The Tail of Emily Windsnap - Liz Kessler [3]
Luckily, Millie’s two favorite shows were back-to-back on NBC Wednesdays, so I knew she wouldn’t bother me tonight. I wanted to be left alone, because I needed time to think. There were two things I knew for sure. One: I had to figure out what had happened to me in the pool. And two: I needed to get out of swimming lessons before it happened again.
I could hear Mom belting it out all the way from her cabin while I paced up and down in the front room. “Do ya really love me? Do ya wanna stay?” She was singing louder than her CD. She always sings when she’s getting ready to go out. I don’t mind too much — except when she starts doing the video moves. Tonight, I hardly noticed.
I’d already tried asking her right when I got home if I had to go swimming again. She’d gone ballistic. “I hope you’re joking,” she’d said in that voice that means she isn’t. “After all the fuss you created, and making me buy you that suit. No way are you giving up after only one lesson!”
I paced up to the gas stove in the corner of the saloon. (That’s what we call the living room.) I usually get my best ideas when I pace, but nothing was coming to me tonight. I paced past the ratty old sofa with its big orange blanket. Pace, pace, left, right, creak, squeak, think, think. Nothing.
“Better tell me soon, baby. I ain’t got all day.” Mom’s voice warbled out from her room.
I tried extending my pacing to the kitchen. It’s called a galley, really. It’s got a sink, a tiny fridge, and a countertop that’s always covered with empty cartons and bottles. Mom makes us recycle everything. The galley’s in the middle of the boat, with the main door and a couple of wooden steps opposite. You’ve got to be careful on those steps when you come in because the bottom one comes loose. I usually jump down from the top one.
I paced through the kitchen and along the corridor that leads to the bathroom and our cabins.
“How do I look?” Mom appeared at the end of the corridor. She was wearing a new pair of Levis and a white T-shirt with BABE in sparkly rhinestone letters across the middle. I wouldn’t have minded much except for the fact that she had bought me a similar shirt at the same time she got hers — and it looked a lot better on her!
“Great.” A familiar sharp tap on the roof stopped me from saying any more. The side door opened and Mr. Beeston poked his head through. “It’s only me,” he called, peering around the boat.
Mr. Beeston’s the lighthouse keeper. He comes around to see Mom all the time. He gives me the creeps — he looks at you out of the corners of his eyes when he’s talking to you. Plus his eyes are different colors: one’s blue; one’s green. Mom says he probably gets lonely up in the lighthouse, sitting around looking out to sea, switching the light on and off, only having contact with people by radio. She says we have to be friendly to him.
“Oh, Mr. Beeston, I’m just racing out to my book group. We’re waiting for Millie to show up. Come in for a sec. I’ll walk down the pier with you.” Mom disappeared down the corridor to get her coat as he clambered through the door.
“And how are we?” he asked, staring sideways into my eyes. His mouth was crooked like the tie he always wore. His shirt was missing a button, his mouth missing a tooth. I shivered. I wish Mom wouldn’t leave me on my own with him.
“Fine, thanks.”
He narrowed his eyes, still staring at me. “Good, good.”
Thankfully, Millie arrived a minute later, and Mom and Mr. Beeston could leave.
“I won’t be late, darling,” Mom said, kissing my cheek, then wiping it with her thumb. “There’s meatloaf in the oven. Help yourselves.”
“Hi, Emily.” Millie looked at me intensely for a moment. She always does that. “You’re feeling anxious and confused,” she said — with alarming accuracy for once. “I can see it in your aura.”