Finely Disciplined Thoughts Page 2

  Nika sought to make herself scarce, but her mother had an unerring sense of location and, having put a stop to one set of tears, she made haste to bring on another.

  “What you did wasn’t a mistake or an accident, Monika Jo Lambert. You meant to hurt your little sister. Well, you succeeded, and now I think you need to hurt a little bit, too.” With that, Nika’s mother grabbed the surprised girl and pulled her into an iron grip that left her bent over and helpless, while a maternal hand lit a fierce fire in her backside.

  Her initial reaction was intense surprise, since spankings were relatively rare in the Lambert household and Nika had not been on the receiving end for a couple of years. Then her defensive mechanism kicked in, and between squeals and sobs, she protested the innocence of her actions. But somewhere deep inside, once her mother had made her distress clear and left Nika alone with her thoughts, she heard a voice remind her of the satisfaction she had taken in delivering the life-changing information to her irritating little sister.

  Nika was still nursing hurt feelings in her room when darkness fell late that afternoon. Soon after she put on the little pink ballerina lamp by her bedside, the door opened and her father stepped in to her room. She huddled miserably on her bed, the picture of dejection and unjustified suffering, since she was sure her mother would have already primed him with her view of the situation.

  Charles Lambert sat down at the foot of his daughter’s bed. He simply stared out into the blackness beyond her window for a moment, and then he turned to her with a sad smile.

  “One of the things that happens as you grow up, is that you find out some favorite parts of your life are not exactly the way you thought they were. You found that out about Santa Claus. But you’re a big girl now, and you also found out the rest of the story — the happy part about Mommy and me loving you so much we wanted you to have this wonderful pretend time for a while, and then we wanted you to understand that there’s as much joy in giving as there is in receiving. I suppose it was sort of an exciting thing for you to know — that grown-up secret a lot of other kids haven’t found out yet. The thing is, Nika, when Mommy and I talked to you about it, we asked you to do something important. Do you remember that?”

  Nika wanted to deny it, but her guilt and the inescapable truth prevented her from doing anything but nodding her head.

  “What did we ask you to do?”

  “You said — you said to let that be our secret until Andee was a b-big girl, too.”

  “Why do you think we asked that of you?” he asked in his calm, quiet voice.

  She shrugged, reluctant to admit anything that might rebound to her discredit.

  “I think you do know. Andee’s not old enough to understand things the way you do. What you did hurt her really bad. She’ll be sad for a long time, and she’ll never get to have the same number of happy years believing in Santa that you did. It’s made your mommy and me sad, too. We don’t want to see either one of our girls disappointed, and we don’t want to know either of you can’t be trusted to do what is kind and thoughtful where others are concerned.”

  Nika’s heart hurt far worse than her still-tender bottom. Upsetting Mommy was a scary proposition all its own, but disappointing Daddy was pain she simply couldn’t tolerate.

  She threw herself into his arms, sobbing her grief with only one discernible word — “Sorry.”

  “Yes, I know you are,” he said after a moment. “We’re all feeling sorry today.”

  And he eased her back against her pillow and tucked her favorite blanket into her arms before quietly leaving her room.

  She remembered that it was a couple of days before she felt completely welcome in her own home again, although no one berated her for her actions after that terrible time. Over the years, parts of the story were referred to with a humorous twist at family get-togethers, and although Nika always grinned good-naturedly when the tale was told, she found there was still a sore place in her heart that had scabbed over but never completely healed.

  It wasn’t an accident, either, that she had been cruel where Miss Smothers was concerned. She had shown her true colors at least once before at Christmas, and now her spirit shuddered beneath the weight of two self-aggrandizing sins. She deserved everything that had been dealt out to her – as a 10-year-old and a 32-year-old.

  Some part of her knew the start of finding peace lay in confessing her wrong and seeking forgiveness from those she had injured. Even at this late date with Andee. And even though her apology must be directed to a wide range of people in the most recent instance.

  She was planning what she would say, alone in her dim corner and still feeling ashamed and lonely, when she heard Colin’s steps behind her.

  His hands rested on her shoulders and he leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

  “Tell me what you’ve been thinking.”

  Nika gulped and two fat new tears slid down her cheeks.

  “I need to s-say I’m s-sorry where it matters. I’ll g-go online tonight and apologize to everyone who was there. I’ll ask them to be k-kinder than I was, and maybe M-miss Smothers will never have to be hurt by it. But I’ll t-tell her how sor-sorry I am, too, if I ever think she’s heard about it. And C-Colin, I’ll be her friend. I pr-promise I will. I feel awful.” She leaned her head into the corner again and her slender shoulders shook with quiet sobs.

  For just a moment, she was overcome with the need to beg him not to leave her — a miserable little girl again, huddled on a lonely bed with only her blanket and her sorrow and shame for company. But then he whispered her name tenderly, and her heart lifted. She was no longer that repentant, but unforgiven, 10-year-old little girl.

  She was Colin’s girl. And Colin believed in redemption.

  Then she was in his arms. Those strong arms she depended on to correct her when she sinned, and to comfort her when she repented, and to protect her all the time. He was her completeness; he was what she had been longing for since the first time she transgressed.

  Colin held her close, one hand sliding down to caress her still-aching bottom, and kissed away her tears.

  “No more feeling awful, sweetheart. It’s all over now. You’ve just shown me what a special, wonderful girl you are, and I’m so proud of you.”

  He scooped her up effortlessly and snuggled her securely against his chest.

  “Lotion coming up, and when you’ve finished your emails, we’ll celebrate a new beginning. Now, turn out the lights for me and let’s get started.”

  She stretched out of his arms just far enough to find the light switch, but she hesitated over the control for the white lights outlining the Christmas tree.

  “Could we celebrate in here?” she asked shyly. “In front of the tree? I need a really good Christmas memory.”

  He smiled into her deep brown eyes, fringed with damp lashes still.

  “That’s exactly what I want them all to be,” he said, and she knew she could trust him to make that come true. In the way only Colin could for her.

  Frozen in Time

  “It’s time,” he said, so casually he might have been calling her attention to a TV schedule or the daily newspaper’s delivery.

  “No.” Uttered with suddenly tear-filled eyes. “Please. Not now. I don’t want —”

  He silenced her with a finger placed gently against her pouting lips. “Your preferences are no longer an issue. They brought you to this moment. But in it, your time is entirely mine.”

  In justice, she could not protest. In dread, she could not refrain. “It was all a mistake.”

  “Indeed it was. One you will not repeat, I imagine.”

  She watched him, because she could not help it; saw him shift the pillow from its accustomed place to a new duty location — angled across the low rail at the foot of the bed; saw him finger the shiny gold hardware holding in place the soft and supple leather around his waist; saw him slither the belt through its loops to lie, instead, the length of his leg; saw him calmly double it over, palm the
buckle and wrap its threatening length once around his hand.

  She listened to him, because there was no evading his voice — the one she loved and hated at the same time; heard him call her name as a prelude to identifying her sin — Elizabeth; heard him reveal his awareness of her failure in measured tones — childish disobedience, unacceptable in a woman grown; heard him order the manner in which she was to present herself for punishment — bared and bent, defenseless and welcoming; heard him describe the nature of the penance — a dozen well-laid on, provided she was cooperative; heard him justly define the parameters of her compliance — “Count the twelve and at each second one, tell me of your sorrow.”

  She prepared herself, filled with shame that her fault had been uncovered, but emptied, already, of the self-loathing that had been her peculiar burden while she had hidden its ugly face.

  From her new perspective, stretched and offered fully with no protective intervention, she considered the consequences of her behavior. She had brought herself to this punishment place. All choices were her own. All decisions, hers for the making. Each step along the pathway of cleansing pain, hers and hers alone.

  Then there was the slight awareness of air disturbed, the sharp snap of cow hide on trembling human skin, the tiniest moment — frozen in time like immobilized hands on a watch face bound in an ice packet — between impact and imprint. In that space — that cold, cold space of regret — there was, however, just enough dimension to permit hope for the suspension of inevitability.

  But it was not to be. Pain — hot pain — seared her bared, bent and defenseless cheeks and melted the moment.

  “One,” she cried in obedience and of necessity, the result of soul-pain released, and body-pain accepted, in an even exchange they both knew was necessary.

  It was time.

  She Said, He Said

  By Ashlynn Kenzie and Devlin O’Neill

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I think of my driving speed as a “tree falling in a forest without people to hear” issue. I mean, if no one sees that you’re moving very quickly, are you really going too fast?

  I say, “Don’t be silly. Of course not.”

  The problem is, he saw.

  But that wasn’t strictly my fault. He wasn’t supposed to be standing on the porch, watching for me to come home from the pharmacy with his pain medication. He was supposed to be moaning on the couch after a trip to the dentist.

  If I had known he was going to spy on me — his angel of mercy — I would have turned the Seger CD off, which would have automatically decreased my rpm’s by several spins, and we would both be happy at this point.

  But he doesn’t look happy. He looks … anything but.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  This is not what I needed on top of the ache in my jaw after a root canal. I just wanted some fresh air and to stretch my back after sitting in the dentist’s chair all morning, which is why I was out on the porch to watch my wife zoom along the boulevard and then into our driveway like Mario Andretti making a quick pit stop. Our street is quiet in the early afternoon, traffic sparse even for a residential neighborhood, but I hardly needed a radar gun to know she made her final approach at least 20 miles an hour above the speed limit. I know she knows better, because I have spoken to her about her lead foot several times.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  This is truly, truly bizarre. But I swear I can almost see that little muscle toward the back of his jaw sort of doing that little hop, skip and jump thing it does when he’s irritated with me.

  Although I don’t think it’s really possible for it to be so noticeable from a good 15 feet away. It must be the way the sun is sort of skimming over his adorable face up there on the porch.

  Or maybe the dentist touched a nerve ... because I’m pretty sure I couldn’t see that little signal from this distance — unless he was really, really — well, never mind.

  It might be a good idea, though, to give him a minute to sort of mellow out. Maybe he’ll forget that little tiny tire squeal-y thing when I pulled in the driveway.

  I’ll just gather up all the little scraps of paper in the console and look for some loose change in the passenger seat and fluff up the nap in the carpet a little and maybe by then ...

  Or maybe not.

  My goodness. His eyes seem a little squinty, too, and that right eyebrow is definitely higher than the left one.

  It ‘s amazing the detail it ‘s possible to pick out from this distance.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  That’s right. Just sit there and pretend you don’t see me glaring daggers at you, sweetheart. The kids aren’t home so you know you’re going to get it as soon as I pull you inside. So why are you stalling? You know it’s only going to be worse if I have to come and get you. All right, let’s see how many steps I have to take before she jumps out of that car.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Getting out of car. Getting out of car. Hurrying before he comes down the steps.

  Looking toward the sun, because sunshine is a good thing. Bright sunshine is an excellent thing. It will help me with my plan — for which I need very misty eyes.

  This is important, first, though: My handsome beloved thought about being in law enforcement once. He says he didn’t really, but he signed up to do the Citizens Police Academy, so it sort of follows, don’t you think?

  Anyway, while he was involved in the academy thing, he got to ride around in an “official” car with an “official” law enforcement person and he saw lots of speeders.

  He says I’m faster than the best of them, but I’m sure that’s a slight exaggeration. Maybe than 95 percent of them.

  He also says women speeders do the most amazing things to get out of tickets. Some of them flash some cleavage (or some other naughty bits which I am too much a lady to actually spell out for you), and some of them pass over phone numbers, and some of them plead emergencies, and some of them cuss a blue streak, and none of it works. He says.

  If you are speeding, you’re going to get caught and you’re going to get punished. End of story.

  Which is why I always confess immediately if I am so unfortunate as to be stopped by someone involved in law enforcement.

  I take off my sun glasses with fingers that tremble just the slightest little bit, and I look up at the officer and let a tear make its way slowly down my cheek, and I whisper in my best and softest and most sincerely shamed voice, “I am so sorry, Sir. This just breaks my heart that I have caused you such distress. I know you must have been so worried about my safety or you would never have gone to all this trouble to stop me and tell me about it. I just want you to know how grateful I am for your concern and to tell you I will always remember your kindness and I will never, ever, for the rest of my life go above the speed limit again. I’m just so ...” (and then I usually sort of bat my eyelashes and let some more of that watery stuff around my blue, blue eyes leak out of the corners, and I smile a shaky little “sorry” smile, and I end it with) “... sorry I’ve been such a bad girl.”

  And I drive away at a nice safe speed with a warning. Only.

  My handsome beloved, who is not looking his most loving at the moment and is — oh, my gosh — headed for the steps, has no idea how well this works, because he has no idea how often I have to use it.

  If he did, I would probably not have to work very hard at all at tears in my eyes and a sorry speech. And the reason why is, he is almost never moved by the tears I come up with to avoid punishment, but he dearly loves moving me to tears when he is handing out the punishment.

  This never stops me from trying, however, because it’s worth any effort to keep him from creating tears all by himself.

  So, I’m sort of staring hard at that bright old sun as I get out of the car in a hurry, and I’m sort of moving contritely up the side walk, and I’m sort of climbing the front porch steps very humbly, and I’m sort of giving him a trembly, teary little smile and ...

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Oh, for pity’s sake, she’s going to try it. I
shouldn’t be surprised I guess, but it’s almost funny, the way she always thinks that welling up before I even say anything will make me all soft and squishy or something.

  Still, it does tell me she knows she’s got it coming, and that’s a plus. And I really don’t feel like talking even though the tooth hurts less than I thought it would. I’ll let my hand do most of the communicating today. She seems to understand that sort of language better anyhow, that and my glares.

  I’ll just keep mum and allow her to scold herself for the most part, and prompt her if need be. She knows what she did wrong, and I’ll bet she will tell herself off if I just give her the chance.

  That’s right, honey, take my hand with both of yours — no, don’t pull back. We’re going right inside where it’s quiet, and you can tell me all about it while I pull your little panties down.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  If I just sort of snuggle up a little — no, well, he’s not very snuggly at the moment, I guess.

  So maybe I’ll coax him out in the sunshine and we’ll just walk around the yard — it’s so pretty out today — and we’ll talk about this little problem so calmly for a minute, and he’ll see it’s no big deal since I’m all safe and sound and nothing was damaged and nobody was hurt ...

  No, well, he’s not moving with me either, even though I’m sort of tugging with both hands.