Free Emily Windsnap and the Siren's Secret by Liz Kessler Page A

firm on these laws. You know that.”
    I kept silent.
    “I’m not proud of what I did,” he said quietly.
    “So what about my mom? How come she didn’t go with them?”
    He shook his head. “I tried the drug on her several times, to get her to agree to it, but it wouldn’t work. Even once I’d taken away the memory of your father, I couldn’t make her leave. She simply refused.”
    “So my grandparents moved away, and they didn’t remember a thing?” I asked woodenly.
    “Correct.”
    I swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. It was too hard, though. It had a lifetime of hurt and anger inside it. “What about the cards?” I asked. “Every year, a birthday card and Christmas card?”
    Mr. Beeston fiddled with a button on his jacket. “I sent them,” he said.
    “ You? But how?”
    “I had to visit them regularly, to ensure that the memory drug was still working.”
    That made sense. He’d kept my mom drugged on a weekly basis, with cinnamon buns and doughnuts — laced with the memory drug.
    “I’d write the cards, then send them while I was up there — so they had the right postmarks on them.” He glanced nervously at me. “So your mother would still at least have something,” he added.
    I nearly laughed. He thought he’d been doing us a favor by scrawling a few measly, lying words on a card a couple of times a year?
    “It was my way of doing one small thing for you,” Mr. Beeston went on. “You see, your mother and I were friends back —”
    “You mean they didn’t even sign their own names on them?” I interrupted. I wasn’t going to listen to him telling me he’d been our friend while he’d been lying to our faces for years!
    “We couldn’t take the risk of bringing their memories back.” Mr. Beeston actually had the grace to look ashamed. His head hung low; his arms dangled limply by his sides. “I’m sorry, Emily,” he said. “Things are different now. I would never, ever do anything ever again to hurt you or any of your family. You do believe me, don’t you?”
    I didn’t reply.
    Mr. Beeston reached out an awkward hand. He pulled at my sleeve. “Emily, I know I have wronged you, and for this I am in your debt,” he said in his usual dramatic way. “To prove my sincerity, I’m telling you now, whatever you need, if I can ever help you with it, I will do it. I owe you one.”
    I nearly laughed. “You owe us one ? What you owe us could never be repaid, even if you spent the rest of your life trying!”
    He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I owe you more than I can express with mere words. But remember, things are different now. We have a shared mission — and I intend to do everything in my power to make it work.”
    I found myself softening a tiny bit. Could people change? Was it possible? Neptune had changed his mind — and his laws — on a lot of things lately. Maybe Mr. Beeston could change, too. I knew I would never trust him again, but what he said about doing anything for us — well, perhaps one day that promise would come in handy.
    “And if it’s of any interest to you, this incident has made me come to a decision.”
    “What about?”
    Mr. Beeston paused for a long time. When he spoke, his voice had a catch in it, as though his words were climbing over a gravelly hill to get out of his mouth. “My mother,” he said.
    “ Your mother? What about her?”
    Mr. Beeston had hardly ever mentioned any family. The only time I’d ever heard him talk about his parents was when he’d come after me in the motorboat when I’d gone out to the Great Mermer Reef to rescue Dad. I tried to recall what he’d told me then. Something about his dad being happy to have a siren for a girlfriend, but then disappearing the minute he was born.
    “Our conversation the other day got me thinking. I’m going to visit her,” he said. “You see, your mother and I have something in common,” he went on. “I, too, am estranged from my parents.”
    “Your dad left