The Tail of Emily Windsnap - Liz Kessler [8]
That’s when I realized I wasn’t feeling drowsy at all. In fact . . .
“One.”
I was wide awake! I’d done it — hooray! Millie was a phony! The “aura” thing had been a fluke after all!
She didn’t say anything for ages, and I was starting to get fidgety when a familiar noise broke the silence. I opened my eyes the tiniest crack to see Mom in the opposite corner — fast asleep and snoring like a horse! I snapped my eyes quickly shut again and fought the urge to giggle.
“Now, visualize yourself next to some water,” Millie said in a low voice. “Think about how you feel about the water. Are you scared? What emotions are you experiencing?”
The only thing I was experiencing was a pain in my side from trying not to laugh.
“And now think of somewhere that you have felt safe. Somewhere you felt happy.” I pictured myself swimming in the sea. I thought about the way my legs became a beautiful tail and about the feeling of zooming along with the fish. I was on the verge of drifting into a happy dream world of my own when —“Nnnnnuuurrrggggghhhh!”— Mom let out a huge snore that made me jump out of my chair.
I kept my eyes closed tight and pretended I’d jumped in my sleep. Mom shuffled in her chair and whispered, “Sorry.”
“Not to worry,” Millie whispered back. “She’s completely under. Just twitching.”
After that, I let my mind drift back to the sea. I couldn’t wait to get out there again. Millie’s voice carried on in the background, and Mom soon started snoring softly again. By the time Millie counted from one to seven to wake me up, I was so relieved I hugged her.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“Just a thank-you, for curing my fear,” I lied.
She blushed as she slipped Mom’s twenty-dollar bill into her purse. “Think nothing of it, pet. It’s a labor of love.”
Mom was quiet on the way home. Did she know I hadn’t been asleep? Did she suspect anything? I didn’t dare ask. We made our way through the town’s narrow streets down to the promenade. As we waited to cross the road, she pointed to a bench facing oceanside. “Let’s go and sit down over there,” she said.
“You okay, Mom?” I asked as casually as I could while we sat on the bench. The tide was out, and little pools dotted the ripply sand it had left behind.
She peered out toward the horizon. “I had a dream,” she said without turning around. “It felt so real. It was beautiful.”
“When? What felt real?”
She looked at me for a second, blinked, and turned back to the sea. “It was out there, somewhere. I can almost feel it.”
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
“Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”
“Course I won’t.”
She smiled and ruffled my hair. I smoothed it back down. “When we were at Millie’s . . .” She closed her eyes. “I dreamed about a shipwreck, under the water. A huge golden boat with a marble mast. A ceiling of amber, a pavement of pearl . . .”
“Huh?”
“It’s a line from a poem. I think. I can’t remember the rest. . . .” She gazed at the sea. “And the rocks. They weren’t like any rocks you’ve ever seen. They used to glisten every color you could imagine —”
“Used to? What do you mean?”
“Did I say that? I mean they did — in my dream. They shone like a rainbow in water. It’s just, it felt so real. So familiar . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she gave me a quick sideways look. “But I suppose it’s sometimes like that, isn’t it? We all have dreams that feel real. I mean, you do. Don’t you?”
I was trying to figure out what to say when she started waving. “Oh, look,” she said briskly, “there’s Mr. Beeston.” I glanced up to see him marching toward the pier. He comes around for coffee every Sunday. Three o’clock on the dot. Mom makes coffee; he brings honey buns or doughnuts or bear claws. I usually scarf mine down quickly and leave the two of them alone. I don’t know what it is about him. He makes the boat feel smaller, somehow. Darker.
Mom put her fingers in the edges of her mouth and let out a sharp whistle. Mr. Beeston turned around. He smiled awkwardly and gave us a quick wave.
Mom stood up. “Come on. Better get back and put the water on.” And before I could ask her