The Vanderbeekers Lost and Found

by Karina Yan Glaser

  Thirty-Three

  “How do you know he’s gone?” Mama asked. “I thought he was heading out early for a morning run with his cross-country team. They were going to see Mr. Beiderman on the course, right?”

  “I thought so,” Miss Josie said through her tears. “I didn’t hear him leave this morning, so I figured he must have left early, but when I was making tea I found this note by my teacup.” She handed a piece of paper to Mama.

  “‘Dear Aunt Josie,’” Mama read. “‘Thanks for everything. I’m sorry I imposed on you for so long. Don’t worry about me. I’m going home. Love, Orlando.’”

  “What does that mean?” Oliver said. “Home is here, right? Or does he mean Georgia? What if he went back to the garden shed?”

  Mama looked at Isa and Oliver. “Go to the garden shed. See if he’s there.”

  They ran out the door while Mama guided Miss Josie to the couch.

  “And he left his phone next to the note,” Miss Josie said, holding out Orlando’s phone. She was starting to sob now.

  Jessie grabbed Orlando’s phone from Miss Josie and turned it on. The messages she had sent last night about how everything was going to be okay were still unread.

  “Why would he leave his phone?” Papa exclaimed.

  “I think,” Jessie said slowly, “that he felt awkward about having it because he knew you were paying for it.”

  “His things are gone,” Miss Josie managed to say between sobs. “His backpack and most of his clothes and his toiletries as well.”

  “Jessie, has he contacted you at all?” Mama asked.

  Jessie pulled her phone out. “No. Let me text his cross-country friends.”

  Mama rubbed her temples. “Who else would he talk to?”

  “Maybe Mr. Beiderman?” Jessie said. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

  Papa glanced at his watch. “Maybe we can catch him before his race.” He took his phone from his back pocket and dialed the number. It went to voicemail.

  “Mr. Beiderman was going to put his phone in a bag that the marathon people are bringing to the finish line,” Laney told them. “He didn’t want to run with it.”

  Jessie checked her phone. “I’ve heard back from two of the people on the cross-country team. He didn’t show up for practice this morning. I remember Orlando saying the team would begin running with Mr. Beiderman starting at mile sixteen. That’s the first time the runners enter Manhattan, and I think Orlando had the first shift. Maybe he’ll show up there?”

  Mama looked up something on her phone. “Here’s the New York City Marathon app. We can check where Mr. Beiderman is.” She typed in Mr. Beiderman’s marathon bib number and they all watched the little circle spin and spin until it showed his location: he had just passed mile marker three.

  “He’s running about ten-minute miles. At that rate, he’ll cross into Manhattan in about two hours. We could try to catch him in Brooklyn and tell him to keep a lookout for Orlando on the route, but I’m not sure we could make it in time if we use the subways. And it’s impossible to drive there, with all the road closures from the race.”

  Oliver and Isa burst through the door. “He’s not in the shed,” Isa reported. “There’s nothing there except the gardening tools.”

  “Okay, people,” Mama said. “We should split up. Miss Josie, why don’t you make calls to everyone who might know where he is, including your folks in Georgia. Jessie, keep checking with the cross-country team. Isa, run to the high school and see if he’s there. Let’s convene again in forty-five minutes to debrief, and then some of us will head down to the marathon route to try to find Mr. Beiderman.”

  Miss Josie made call after call while Isa ran to the high school. Isa found it locked up tight with no sign of anyone there. Jessie continued to get messages from the cross-country team: none of them had heard from Orlando since the pasta dinner the night before. When it was time to leave and they still had no more information, it was decided that Miss Josie and Hyacinth would stay behind in the brownstone in case Orlando came back; everyone else would go down to the marathon route. Laney rushed around, cramming things into her pocket that she thought she might need in their search for Orlando.

  Before they ran out the door, Hyacinth shoved the quilt into a bag and gave it to Jessie. “In case you find him.”

  Because of all the street closures, the only option to get to Midtown was the subway. Thankfully, there were no subway delays, and the Vanderbeekers got off the train at 59th Street and Lexington and ran east toward First Avenue. Papa, Jessie, and Oliver kept an eye out for Orlando among the spectators, while Mama, Isa, and Laney elbowed their way to the front of the crowd so they had an unobstructed view. As runners went by, Laney would yell, “Have you seen Mr. B? Purple shirt? Lots of sparkles? It’s an emergency!”

  “Sorry, kid,” a runner puffed, out of breath. “Haven’t seen him.”

  Laney was met with lots of head shakes but many encouraging words.

  “I hope you find him!” answered a person in a shirt that said “JOY” in big, blocky white letters.

  “I hope everything’s okay,” another runner said. He was carrying a Mexican flag as he ran.

  Mama kept checking and refreshing the marathon app. “He should be coming soon.”

  Papa and the rest of the kids returned from trying to locate Orlando in the crowd. He was nowhere to be seen.

  The Vanderbeekers stared at the river of runners, but there were so many of them they were worried Mr. Beiderman had passed without their notice. Finally, one runner wearing an orange shirt that said “I’m running for Fred’s Team!” heard Laney’s pleas and said, “Mr. B? With the sequins?”

  Laney nodded. “We need to find him!”

  “I just passed a guy wearing a sparkly Mr. B shirt on the bridge. He had a leg cramp,” the runner told her, jogging in place to keep her body warm. “He should be coming soon.” The runner turned around and yelled to other people wearing orange shirts. “Pass the message to Mr. B that his folks are looking for him. He’s wearing a purple shirt with sequins. It’s an emergency.”

  And there, in the middle of the busiest marathon in the world, where fifty thousand runners from all over the globe were racing through the boroughs, a message was passed back from runner to runner until it reached the ears of Mr. Beiderman. He had stopped on the Queensboro Bridge to stretch out his leg cramp, but when he heard that people were looking for him and that it was an emergency he raced in their direction.

  “Make way for Mr. B!” the runners around him said, clearing a path for Mr. B to get over the bridge and to the side of the street where the Vanderbeekers were looking for him.

  “What happened?” Mr. Beiderman said, his worried expression transforming into panic when he saw their faces. “What’s wrong?”

  “Orlando’s gone!” Jessie cried.

  Mr. Beiderman’s face went pale, and he leaned against the police barricade that separated runners from spectators. “He was supposed to meet me here, at mile sixteen. Are you sure he’s not here?”

  They looked around, all hoping that Orlando would come bounding out of the crowd. When he didn’t, Papa quickly described what had happened the previous night.

  “Has he said anything to you?” Jessie asked.

  “No,” Mr. Beiderman said. “This is terrible. We have to find him.”

  “Wait a second,” Jessie said, holding her arms up. “The problem with Miss Josie’s place is that she doesn’t have a second bedroom, right?”

  Mama, Papa, and Mr. Beiderman nodded.

  “And Miss Josie is worried about her health and how that might affect her ability to take care of Orlando, right?”

  The adults nodded again, confused, while Isa, Oliver, and Laney suddenly understood what Jessie was hinting at.

  “That’s brilliant!” Oliver exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

  “A perfect solution!” Isa said.

  “I love it!” Laney added.

  “Love
what?” Mr. Beiderman asked at the same time Papa said, “What perfect solution?”

  “Well,” Jessie said, “there’s an apartment in our brownstone with a spare bedroom, right?”

  Her siblings nodded in excitement while the adults processed the question.

  “And,” Jessie said, her voice getting louder, “an extremely healthy adult who also happens to love Orlando lives there, right?”

  “Right!” yelled Laney.

  “So we think,” Jessie said, looking at Mr. Beiderman, “that the answer is right here in front of us. You should be Orlando’s guardian.”

  “Oh my gosh,” breathed Mama. “That is perfect.”

  The Vanderbeekers watched for Mr. Beiderman’s reaction. He had gone utterly still, a stark contrast to the movement of the runners and spectators all around them.

  The Vanderbeekers could see the exact moment that Mr. Beiderman made his decision. His posture got a little straighter, his eyes turned clear and bright, and a look of determination took over his face.

  “Let’s find him,” Mr. Beiderman announced. “Where do you think he might have gone?”

  “We checked the whole neighborhood and texted his cross-country friends,” Isa reported, “and Miss Josie has called all the relatives in Georgia. No one has heard from him.”

  “He could have gone back to Georgia,” Oliver suggested.

  “Oh my gosh,” Mama said, putting her hands on her face. “He went back to Georgia. By himself.”

  Papa grabbed his phone. “I’m going to check bus schedules.” He tapped at his phone. “Buses to Atlanta left late last night and early this morning.”

  “Are you sure he could have gotten on a bus?” Isa asked. “How would he have enough money for a ticket?”

  “I gave him some money when he moved in with Miss Josie,” Mr. Beiderman said. “In case of emergencies.

  “I’ll call Miss Josie and see if she remembers hearing anything,” Mama said. After a brief conversation on the phone, Mama hung up. “She hasn’t heard anything from him since he went to bed yesterday. He could have taken a late bus last night.”

  “An express Greyhound bus left last night at ten thirty,” Papa said. “It arrives in Atlanta tonight at eight thirty.”

  “I bet you anything he’s on that bus,” Mr. Beiderman said, grabbing Papa’s phone from his hand. “We need to get to him.” He looked up a number in his contacts, then put the phone to his ear and said, “Tonya, I have an emergency. I need a ticket to Atlanta today.” He glanced at Jessie and then at her parents. Mama and Papa nodded. “Actually,” Mr. Beiderman amended, “two tickets. One in my name and one for Jessie Vanderbeeker.”

  Jessie’s eyes widened. “Me?” she squeaked.

  While he was waiting for the flights to be booked, Mr. Beiderman covered the mouthpiece and said, “That’s my travel agent. She’s going to get us on a flight that leaves at three thirty. Okay with you?”

  The Vanderbeekers nodded, but they were stunned. Their neighbor, who only a few years ago refused to leave his apartment, had a travel agent now?

  Mama look at Jessie. “You’re okay going on an airplane?”

  None of the Vanderbeeker kids had flown before, but Jessie nodded. “Yes!”

  Mr. Beiderman hung up and handed the phone to Papa, but Papa shook his head.

  “Take mine so you can be in contact,” Papa said.

  Mr. Beiderman nodded and shoved it into his pants pocket, then looked at Jessie. “Let’s go! We’ve got a plane to catch!”

  And off they went, Mr. Beiderman wearing his sparkly purple running shirt and running pants, carrying nothing but his wallet and Papa’s phone, and Jessie with her phone and a knitted quilt.

  It was time to bring Orlando home.

  Thirty-Four

  To get away from all the marathon traffic, Mr. Beiderman and Jessie had to run to the next avenue. Luckily, they were able to snag an available yellow taxi passing by. They jumped in and Mr. Beiderman directed the cabdriver to John F. Kennedy airport. The streets were crowded with cars because of the road closures from the marathon, and Mr. Beiderman kept staring at his watch and then at the sea of cars, buses, and trucks crowding the highway. Their taxi driver drove as if he were a bank robber being chased by police, weaving in and out of traffic within inches of other vehicles, jerking to a stop only when the cab was in danger of hitting pedestrians or other cars. Jessie held on to the strap by the door to keep from being thrown around the back seat. It was a harrowing ride, and when they finally got to the correct terminal, Jessie’s stomach was fhppHg.

  “It’s going to be close,” Mr. Beiderman said, glancing at his watch for the thousandth time right before the cab squealed to a stop at the curb. “Get ready to run.” He handed the driver some of the bills from his wallet, then jumped out of the car and dashed for the entrance.

  Being out in the fresh air and away from the musty cab smell perked Jessie up, and she chased Mr. Beiderman to the airline kiosk, the bag filled with Hyacinth’s knitted quilt banging against her leg as she ran. Mr. Beiderman scanned his driver’s license, and two boarding passes slid out into a compartment below the screen. They rushed to the security screening area. Thankfully, Mr. Beiderman had a special pass that allowed them to go through the shorter security line.

  The Transportation Security Administration guy glanced at his license, looked at their boarding passes, then said, “You’re going to have to run for it. I just heard them call for final boarding.”

  Since they had no personal items except for their wallets, phones, and the knitted blanket, they zipped through security and made a run for Gate 21. Down the long passageway filled with travelers, Jessie could see their gate. An airline agent was just about to close the doors to the jetway when Mr. Beiderman put on a burst of speed, weaving through people and luggage, his arms pumping wildly as if his life depended on getting through that door before it shut.

  “Wait!” he called. “We’re here! We need to get to Atlanta!”

  The gate agent gestured for them to hurry. They arrived sweaty and breathless, and the agent scanned their passes and pushed them through the door before shutting and locking it. Mr. Beiderman and Jessie ran down the jet bridge, entered the plane, and squeezed through the narrow aisle as all the seated passengers silently observed Mr. B’s glittery marathon shirt. They found row thirty-four and sank into their seats.

  “I didn’t think we were going to make it,” Mr. Beiderman said, out of breath.

  “Wow, Mr. B! It was like you were Usain Bolt or something,” Jessie said.

  Mr. Beiderman shook his head. “That’s it, no more running for me. I’m done.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Jessie looked out the window. The airplane was moving out of the gate, and it rumbled slowly to the runway. A few minutes later, the engines fired up, the sound building in Jessie’s ears. The plane began to accelerate and nose its way into the sky. Jessie looked down and watched New York City get smaller and smaller beneath her, the cars turning into ants and the buildings turning into pebbles. Then the plane broke through the clouds, the city disappeared from beneath her, and they were on their way to Atlanta.

  “Mr. B?” Jessie asked.

  “You know I woke up at five in the morning, right?” he said, not opening his eyes.

  “What happens if we don’t find Orlando in Atlanta?” she asked.

  Mr. Beiderman shook his head, his eyes still closed. “Then we’ll keep searching for him until we do find him.”

  Jessie settled back in her seat, satisfied with his answer. She would do whatever it took to find her best friend and bring him home.

  * * *

  Jessie thought she would be too riled up to sleep, but the white noise of the jet engines and the comforting swaying motion made her drowsy. She woke up as the pilot announced their descent into Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. She turned her head to find Mr. Beiderman trying to cut off the sequins on his shirt with a blunt pair of children’s
craft scissors. When he noticed that she was awake he passed her a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels.

  “You missed the drink and snack cart.”

  “Where did you get the scissors?” she croaked.

  “The flight attendant,” Mr. B said, sighing, “but they don’t work. Laney must have had Hyacinth help her with the stitches. These sequins are sewn on tight.”

  Jessie’s mouth was dry from her nap, and the water felt good going down her throat. She stretched and looked out the window to see Atlanta. A system of highways crisscrossed below her, and pretty soon she could see individual cars. Then the wheels touched the ground with a quick jolt before the plane decelerated down the runway.

  It would be a couple of hours until the New York City bus arrived at the Atlanta Greyhound station, but Mr. Beiderman and Jessie were impatient to get there in case the bus got in early. They took a cab straight to the bus station, picked up some peanut butter crackers and water at the concession stand, and sat on a bench.

  Jessie spent the next hour and a half observing everything around her. A big family wearing matching green shirts that said “Cohen Family Reunion!” marched through, as well as groups of weary travelers carrying an assortment of duffel bags and backpacks and rolling suitcases. Occasionally she would stand up and walk around the station. The next time she glanced at the clock, it was a few minutes before eight thirty. Mr. Beiderman nudged her.

  “The bus is pulling in,” he told her, pointing to the door where the lights of a bus were shining through the glass.

  Jessie jumped up and ran to the door. She let herself outside and stood by the front of the bus, waiting for the driver to open the doors. Finally, a long line of tired travelers began disembarking. There were people of all ages, some who looked as if they were college students and others who looked Miss Josie’s age. After they exited, they went to the side of the bus, where the driver was yanking suitcases and duffel bags from the storage compartment and piling them up on the ground. A few kids wearing pajamas and holding stuffed animals also came off the bus. Soon all of the bags were gone, and the travelers dispersed.