“He’s not here,” Jessie said to Mr. Beiderman, her eyes filling with tears. “We were wrong.”
“Maybe he took the later bus,” Mr. Beiderman told her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Or maybe he used a different bus company. It’s okay. We won’t stop until we find him.”
The bus driver got back on the bus to move it to the depot, and Jessie and Mr. Beiderman turned around to go back into the station and figure out what to do next.
Mr. Beiderman opened the door for Jessie, but before she went through, she heard someone call her name.
“Jessie? Mr. Beiderman?”
Jessie swiveled to see Orlando in the doorway of the bus. He was rumpled, as if he had just woken up, and when his eyes connected with Jessie’s, he rubbed his face as if he had seen a ghost.
“Orlando!” Jessie rushed forward and hugged him.
“What are you doing here?” Orlando said, dazed.
“We’re here to bring you back to Harlem,” Mr. Beiderman said.
Orlando shook his head. “I don’t want Aunt Josie to move for me. It’s too much.”
Mr. Beiderman nodded. “You’re right. It would be too much for Miss Josie to move. She’s also getting older, and she’s going to need more help in the near future.”
“So . . . why are you here?”
“Because,” Mr. Beiderman said, “you belong with us. We want you to come home.”
Jessie waited for Mr. Beiderman’s next words. The bus had left and the lot was dark and quiet. The overhead lights buzzed quietly, illuminating the two people in front of her, their silhouettes tall and strong despite what both of them had gone through in their lives.
Mr. Beiderman put his hand on Orlando’s shoulder, and when he spoke, his voice was so quiet that Jessie had to lean in to hear. “Almost ten years ago, my wife and daughter were killed when a car hit them a few blocks away from our home. It took me many years to learn how to love again, and it was mostly because of the Vanderbeekers that I found the courage. And when I met you, I came to love you, too. We both know what it means to lose the people closest to us. I believe that loss has connected us in deep ways.”
Orlando nodded, his face cast in shadow as he looked down at the ground. Jessie wished she could see his expression.
“But, Orlando,” Mr. Beiderman went on, “our stories collided for a reason. When I heard you were missing, I was terrified. And when I felt that fear, it made me realize how much you mean to me and how much I want us to navigate life together . . . if you’ll agree.”
Orlando stared at him, confused.
Mr. Beiderman shoved his hands in his pockets.
“I want to be your legal guardian. I have that second bedroom that we can make into your room. You can have your own space. I know it’s a lot to think about,” Mr. Beiderman continued quickly, “and I know you have your aunt here in Georgia who you can stay with, but if you want to come back to Harlem, I would consider it a privilege to be your guardian. Just know that I’m behind any decision you make—”
“I want that,” Orlando said, his words coming out in a quick jumble as he looked up at Mr. Beiderman. “I want to come back, if you’re sure about the guardian stuff.”
“I am absolutely sure,” Mr. Beiderman said. “But if I become your guardian, that means you’re stuck with me. Forever. Are you okay with that?”
Orlando smiled. “I’m okay with that.”
Thirty-Five
Mr. Beiderman and Jessie returned to the airport, this time with Orlando. They were able to get on a late-night flight to New York City, but they had a couple of hours before the plane left, so they sat at an airport restaurant, ate sandwiches and fries, and made phone calls. The first one was to Miss Josie.
“I have been waiting and waiting for you to call!” Miss Josie exclaimed over speakerphone when she answered. “Please tell me you found Orlando.”
“We did,” Jessie said, and Orlando said, “Hi, Aunt Josie.”
“Don’t you ever, ever, ever do that to us again, you hear?” Miss Josie said. “You took five years off my life, and at my age those are years I can’t be giving up. Honey, you know I love you and would move the moon and stars for you, right?”
Orlando tried to say something, but Miss Josie went on to tell them how she knew they had found him when Billie Holiday crawled out from her hiding spot under the couch and started wagging her tail, rolling on her back, and eating without any prompting.
“Dogs know things,” Miss Josie finished.
After they hung up with Miss Josie, they called Mama and Papa and texted the track team. Everyone was thrilled that they were coming home. Then it was time to turn off their phones and get on the plane.
Jessie sat in the middle of the row, between Mr. Beiderman and Orlando. She spread Hyacinth’s knitted quilt so it protected them from the cold air blowing from the vents above them. Orlando picked up a corner of the blanket and examined what looked like a fabric tag. Jessie saw that Hyacinth had sewn on a tag that said “Property of Orlando Stewart” along with the address of the brownstone.
Then the engines came to life, and all three of them immediately dozed off under the cozy quilt as the plane rose into the sky. When they woke up, it was two in the morning in New York City.
Sleepy and travel worn, the three got off the plane and headed toward the exit. They entered an empty passageway that led to the taxi stand, but before they could take the escalator down to the street, they turned a corner and were met by a deafening roar.
A crowd of people was jumping and cheering and waving sticks attached to long ribbons. In front of the crowd were the Vanderbeekers, holding up a huge, glittery sign that said “Welcome Home, Orlando!”
Jessie, shocked at the sight, dropped the bag holding the quilt. Her whole family was there, as well as Miss Josie, Mr. Jones the postman, Coach Mendoza, Allegra, Herman, Angie, Jimmy L, and the entire track team plus their coach.
Jessie looked at Orlando. His jaw had dropped, and then his mouth spread into a big grin.
“Party in the middle of the night!” Oliver yelled from behind the banner.
And then the crowd ran toward Jessie, Orlando, and Mr. Beiderman, streamers and banners waving, smothering the travelers with hugs and kisses and love. Laney put medals made from red-white-and-blue ribbon and chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil around everyone’s necks, and Hyacinth took fistfuls of confetti from her pocket and threw it with abandon. Oliver, who had somehow convinced the marathon organizers to give him two of the foil space blankets they give only to marathon finishers, wrapped those around Orlando and Mr. Beiderman, while Jessie and Isa cheered so loudly that a Transportation Security Agency employee had to come over and ask them to quiet down.
Three miles away in Harlem, Billie Holiday barked her high, clear bark, alerting the rest of the pets that all was well. Franz belted out a long, low howl, and Paganini raced around the living room, jumping with glee. Tuxedo and George Washington woke up, straightened their hind legs and arched their backs, then settled back down into their warm sleeping spots, their purrs rumbling satisfaction at the world being right again. The chickens, perched on their roost in the coop, ruffled their feathers in contentment before drifting back to sleep.
And the brownstone creaked with happiness as it settled into its foundation, the weathervane spinning for joy at the news, as it waited for its occupants to make their way home.
Acknowledgments
It is always a privilege and joy to work with Ann Rider. I treasure her insights, thoughtful comments, and love for golden retrievers and mukluks. Huge thanks to Tara Shanahan, the absolute best publicist in the world. Much love to the entire HMH team: Natalie Fondriest for the beautiful book design, Katya Longhi for the gorgeous cover, Jennifer Thermes for the map endpapers, and Catherine Onder, Mary Wilcox, John Sellers, Mary Magrisso, Candace Finn, Lisa DiSarro, Amanda Acevedo, Alia Almeida, all the HMH sales reps, Elizabeth Agyemang, Emily Andrukaitis, and Colleen Fellingham. I am so grateful for all the sup
port and Vanderbeekers love.
Huge thanks to Ginger Clark for being the best advocate and for sending snacks in troubled times. Lots of chocolate caramel cookies to Holly Frederick for being an awesome friend, neighbor, and film agent, and many thanks to Nicole M. Eisenbraun and Madeline R. Travis for all their hard work and support.
Librarians, teachers, and booksellers are national treasures and deserve palaces and an endless supply of cookies. I am grateful for all the ways they share their love of reading with young people.
Hugs to Amy Poehler, Kim Lessing, Matt Murray, and the Paper Kite team!
One of the best parts about being a writer is being surrounded by compassionate and creative colleagues in the Kid Lit community. I am grateful for all of them (too many to name!). Special thanks to Lauren Hart, Laura Shovan, Casey Lyall, Margaret Dilloway, Timanda Wertz, and Janet Johnson for their feedback on an early draft of this book.
Lots of love to Lauren Hart, Emily Rabin, Katie Graves-Abe, Harrigan Bowman, Janice Nimura, the Glaser family, and the Dickinson family for being wonderful, amazing people. A special shout-out to the communities that have inspired and encouraged me, including the Town School, Book Riot, Read-Aloud Revival, the New York Society Library, the New York Public Library, All Angels’ Church, and my Harlem neighbors.
During the finishing stages of this book, I was sheltering at home with my family due to a pandemic. Many thanks to health care workers for keeping us safe and to my family for giving me the time and space to write. If I had to be stuck in a tiny apartment with anyone in the world, it would have to be Dan, Kaela, and Lina. I love them so much!
Visit hmhbooks.com to find all of the books in the Vanderbeekers series.
Look out for a new Vanderbeekers novel in Fall 2021!
About the Author
Photo by Corey Hayes
KARINA YAN GLASER is the New York Times bestselling author of the Vanderbeekers series as well as a contributing editor at Book Riot. She lives in Harlem, New York City, with her husband, two daughters, and assortment of rescue animals. One of her proudest achievements is raising two kids who can’t go anywhere without a book.
Visit her online at karinaglaser.com
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The Vanderbeekers Lost and Found Page 17