Free To See the Moon Again by Jamie Langston Turner Page B

formed. She had to write a story of her own and get it published. If she didn’t, she could never hope to put to rest her fear and guilt over Jeremiah’s stories. Not that writing a good story would absolve her, but maybe it would clear her mind, gain her a few more nights of sleep, or at least a few nights of more sleep.
    Many years ago she had read a description of guilt that had stuck with her, the gist of it being that guilt is an irresistible thing humans latch on to and carry around like precious cargo. She thought it might have been in a Steinbeck novel, though she couldn’t remember which one. She had read the passage many times, then had closed the book never to finish it.
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    O N the second Saturday morning in June, Julia rose early, having decided sometime during the night to drive to Andalusia in Milledgeville, Georgia, today. It would take seven hours of driving time altogether, and then the walking tour. Not only would it get her out of the house in case Carmen came, but she would also be able to list the trip under “Professional Growth and Development” in the next update of her faculty portfolio.
    Besides visiting Andalusia, she had made another decision during the night: If she could get through another week safely, she would put Carmen completely out of her mind and get on with the summer.
    She dressed quickly, ate a little breakfast, printed out directions, and by eight o’clock was locking the back door of the stone house. She got into the Buick, set the trip odometer, and pulled away from Ivy Dale, none of it with much enthusiasm. For some reason, this trip felt more like something she needed to do rather than wanted to.
    Heading toward the interstate, she made another decision: Today she would try to live life fully. She had heard the phrase many times before running across it in the book, of course, and even though it was a cliché, it might be something to take up her mind today. She knew it probably started with a positive attitude—another nebulous concept, with a whiff of false virtue about it, one of those traits she associated with shallow naïve people. But it couldn’t hurt. It might be fun to become a different person for a day.
    The day promised to be a fine, sunny one—there, that was a start on a positive attitude. And the summer was spread out before her, and an entire year after that. She reminded herself again that many of her colleagues would love to be in her place, getting paid for all that time to do whatever they wanted to do.
    As she settled into the flow of traffic, another idea returned to her, something else she had thought of during the previous night—that after this refresher drive to Andalusia she could perhaps plan a trip along the eastern seaboard. New England was full of authors’ homes. Such a trip would certainly give her something to show for her year out of the classroom. Besides courage to leave her comfort zone, it would require research and preparation, not to mention careful budgeting, and then the trip itself would occupy a great deal of time and in the end provide her with even more professional activities to list in her portfolio. And maybe ideas for stories, too.
    The miles passed agreeably enough. Before long she tuned the radio to
Weekend Edition
on NPR and listened for a while to a woman from Australia talking about the year she spent as a doctor in the African bush. “I’ve never liked change,” the woman said in her starchy, clipped accent. “I was absolutely petrified, but now I’m gratified that I did it.” Here was inspiration—a woman who was afraid to leave her comfort zone but did it anyway and was glad afterward.
    Shortly there followed a story about a restaurant in Tennessee called the Critter Hutch, specializing in dishes featuring squirrel, possum, and rabbit. “Fried is the cooking method of choice here at the Critter