, moving to join Laney and Papa in their hug.

  Nineteen

  It was nearly four o’clock when the Vanderbeeker kids found themselves all together again. Oliver had gone outside to feed the chickens and hadn’t returned after twenty minutes, so Hyacinth went outside to check on him. When Franz woke up from his nap to find that Hyacinth wasn’t there, he barked at the back door until Isa opened it to let him out. Isa noticed Oliver and Hyacinth sitting in the treehouse, their legs dangling off the balcony, so she stepped outside, dodged the chickens that wove around her feet, and climbed up the ladder. Laney and Jessie, who were wandering around the brownstone with no purpose, heard the back door close. They went outside to see what everyone was doing, then scaled the ladder, too.

  “Grab the candy, will you?” Oliver asked when he saw Jessie.

  Jessie lifted the lid to the storage chest and opened the false bottom where Oliver kept his rapidly dwindling candy supply. She grabbed the last bags of Sour Patch Kids and jelly beans, then joined her siblings.

  A few minutes later, the five kids were sitting in a line on the balcony, passing the bags of candy back and forth. They were all grateful that the balcony faced north so they could avoid looking in the direction of Mr. Jeet and Miss Josie’s place. Franz sat directly beneath Hyacinth just in case she fell out of the treehouse. The chickens circled him, pecking at the grass around his feet.

  “This is the worst day in the world,” Laney said as she took a handful of jelly beans. She sorted through them, taking out all the orange ones and handing them to Oliver. He wordlessly crammed them into his mouth.

  “My head hurts,” Isa said, rubbing her temples.

  “You’re probably dehydrated,” Jessie noted. “Drink some water.”

  “Okay,” Isa said, then ate another Sour Patch Kid.

  “Mama said the funeral is on Monday,” Laney said. “What will happen at the funeral?”

  “Well,” Isa said, “people who knew and loved him will gather at the church. Some people will speak. Triple J might give a sermon.”

  “That’s it?” Laney said. “It sounds so sad.”

  “It is sad,” Oliver said. “It’s a funeral.”

  Laney squished her face at him. “I thought it would be different.”

  Oliver scoffed. “What, you thought it was like a party or something?”

  “Sort of,” Laney said. “I don’t want to go to a funeral and be even more sad. I don’t think Mr. Jeet would want that.”

  “You have to go to the funeral,” Oliver said. “Otherwise people will think you didn’t love him.”

  “Of course I loved him!” Laney said. “I just don’t want to be there, thinking about how he’s not here with me anymore.” She rubbed her eyes hard.

  “I understand why you don’t want to go,” Isa said. “But it’s a way to support Miss Josie and Orlando. Plus, Mama and Papa are helping with the arrangements.”

  “Laney, I think what you’re saying makes sense,” Jessie said.

  “Really?” Laney asked. Jessie almost never understood her.

  “I don’t think Mr. Jeet would want us to go to his funeral and mope around.”

  “But Mama and Papa and Miss Josie have already planned it and everything,” Isa said.

  “True, but maybe we can do something afterward, in the garden,” Jessie said.

  “We can have a party!” Laney said. “And we can play jazz music because he loved jazz, and we can all garden, and we can make his favorite foods and his favorite cookies!”

  “We should ask Miss Josie first,” Isa said cautiously. “Maybe she won’t want to have such a big thing after the funeral.”

  “I’ll text her,” Jessie said. She typed out a message while Laney looked over her shoulder and made suggestions, and then she pressed send. “She’s probably not by her phone,” Jessie warned Laney. “She might not answer—

  Jessie’s phone pinged.

  “It that her?” Laney asked.

  “Wow, she’s fast,” Jessie said. “She thinks it’s a great idea and we should go ahead and plan it.”

  Laney smiled, and she realized that she hadn’t smiled in a long time. Her mouth felt weird making that shape, but it felt good, too. Back when Mr. Jeet was speaking, he did so much to make her smile, like training Paganini to do tricks or making funny hats with newspaper.

  Laney took another jelly bean and chewed on it, thinking of all the things that Mr. Jeet would love at his garden party.

  “I think we should hang Hyacinth’s yarn garlands in the trees,” Laney said. “It would make it really pretty.

  “I can help hang them,” Oliver volunteered.

  Laney shook her head. “I’m going to ask Orlando since he’s so tall. He probably doesn’t need a ladder.”

  “He’s not that much taller than I am,” Oliver grumbled.

  “True,” Jessie said, “if you don’t consider two feet that much of a difference.”

  “Two feet!” Oliver exclaimed. “Not even close!”

  “Have you heard from Orlando?” Hyacinth asked Jessie.

  Jessie nodded. “He texted me a few times. I think he’s doing okay. It was weird—this morning I got the feeling that he’s going to go back to Georgia after the marathon.”

  Isa looked at her. “Really? Why?”

  Jessie chewed on another jelly bean. “With Mr. Jeet gone, he’ll probably want Miss Josie to take her bedroom back. And then where would he sleep?”

  “In the living room?” Laney suggested.

  “I don’t think that would work for the long term,” Jessie said.

  “Ooh, I have a great idea!” Laney said. “He can move in with us!” She looked around for affirmation. Her siblings crunched their candy in silence.

  “We have no room,” Oliver said. “He barely even fits in my room.”

  It was true. Oliver’s room was a walk-in closet that they’d converted into a bedroom for him.

  “He can take our room,” Hyacinth suggested, “and Laney and I can move in with Mama and Papa!”

  “I get to be on Mama’s side,” Laney said at once. “Papa snores too loud.”

  “I’m one hundred percent positive that Mama and Papa would not want to share a bedroom with you two,” Oliver said. “No, wait. One thousand percent positive.”

  “I think it’s more complicated than just having a room for him,” Jessie said. “I’ve been doing some research, and we can’t just take him in. We’re not technically his family. If we want him to live with us, we would have to apply for custody and go to court. And anyway, we don’t know whether he’ll stay here or go back to Georgia. But he does need a legal guardian soon.”

  “We need to be sensitive,” Isa said. “He got mad at us for barging ahead and trying to make everything in his life perfect without involving him in any of our decisions. We definitely screwed up.”

  “So what can we do?” Oliver asked.

  “I think,” Hyacinth said in her quiet, wise way, “we need to love him like Mr. Jeet loved him. He always made Orlando know that he was on his side.”

  Isa hooked an arm around Hyacinth. “Love the way Mr. Jeet did? I think that’s a perfect way to honor him.”

  A breeze touched their faces and rustled the leaves around them, and for a second the sun peeked through the clouds and a beam of light hit the golden leaves and made the air shimmer. It was a tiny moment of hope that Mr. Jeet was somehow still with them, surrounding them with his love.

  Monday, October 28

  Six Days Until the New York City Marathon

  Twenty

  The Vanderbeekers had spent the weekend planning the garden party and helping Miss Josie as she received visitors who wanted to express their condolences. The Vanderbeekers put themselves in charge of greeting guests, Oliver taking their coats and Isa receiving the lasagnas and casseroles the visitors inevit
ably brought. By Monday, every freezer in the brownstone was packed full of what the residents had dubbed Condolence Casserole, and Hyacinth believed that they now had enough to last until Christmas.

  On Monday morning, they woke early to a crisp autumn day with a clear blue sky. Mama had set out bagels and fruit, but no one had much of an appetite except Tuxedo, who kept leaping on top of the table so he could steal licks of cream cheese. The Vanderbeeker kids spent a couple of hours making final preparations for the garden party. At nine thirty, they made their way to the church. To Hyacinth’s surprise, 141st Street was clogged with traffic.

  “What are all of these cars doing here?” Laney asked Mama as they walked hand in hand down the street.

  “I think they’re filled with people who want to pay their respects to Mr. Jeet,” Mama said.

  But as they neared the church, they realized that not only was the long line of cars for Mr. Jeet, there was also a long line of people wrapped around the corner and spilling over onto Frederick Douglass Boulevard.

  “Wow!” Laney said. “Mama, you did a really good job letting people know about the funeral.”

  “He had a lot of friends,” Mama said. “I realized that when I started going through Miss Josie’s address book. We’ve only known him for the past ten years, when he was more solitary. But he’s had a very full life. I wish I could ask him more about it now.”

  “We can ask them,” Laney said, gesturing around at the line.

  Hyacinth looked closer at the line, which included people of all ages, heights, hairstyles, and footwear. She recognized some of them, who turned to her and smiled, but most were complete strangers.

  “How could Mr. Jeet have so many friends I never met?” Laney asked. “I thought best friends were supposed to know everything about each other.”

  Mama smiled. “I’m sure there’s plenty Mr. Jeet didn’t know about you, Laney. There are things I don’t know about you, and I’m your mom! Mr. Jeet lived a long time, nearly seventy years more than you have. He’s made a lot of friends.”