Free Jubilee by Patricia Reilly Giff Page A

here. It had come from somewhere, on its way somewhere. Maybe it was going home, wherever that was. I watched it, my head close to the water, watched the turtle that almost belonged to Mason, and to me.
    Then it was gone.
    “Oh, Mason,” I whispered.
    He should have been with me to see it.
    What was I doing here on the mainland instead of home?
    On the island where I belonged.
    I stood still, the rain pelting me. And then I realized what had bothered me last night. I’d done to Dog what Amber had done to me. I’d just left him. How had I done that?
    Wrong. I put my fist to my mouth. I tried to see as the wind drove the rain across the water and great gray clouds turned the afternoon sky into night.
    Still, I didn’t have much time. The ferry would be back within the hour.
    I raced across the parking lot, ran back to the house, and threw open the door. I should have left my boots in the hall, but instead I left wet spots on the stairs as I clumped up to my bedroom.
    I tore a piece of paper out of my cartoon book and wrote
I love you, Amber.
I’ve been happy to be with you.
    That was true.
    Someday I’ll come again. But it’s time to go back to the island. My dog needs me. I know you won’t mind if I take the raincoat and boots.
I drew a heart underneath and signed it Jay.
    I put the junonia shell and my cartoon book deep inside the raincoat pockets, but there was no time for anything else.
    I took the stairs down two at a time, one hand sliding along the banister. I left the note on the hall table and went out the door.
    The streetlights were on now, guiding me to the ferry slip. As I ran, the warning sound of the horn blared.
    Only one pickup truck and a van were in the parking lot. Who would be going to the island in this weather?
    Only me. Going home.
    The ticket taker’s hair was soaked. “Crazy rain, right?”
    I nodded.
    “You live on the island, don’t you? I think I’ve seen you. You’re catching the last boat. We’re shutting down.”
    So lucky that I’d made it!
    I went downstairs to sit at one of the massive windows. I swiped at it, trying to see out. Where was the leatherback turtle now?
    The ferry was like that turtle, lumbering along, steady even in this storm. I’d left everyone I loved: first, Aunt Cora and Gideon, and Dog. Especially Dog, who needed me.
    My mother would be gone again someday. But I knew her now. I understood. But I’d never leave the people I loved again.
    I remembered something Mr. Kaufmann once said to me: “You’ll feel better when you understand yourself.”
    My face was reflected in the glass as the rain ran down the window. A wavery cartoon face.
    I’d run to the house, to Aunt Cora, and put my arms around her wide waist.
    Then, at Mason’s house, I’d kneel on the muddy ground while Dog whined and kissed my face.
    I took out my cartoon pad. I drew the leatherback carefully, showing the massive head and the short neck. I drew the tail, shorter than the legs.
    On top, I wrote,
Heading for warmer waters, heading for home.
    I couldn’t wait to show it to Mason.

T he trip seemed to take forever, but, at last, the wooden walls of the slip loomed closer, screeching as the ferry edged in against them.
    Moments later, I slid down the ramp and ran along the muddy road, my huge boots holding me back. The wind blew the rain in my face and pushed against me, almost as if it didn’t want me to reach home.
    Arms out, I went up the back path and circled the flattened garden.
    There were no lights on the porch. But I knew the electricity would be out. I opened the door, banging on the side of the wall so Aunt Cora would know I was home.
    I could only hear the rain pounding on the roof. I went from room to room, up and down the stairs in the dark. She wasn’t there.
    I sank into a kitchen chair and pushed back my hood. The ends of my hair dripped on my shoulders, the curls tight to my head.
    Had she gone to the mainland? Would she have left the island?
    Never.
    Then it came to