Jubilee (11 page)

O
n my way down the hall, I heard her humming. It was a good sound, happy. I took a breath and went into the kitchen.

She turned and smiled. “Good morning.”

I froze.

“I know,” she said. “Don't worry about talking. Cora told me…” Her voice trailed off. “Don't worry about anything. We'll work it all out.”

I smiled then.

She poured orange juice again, and pushed the plate of cookies toward me. “We'll get cereal later, maybe eggs.” She leaned forward. “You can stay as long as you want; I want you to know that.” She held my wrist. “It's strange, isn't it, seeing each other?”

She knew how I felt, and she was feeling the same way.

But what I wanted to know most of all I couldn't ask. Why had she left me? What had I done?

I pursed my lips and blew just a bit of air through them, almost as if I wanted to whistle. But there was no sound, and she glanced at me quickly before she pulled out a chair and sat down.

She was crying. “I'd be furious if I had a mother who'd just walked out. I've been angry at myself for all these years.”

I leaned forward. Maybe I'd hear it now. What I'd done. What was wrong with me.

But she glanced up at the clock. “I have to go to work at the bookstore. I'd ask for the day off, but I did that last week. And I'm late even now. Do you think you'll be all right? I'll be back as soon as I can.”

I nodded.

Just before she left, she reached up to a shelf and picked up a shell. Long and narrow, it was a swirl of a shell, covered with small brown squares.

“It's a junonia. I found it on the island one day.” She put it in my hand. “If you'd like it, it's yours. Keep it in your room.”

I put my fingers over the smooth shell, remembering what Ms. Quirk had said.
Maybe someday I'll find one.

Amber reached for a leather jacket and went out the back door. “You'll be all right, Jay? The store's number is on the refrigerator.”

I waved. Then everything was quiet. At home I would have heard the foghorn, or the ferry nosing into the slip, maybe church bells.

After I washed and dried the glasses and wiped off the table, I went to investigate: a living room with a couch and two flowered chairs, a dining room with chairs marching around a dark wood table.

Upstairs, the bedroom doors were open.

I remembered going into Aunt Cora's bedroom. Now she knew I'd found the birthday card in her dresser drawer.

What did she think? That I didn't care about her, that I wasn't a jubilee after all? And how would she tell Gideon I was gone?

What would Mr. Kaufmann say to me?

I went into the bedroom. A few boxes were piled in the corner; a framed picture of a city street hung on the wall, a little crooked.

I dragged the boxes into the hall closet and closed the door on them. Then I scraped the bed across the floor so I could look out the window and see the wires that stretched across the back of the houses, and much further, the water, and the smudge of the island.

I pulled out my book to read about a pioneer girl named Laura, but the words ran into each other, and it was hard to pay attention.

I stretched and went back down to the kitchen. Maybe I could find something for lunch. Maybe I'd cook dinner. I'd watched Aunt Cora almost every night as she put potatoes on to bake and vegetables on to boil.

Nothing was in the kitchen cabinets except salt and pepper and a jar of apricot jelly. No wonder Amber was so skinny.

There was money in my jacket pocket. I stood at the window, watching the street, which was much busier than the ones on the island.

Ms. Quirk would say,
Go for it, Judith.

And so I went out the front door, making sure it didn't lock behind me.

A
t five o'clock, Amber stood in the kitchen doorway. “I smell bread toasting. I see eggs frying.”

She swooped toward me, put her arms around my waist, and twirled me around the table. “You're a genius.” She laughed as we danced around the kitchen.

She made me laugh too; she made me happy. I put my hands on her arms as we twirled, and as I did, I glanced toward the stove. The eggs were burning.

I pointed, but for another moment, she wouldn't let go.

Then we were apart, both a little out of breath, as I turned the eggs with a spatula. She sat at the table, waiting. “No one has done this for me in years,” she said. “And I certainly couldn't do it for myself.”

I put toast and butter on the table, and even the jar of apricot jelly.

“I'm in heaven,” she said.

I dumped the eggs on two plates and sat too. I liked the way she ate, the bites she took of the toast, the look on her face. “You made such a great meal.” She hesitated. “Could I ask you…”

I tilted my head.

“I've called you Jay for so long. It's because of a bird we saw together when I was still on the island.”

Jubilee. Red. Judith. Jude. All good names. And now Jay. Why not?

I almost said it. I formed the words with my lips, but nothing happened. Instead, I nodded.

She hadn't seen my cartoons yet. So while we ate, I pulled out a pad and drew a stick figure holding a bird.

She closed her eyes. “I can't believe this. I can't believe you.”

We finished the eggs and I brought out a little cake I'd made from a mix. It was high on one side, flat on the other. I'd tried to even it out with lots of chocolate icing that came from a can.

But it was terrible. I took a forkful, and made myself take another. Then I raised my hands over the cake, and made motions as if I'd toss it, but Amber kept eating, one small bite after another. “It's delicious,” she said.

I shook my head. She didn't have to do that. But she kept eating, until I pulled the plate away from her, grabbed my pad again, and wrote the words
EEEK. NOT BIRD FOOD.

She was laughing again.

And so was I.

T
he next three nights we went to a diner. It was warm inside, the windows steamy. “I wish I knew what you're doing all day,” she said.

I smiled. Every day, I'd gone down to the water, a long way from the ferry slip. A cement path lined the edge for as far as I could see.

I'd walked along that path. The gray-green water was much deeper at the edge than it was at home. Still, I could see shells and fish that were larger than the little ones that darted near our wharf.

I'd found a tiny library, and in the afternoon, I'd tiptoed back to the children's section to leaf through books about turtles.

Now Amber leaned forward. “I wonder what you're thinking.” Her voice was louder than usual, because a TV blared on the wall overhead, giving the weather.

A server came toward us. “I'm Ellie, and we have pasta tonight. It's really good.”

Ellie had tried some, I could see that. Tomato sauce was smeared across the sleeve and the front of her shirt.

We both nodded.

Ellie's tomato stains reminded me of Mason. He would have loved wandering along the water with me. And Dog would have sat up on the rocks watching. I raised my hand to my chest, feeling that ache.

“I never stay in one place for long,” Amber said.

What did that mean? What was she telling me?

Above us, on the television, was the weather forecast: heavy storms on their way.

“There are things I have to tell you,” Amber said.

I sat up and nodded.

Amber tapped my wrist. “You want to know what happened to me.”

I swallowed. Waited.

“I was seventeen when you were born. You were beautiful. Even then you had red in your hair.”

Over our heads, the TV blared news about the storm. And the server stopped to talk when she brought our plates to the table.

But how could I eat?

Amber spread her hands wide. “I did everything wrong. If you cried, I didn't know how to comfort you. You began to walk, and then fell. Fell more than once. My fault.” She raised her shoulders. “My own parents had died. Cora and I had only each other.”

I could see it: Amber, who didn't know what to do.

“My friends were still in high school,” she said. “And I was home with a baby doing everything wrong. All I could think of was escaping, going to California, becoming an actress, or at least something exciting, something new.”

The TV: “A possible hurricane. Massive flooding over the weekend.”

“And I knew that Cora would be a wonderful mother. All she'd ever wanted was a child to love. A little girl. You.”

She shook her head. “I've always been sorry. But you deserved a better mother.”

For the first time, I was almost glad I didn't speak. What could I say? How could I tell her how glad I was that she didn't think it was my fault?

We began to eat but put our forks down after a few mouthfuls. I could see she was worn out, and I was too.

But there was something she had to know. I took out my pad and drew a school. It took up most of the page. I drew children going inside.

“An apartment house?” she guessed.

I wrote
school
on top. Even I knew I couldn't wander around near the water all day. I had to go back to school.

I saw the shock on her face. “You see what a flake I am? You see? I never thought of school.”

I couldn't help it. I began to laugh.

“What's today? Friday. Yes, Friday. The weekend's coming. And I have to work. But I'll be off on Monday and we'll start you off fresh and new.”

We walked back to Smith Street and went up to our bedrooms early.

But I didn't sleep. What had Ms. Quirk said? Something like
You have to know a person to appreciate him.

Did I know my mother? Not yet. Once, she was seventeen years old and didn't know how to take care of a baby, and then a little girl.

Amber, who didn't cook, who was always late for work, who didn't remember I needed to go to school.

I did love her. Didn't I?

I sat on the edge of the bed looking out. High over the streetlights, thick dark clouds moved fast across the sky. A few drops pelted the window.

I loved the rain on the island. If it rained on Saturday, Aunt Cora and I would put on our raincoats and dash out to the garden for supper vegetables.

It had been cozy in Mrs. Leahy's room, with the rain pattering against the window. Ms. Quirk's room would be different, maybe even better.

I pictured Saturday nights with Gideon. I saw his hands, his nails thick, showing me how to make rope knots on the boat, teaching me how to run the motor, telling jokes at the supper table that made Aunt Cora's eyes crinkle up.

Gideon, who didn't know how I felt about him.

Would he take Mason out on the boat in the rain?

But that was all right too. More than all right.

Something else. Something I'd done. It was on the edge of my mind. What was it? I knew it was important.