One

Wild was a word that could describe the weather on 141st Street on the first Monday of August. A hot wind rushed through the checkered streets of Harlem with such ferocity that trees bent in wide arches and pedestrians had to lean into the gusts at steep angles to keep from being blown off course. Rain pelted the sidewalks and pooled at street corners. At the top of the red brick brownstone in the middle of the street sat a weathervane that spun so fast it looked as if it might propel the building up into the air and disappear into the clouds.
      Down in the basement, Oliver, age twelve and ready to head to the seventh grade next month, was getting ready for a three-day camping trip in the Adirondacks with his dad. Three years ago, when his twin sisters, Isa and Jessie, were in sixth grade, Papa had taken them on a three-day summer getaway trip. His sisters could choose anywhere within driving distance, and they asked to go to Washington, DC. Isas favorite violinist was performing at the Kennedy Center, and Jessie wanted to go to the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, where the space shuttle Discovery was displayed. In the years since then, Oliver had been planning for his summer-after-sixth-grade trip with Papa. And what he wanted to do most was go camping.
      Papa and Oliver had researched the best places to camp in the area, and after considering many options, they had decided on the Adirondacks. They had booked a campsite right by a gorgeous lake six months in advance. Oliver had been looking forward to the trip throughout the long, hot, boring summer. And now that the day of departure was finally here, he was in a great mood as he checked the contents of his backpack for the fiftieth time.
      Outside, the clouds were low and dark, and wind caused rain to smack against the walls and windows of the brownstone. Upstairs, Mama was finishing up a batch of granola that Oliver and Papa would take with them, the musical clinking of metal bowls and wooden spoons a comforting sound that the Vanderbeeker kids had all been hearing since birth.
      In the basement, Laney, who had turned seven that past spring, was observing Oliver while sharing a bowl of crisp red-leaf lettuce with her gray lop-eared rabbit, Paganini.
      This is great lettuce, Laney said as she watched Paganini consume an enormous leaf. Do you want to bring some on your camping trip?
      Oliver shook his head. Yuck, no. Were only going to eat junk food. Smores. Beans right out of the can. Hot dogs.
      Franz, a basset hound with long ears that he sometimes stepped on when he sniffed for dropped morsels of food, observed the lettuce-eating with a focus he typically reserved for mealtimes.
      I dont think youre going to like lettuce, Franz, nine-year-old Hyacinth said. She was sewing a plastic cover for Olivers backpack. He was going to need it with all that rain.
      Laney held a piece of lettuce out, and Franz, elated that food was being handed to him, snatched it from her hand. Then he galloped up the stairs and out of sight.
      I hope hes not hiding that in my bedroom, Oliver commented, looking up from his backpack. I dont want to find slimy lettuce under my desk when I get back.
      A minute later, Franz reappeared and stood in front of Laney, staring at her until she gave him another piece. He disappeared up the stairs again.
      What a weirdo, fifteen-year-old Jessie said.
      Yeah, what a weirdo, Laney echoed.
      Isa put down her violin. Shed been practicing a complicated line of music over and over again. Great, she said to Jessie. Now Laneys going to be saying that for the next year.
      Weirdo, weirdo, weirdo, Laney said. She liked how the word sounded.
      Franz trotted back down the stairs. Laney held out another piece of lettuce to him. He grabbed it, then raced back up the stairs.
      Stop giving him lettuce, Jessie told Laney. Hes going to get sick.
      From vegetables? Laney asked, popping another piece of lettuce into her own mouth and handing a smaller piece to Paganini. I doubt it.
      Wild dogs dont eat lettuce, Jessie said. Theyre carnivores.
      Franz isnt wild, Hyacinth said. He could never survive in the wild.
      Franz came bounding back down the stairs, lettuce nowhere to be seen. His tongue hung from the side of his mouth, his tail was going at 100 wpm (or wags per minute), and he looked as if he was having the best day of his whole life.
      That dog, Jessie said with a shake of her head. Hes a perfect case study of what fourteen thousand years of domestication will do to you.
      The sound of Papas phone ringing upstairs interrupted their discussion about Franzs heritage. The ringtone was the Star Wars theme song, which meant that the caller was Uncle Sylvester, Papas best friend. Uncle Sylvester and Papa had grown up next door to each other and had even gone to the same college. They both married their college girlfriends right after they graduated, only Papa returned home to Harlem, while Sylvester moved to his wifes hometown in Indiana and became a farmer.
      Because Sylvester lived in Elberfeld, a rural part of Indiana, Papa had gone to visit him only twice in the twenty years since college. Sylvester had come to Harlem twice, once to pack up his childhood home and move his parents to Elberfeld (this was before any of the Vanderbeeker kids were born), and once four years ago to visit with his wife, Amelia, and their daughter, Sabine, who was Hyacinths age. Laney had been a toddler, Hyacinth five years old, Oliver seven, and the twins in fifth grade. The Vanderbeekers immediately loved the family. Sylvester and Amelia had brought them dozens of fresh eggs and bags of vegetables from their farm. It was during their visit that Laney had discovered she hated carrots (and had declared that all orange foods were disgusting) but loved cucumbers, grape tomatoes, and eggplant.
      Uncle Sylvester is calling, Oliver said at hearing Papas ringtone. Even though Sylvester wasnt technically related to them, they called him Uncle, since he was like a brother to Papa. Are you sure youll get everything done in time for Papas birthday? You know I cant help for the next few days because of my camping trip.
      We know about your camping trip, Jessie said. Youve only mentioned it a million times. Were watching you pack your bag right now.
      Papas fortieth birthday was the coming Saturday, and over the past two months, the Vanderbeekers had been planning a huge surprise party for him. They had invited his friends, even the ones who lived out of town, and the anticipated attendees currently numbered over one hundred. Twenty people were driving in from out of town, and Uncle Sylvester and his whole family were flying in. The Vanderbeekers had planned a day based on Papas favorite activities and foods.
      It had been so hard to plan everything while keeping it a secret from Papa, but the Vanderbeekers had done an excellent job. They could not wait for August ninth.
      Isa rubbed her temples. We still need a present for him.
      Oliver sighed.
      Last year when Mama turned forty, we got her a bakery,  Laney reminded him.

Papas Birthday List!

CONFIDENTIAL!

• Tour of Yankee Stadium
• Arthur Avenue (pizza and cannolis)
• New York Botanical Garden
• Finale! Birthday Party in Community Garden
• Bounce House
• Dancing

Papas Favorite Foods:

• Spanakopita
• sushi
• egg rolls
• dumplings
• Greek salad
• cheese croissants
• cookies

That was sort of an accident, Hyacinth said.

The Vanderbeekers made their way up the stairs, down the hallway, and into Mama and Papas room. The closet door was open, but Papa was nowhere to be seen.
      Papa? Are you okay? Laney asked, dropping to the floor and looking under the bed. Tuxedo, their black-and-white cat, darted through the quilt hanging over the edge of the bed, interrupting their other cat, an orange-and-white tabby named George Washington, who had been napping under the bed.
      Im inachoo!here! Papa said from the depths of the dusty closet. Watch out!
      There was a rumble before an ancient suitcase tumbled off the top shelf of the closet and crashed to the ground, landing inches away from Laneys head.
      Yikes, Oliver said. Whats that?
      Dusty and old, the suitcase was made of brown-and-orange wool in a plaid pattern. The top and handles were made of brown leather. It looked as if it came out of a movie from the Great Depression.
      This, Papa said, contains all the earthly possessions I have left from your grandfather.
      How old is that suitcase? Hyacinth said. It looks ancient.
      Wait, are you using that thing for your trip? Jessie asked. What about the rolling suitcases we usually use?
      Papa picked up the old suitcase and brushed it off, scattering dust all over Laney and Tuxedo. Tuxedo promptly gave an enormous sneeze.
      I lent them to Mr. Jones, Papa said. Mr. Jones was their neighborhood postman. Over the forty years he had worked for the United States Postal Service, he had accrued hundreds of vacation days and was finally using some of them to tour Europe for a month.
      At least I have this, Papa said, holding up the suitcase. Oliver, can you run downstairs and bring me a cardboard box?
      While Oliver dragged himself downstairs to the basement, where they kept folded-up boxes, Papa unzipped the suitcase, and the Vanderbeekers leaned in to take a look. Scattered inside the frayed silk lining were items of clothing, a few photo albums, and a shoebox.
      Whats that? Laney asked.
      Things that belonged to my dad, Papa said. This was his suitcase, and Ive kept some of his things in here. Oliver arrived with the box, and Papa transferred all the items into it. The last one was a blazer, plaid again, with thick and thin brown and tan lines interlaced with black lines. The elbows had leather patches thin with wear.
      Papa paused for a moment, holding the coat. He wore this all the time.
      Thats so cool, Laney said, reaching out to touch it.
      I wish we had known him, Isa said, looking up at Papa. I always love hearing stories about your dad.
      He was like the mayor of the neighborhood. Everyone called him Pop-Pop, Papa said.
      He sounds like you, Oliver said, forgetting about his camping disappointment for a moment.
      Papa smiled. Being compared to my dad is the best compliment.
      Im sorry about Sylvesters mom, Hyacinth told him. We know she meant a lot to you.
      Papa placed his fathers blazer on the bed and brought his kids in for a hug.
      She was amazing, Papa said. She was like your mom, always baking and cooking for other people. My dad was great in so many ways, but he was a terrible cook! I spent a lot of evenings eating dinner at Sylvesters house.
      What time is your flight? Jessie asked, looking at her watch. Its nine oclock now.
      Shoot, Papa said. Ive got to leave in five minutes.
      The Vanderbeeker kids rushed around grabbing Papas toiletries and throwing T-shirts and jeans and socks and a phone charger into Pop-Pops ancient suitcase, each item causing a puff of dust to billow up. Papa tossed in underwear and dug out his fancy pair of shoes from the far corner of the closet while Isa put in a book. The packing finished, Oliver zipped up the luggage and Papa pulled out the one nice suit he owned and draped it over his arm. It was already enclosed in a garment bag.
      I think Im ready, Papa said at the same time Mama called up the stairs, Honey, you should get going!
      They went downstairs and watched Papa tie his sneakers and grab his wallet, keys, and phone and shove them into his jacket pocket.
      I love you all, Papa said, opening the door. He looked at Oliver once more. And Im really sorry, Oliver. Ill make it up to you.
      Be safe out there, Mama said, looking outside. The wind was fierce.
      The wind is supposed to let up in an hour, Jessie noted, looking at the weather on her phone.
      Good, Hyacinth said. She didnt like thinking about Papa on a plane in this weather.
      After hugging Mama and all the kids, Papa picked up the suitcase, and the Vanderbeekers followed him to the sidewalk in front of the brownstone.
      Oliver watched him walk down the sidewalk to the avenue, where he could hail a taxi, already feeling as if the brownstone was lonelier and emptier without him.