She glanced at the clock. It was only two-thirty. She would have to wait until at least eight, if not later. She knew it would suck terribly and be the worst she had had in a very long time, but she knew that afterwards she would feel better, and be able to talk freely without the crippling fear of recrimination. It was silly, she thought, to need a spanking to be able to talk to your own husband, especially when he was as amazing as Beau, but it was simply the way she was wired, and always had been. Beau knew that. He wouldn’t let her down.
* * * * *
He made the short drive from the Rolsons to home fighting a migraine. The events of the afternoon had both literally and figuratively knocked the wind out of him.
He had known, of course, that Ginger hadn’t been the same since Hazel was born, but that was to be expected, and he had chalked it up to her OCD personality, combined with the adjustment of motherhood, and sleep deprivation. Post-partum depression hadn’t even crossed his mind. Of course, once Marcus had suggested it, everything had clicked. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen what was going on right under his nose.
And your brilliant solution was to become Mr. Super HOH, he berated himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should have known better, should have seen the writing on the wall and made her seek help. Instead, he had exacerbated the problem with high expectations, almost daily spankings, and ridiculous lists. But, he argued with himself, that was helping. Things had been getting better, hadn’t they?
Obviously not man, you were deluding yourself with your own wishful thinking. A spanking is a bandaid, not a cure-all.
He made up his mind then and there. There would be no more spankings or anything resembling domestic discipline until her depression was cured. He couldn’t say for sure if his strict regimen and frequent spankings had compounded the problem or not, but it didn’t matter. It was not a risk he was willing to take.
He would tell her tonight. Maybe without the threat of a punishment hanging over her head she would feel free to open up to him. He pulled into the garage, feeling as if a giant weight had lifted off his shoulders. He still had a problem to deal with, but at least now he didn’t have to worry that he would make it worse somehow. He gathered Hazel and her belongings from the backseat and entered the house.
Ginger was sitting on the couch, staring blankly into space. The TV, he noticed, was on, and turned to the home shopping channel of all things.
When she saw him, her face lit up and she put out her arms, reaching for the baby, who he happily handed over. It was hard to be upset with a baby in your arms, and he needed her to be relaxed and responsive for their conversation.
He took off his jacket and lowered himself to the couch beside her. “That was some day,” he started casually.
“Beau, I’m not really ready to talk about it right now. I just want to spend time with Hazel and relax. We can talk after dinner, I promise.”
He studied her, noting her tired eyes and drawn expression. She looked drained, but her smile while weak, seemed genuine. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “I’ll go see what I can come up with to fix for dinner.”
In the end, he fixed a simple but delicious meal of grilled steak, baked potatoes, and green salad while Ginger and Hazel napped on the couch.
They ate early, in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, wrapped up in what was to come. Beau pretty much spent the entire meal praying that he wouldn’t somehow mess up, despite his good intentions.
Finally, the meal was finished and the kitchen cleaned up, and Hazel was in her playpen in the living room, jabbering away, and totally engrossed in her own feet. He took Ginger by the hand and led her to the couch.
“It’s time to talk,” he told her firmly, making sure his tone bode no room for argument.
“I know,” she sighed heavily, her eyes welling up with tears. “I know I should, it’s just hard, you know. And today, with Marcus, and everyone, it was just so humiliating!” She was crying already, and his heart was breaking for her.
“Sweetie,” he said, pulling her close to him and tucking her head under his chin. “There’s no reason for you to be humiliated at all! Nobody is anything but worried about you. Do you know how many calls and texts I got this afternoon just from people wanting to check up on you, and make sure you were okay? I had to turn my phone to vibrate so that it wouldn’t wake you up!” He was only half joking.
She gave him a weak smile, looking up at him through her tears. “I know. Me too.”
“So you see,” he told her with a smile as he squeezed her playfully. “No reason to be embarrassed. But,” he continued, turning serious quickly, “we do need to talk about what Dr. Devon said today. You’ve been having panic attacks? This wasn’t the first time? Ginger, why didn’t you tell me?”
She opened her mouth to respond, and he quickly put his hand up to stop her. “Before we go any further in this conversation, I want you to know that you can speak freely. I can see now that reinstating domestic discipline before you were ready was a mistake on my part, so for that I’m sorry. And you need to know that whatever you say or do while we’re talking is okay. I want you to feel free to express yourself without the threat of a punishment hanging over your head, so until you’re feeling better, and we both agree, domestic discipline is off the table, okay?”
Ginger pulled away to face him, and gaped at him, aghast, looking not at all happy or relieved as he expected. “But, Beau, I lied to you-twice!”
“I know, but I realize now that there were extenuating circumstances.”
“I lied! That’s like your biggest, most important rule!”
“I realize that, honey, but I’m saying that it doesn’t matter. Your health and well-being is more important than a silly rule.”
“What? Beau, I lied about my well-being. That practically counts as dishonesty and dangerous behavior! You can’t let me get away with that,” she argued.
Beau just shook his head, amused. He couldn’t believe she was seriously trying to talk him into a spanking. Then again, she did love to argue.
“Obviously,” he clarified, “I don’t want you to continue lying to me just because you can, or anything, but I just want you to be unburdened enough to heal on your own time table. I want you to realize you can come to me with anything, without having to worry about the fate of your bottom.” He smiled encouragingly, but she did not look amused. “Anyway,” he continued, “the point is, we need to talk about what is going on with you and make a plan of action. I’m here for you. Let’s start with this afternoon. I know you ate lunch, and I know it wasn’t your blood sugar, so you can you tell me what happened at work today?”
Ginger just stared at him silently. Maybe she just needed more specific questioning. It must be hard for her to talk about.
“I’ve never had a panic attack. What does it feel like? Do you always faint, or was this the first time that happened?”
Ginger tilted her head, and regarded him with sad wide eyes. “You know what, Beau? I’m still really tired, and I just can’t get into all this right now. I’m going to bed.”
She left abruptly, taking Hazel with her and leaving Beau staring after her dumbfounded, wondering where he had gone wrong.
* * * * *
He had let her down. She couldn’t believe he had let her down. The thought played over and over in her head all night, like a broken record on repeat, keeping her tossing and turning all night long.
When she awoke the next morning, it was still there, her first coherent thought of the day, before her eyes were even fully open. He had let her down.
He was also, seemingly, oblivious to the fact. She didn’t know if that made it better or worse. It was Sunday, and to her dismay, Beau had nothing to do, having run their weekly errands the day before. She made it her goal for the day to avoid him whenever possible. He tried to talk to her a few times, questioning her repeatedly about how she was feeling, and what had happened the day before, but each time she brushed him off finding a chore to
do in another room, as far away from him as possible. After all, she thought bitterly, domestic discipline was off the table. If she couldn’t get in trouble for the things she did say, then she also couldn’t get in trouble for the things she didn’t say.
Her plan worked for most of the day. While Hazel took a late afternoon nap, she moved into their room and started organizing the closet. She was knee deep in a pile of shoes when Beau snuck up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. To be fair, he hadn’t really snuck up on her, she just hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t heard him.
“Ahhhhh!” she screamed, and whirled around in the closet, fists cocked and ready to fight. She jumped in his direction.
“Whoa!” Beau went flying backwards onto the floor, laughing hysterically, his hands up in front of him in a motion of surrender.
“Beau!” she shrieked in surprise, fighting back a case of the giggles. “I’m sorry, but you scared the crap out of me.” She reached down and took his hand, helping him to stand.
“I scared you? You came at me like a wounded mama bear spoiling for a fight! I’m lucky I only fell. For a minute there, I thought I was going to get the daylights knocked out of me. I sure learned not to sneak up on you like that again!”
“You know these closets are practically soundproof! You should have knocked on the door or something.”
“Maybe I should have,” Beau agreed seriously. “But what are you even doing in here anyway? C’mon out of there, you don’t need to be working on this right now. You need to rest and relax. There will be time enough for cleaning and organizing when you’re feeling better.” He grabbed her wrist and gently tugged her into the bedroom.
She dug in her heels and resisted. “First of all, I’m fine okay? I’m depressed, not an invalid. Second, doing projects and being productive makes me feel good. You know this. At least,” she corrected, snidely, “you should. We’ve been married nearly seven years now, and I’ve always been the same. I’m not the one who’s changed,” she added accusingly.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean? I have not changed, and you most certainly have. Look at the last few months. I realize it’s not your fault, but God, Ginger, sometimes I barely recognize you.”
She had, as Beau was fond of saying, gotten her ginger up, and it didn’t pass her attention that it was the first time in a long time that she felt passionately angry or excitable about something.
“Get out of my way,” she glowered, pushing past him to make her way back into the closet, slamming the door behind her.
She could hear Beau pacing around the bedroom, probably, she thought ironically, wishing he could flip her over his knee and spank her silly right about now.
“Isn’t that just too bad!” she yelled into the empty room, pretending to concentrate on sorting her heels from her flats. It was hopeless, she was crying again and couldn’t even see through her tears. She was disgusted with how easily she cried these days. It used to take her a lot to get to that point, sometimes even Beau’s hardest spanking wouldn’t do it, but now she seemed to cry at the drop of a hat over anything and everything. Stupid hormones.
She wiped her soggy face with her shirt sleeve and listened for the sound of Beau’s retreating footsteps. When she was sure he was gone, she climbed out of the closet, and too emotionally drained to do anything else, fell into their bed and took a nap.
Chapter Ten
“How was your day today? What did you and Hazel do?” Beau questioned over dinner on Friday night.
“We didn’t do anything.” Four words, no information, yet it was the most she had said to him all week.
He still knew as much about the panic attacks and anxiety as he had at this time last week, which was absolutely nothing. He was completely in the dark. Every time he tried talking to her about it, she shut down.
He had gone into Boulder on Monday and picked up the supplements Dr. Devon had suggested but he had no idea if she was taking them or not. If she was, they didn’t seem to be working.
“Did you and Hazel make it out for a walk today at least?”
“No. Too cold.”
Beau sighed heavily. Resisting the urge to yell, he chewed on his lip instead. It had been 65 degrees today, at least.
“Ginger, you heard what Marcus said. You need to get out and get some fresh air and exercise every day, and take your vitamins, or we’re going to have to look into some anti-depressants for you.” His voice softened. “Sweetie, I know that’s not what you want, but if you’re not going to follow his suggestions, you really don’t leave me any choice. I guess I’ll have to call Marcus tomorrow and see what he recommends.”
“No!” Her voice was hard, and panicked. “I’ll walk tomorrow!”
“Tonight, after dinner. It won’t get dark for another couple of hours, so you have plenty of time.” His tone left no room for argument, but he was prepared for her to give one anyway.
To his abject surprise, she didn’t disagree. She didn’t say anything at all. She wore a tight pinched expression that looked as if she was trying not to cry, though he couldn’t understand why.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked lightly, trying to be helpful.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She didn’t look fine.
She pushed her plate away then, and stood up slowly, walking to the coat rack by the front door. She wordlessly selected a light jacket, and left quickly without saying a word of goodbye.
* * * * *
Ginger slid against the closed front door, and gulped against the sobs threatening to overwhelm her. She hated that tears seemed to be her go to coping mechanism these days.
It had been on the tip of her tongue all week to just scream at him, “For god’s sake, would you please just spank me already!” She had nearly done as much Saturday night, and he had turned her down, so she wasn’t about to ask again, only to be turned down.
It was ridiculous, she thought, pacing the length of the driveway, but she didn’t even recognize herself anymore. When had the strong confident in control businesswoman who had a tendency to speak her mind much too often, become this blithering, indecisive, passive aggressive shell of her former self who was afraid to ask for what she wanted most for fear of rejection? When had that happened?
She sucked in the cool evening air, staring down the street as she pondered her path. She didn’t want to walk, but she also didn’t want Beau to come out and find her sulking in the driveway either.
She left with no clear path in mind, thinking she would make her way over to Spanking Loop, and make the long loop around the community. She was in no hurry to get home anyway, so she might as well go big.
Exercise was supposed to help refresh her, and clear her mind, but it did just the opposite. Instead she was alone with her thoughts and nothing to distract her from them.
It was a beautiful evening in late April, but Ginger didn’t notice. She stomped along Spanking Loop, completely unaffected by her surroundings.
“Why am I so sure a spanking would help? That doesn’t even make sense,” she grumbled out loud to herself. And Beau would surely think I am crazy, if he doesn’t already. He looks at me like I’m broken, and he doesn’t know how to fix me. If I told him spanking would help, at this point, he would probably have me committed, she thought, breathing heavily as she trudged up the steep hill.
For them, spanking had always been about discipline. While a great many Corbin’s Bend couples used it for stress relief, they never really had. While they both knew from experience that a spanking helped re-set her stress level, it only happened after it was too late and she reached a breaking point that caused her to do or say something that would get her in trouble.
She was past that point, well past it, and it didn’t even matter, because right now, Beau seemed to see her as being beyond a place of spanking. He didn’t think she was fixable without medication. She could literally say or do whatever she wanted and her husband would just tell her to go for a walk or take a pill.
“Get a grip, Ginger. Come off it, you’re being stupid. You don’t need Beau or Dr. Devon or some psycho therapist to help you. You have never needed anyone before, and you’ve always done just fine, so why start now?” Her mental pep talk did little to improve her attitude. She was not okay.
Not okay. Not okay. Not okay. The two words became a blinding mantra as she walked, not at all aware of where she was or where she was going. One foot in front of the other. Not okay. Not okay. Not okay. The thought rose in her throat like bile leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Panic swelled in her chest until she could barely breathe. Her arms tingled, and her legs turned to Jello beneath her.
Crap! Not now! Not now! She looked around, frantically trying to get a grip on her surroundings so she could get help, as she had left in such a hurry her phone was still at home, but her vision blurred, making the already nearly identical homes indistinguishable. She saw nothing but a sea of white clapboard everywhere she turned. The air whizzed around her, buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. She turned in circles, frantic, unable to place a single car, or anything recognizable, as if she were in a strange new town instead of at home in Corbin’s Bend.
Feeling lost and helpless, her eyes clouded with tears, she sank to the cement and laid her head in her hands trying to stop the spinning around her. She didn’t know how long she sat there, trying to block out the buzzing and whirling, riding the waves of nausea, gasping for air with her eyes shut tight against the world.
She didn’t see the car coming, and the loud blare of the horn barely registered in the recesses of her brain. All she recognized was a feeling of dread and danger, but that was nothing new. It wasn’t until she finally looked up and found herself face to face with a giant piece of shiny metal, that she realized that she was sitting in the middle of the street, and had literally been inches away from becoming roadkill.
Ginger Up Page 8
