The Tail of Emily Windsnap - Liz Kessler [23]
How was I ever going to find out what was going on? It’s not exactly the kind of thing that crops up naturally at Sunday breakfast: “Oh, by the way, Mom, I’ve been meaning to ask. I don’t suppose you married a merman, had his child, and then never saw him again? OR THOUGHT TO TELL YOUR DAUGHTER ABOUT IT? HUH???”
I squelched my cereal against the side of the bowl, splashing milk onto the table.
“Be careful, sweetie.” Mom wiped off a splash from the edge of her paper with her hand. Then she looked at me. “Are you all right? It’s not like you to ignore your breakfast.”
“I’m fine.” I got up and emptied my bowl into the sink.
“Emily?”
I ignored her as I sat back down at the table and pulled at my hair, winding it around my fingers.
Mom took her glasses off. That meant it was serious. Then she folded her arms. Double serious. “I’m waiting,” she said, her mouth tight, her eyes small. “Emily, I said I’m —”
“Why do you never talk about my dad?”
Mom jerked in her seat as though I’d punched her. “What?”
“You never talk about my father,” I said, my voice coming out quieter this time. “I don’t know anything about him. It’s as though he never existed.”
Mom put her glasses back on; then she took them off again and got up. She turned on one of the gas burners, put the kettle on it, and gazed at the flickering flame. “I don’t know what to say,” she muttered eventually.
“Why not start by telling me something about him?”
“I want to. Darling, of course I want to.”
“So how come you never have?”
Her eyes had gone all watery, and she rubbed them with the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t know. I just can’t — I can’t do it.”
If there’s one thing I can’t bear, it’s Mom crying. “Look, it’s okay. I’m sorry.” I got out of my seat and put my arms around her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does.” She wiped her nose with the edge of the tablecloth. “I want to tell you. But I can’t, I can’t, I —”
“It’s okay, Mom, honest. You don’t have to tell me.”
“But I want to,” she sobbed. “I just can’t remember!”
“You can’t remember?” I let go and stared at her. “You don’t remember the man you married?”
She looked at me through bloodshot eyes. “Well, yes — no. I mean, sometimes I think I remember things. But then it goes again. Disappears.”
“Disappears.”
“Just like he did,” she said quietly, her body shaking, her head in her hands. “I can’t even remember my own husband. Your father. Oh, I’m a terrible mother.”
“Don’t start that,” I sighed. “You’re a great mother. The best.”
“Really?” She smoothed down her skirt against her lap. I forced myself to smile. She looked up and stroked my cheek with her thumb. “I must have done something right to get you,” she said weakly.
I stood up. “Look, just forget it. It doesn’t matter. Okay?”
“You deserve better than —”
“Come on, Mom. It’s all right,” I said firmly. “Hey, I think I’ll go over to the arcade, okay?”
She pinched my cheek. “Munchkin,” she sniffed. “Pass me my purse.”
She handed me two dollars, and I headed up the stairs.
I dawdled as I made my way past the video arcade. Not fair. Nothing was fair. I couldn’t even waste a quarter on the Skee-Ball. On top of everything else, I didn’t need Mandy turning up and going after me just for being there.
I bought some cotton candy from the end of the pier and wandered down to the boardwalk, my head filled with thoughts and questions. I didn’t notice Mr. Beeston coming toward me.
“Watch yourself,” he said as I nearly walked into him.
“Sorry. I was miles away.”
He smiled at me in that way that always gives me weird shivers in my neck and arms. One side of his mouth turned up, the other reached down, and his crooked teeth poked out through the dark gap in between.
“How’s Mom?” he asked.
That’s when I had a thought. Mr. Beeston had been around a long time. He was kind of friendly with Mom. Maybe he’d know something.
“She’s not doing that great, actually,” I said as I took a bite, the pink fluff melting into sugar in my mouth.
“Oh? Why not?”
“She’s a bit sad about . .