Love Heals

by Dinah McLeod

  I couldn't help but grin when I opened the door and saw Rosa herself looking back at me, a smile wreathing her wrinkled face when she recognized me.

  "Well, look who it is," she said, bustling around the counter to greet me. "Where have you been, Mia?"

  "Rosa, I'm almost forty years old, please stop calling me that!" But I was laughing all the same.

  "You'll always be my Mia," she told me as she pinched my cheek. She might be seventy-six years old, but her strength hadn't diminished one iota. The pinch hurt just as much as it had when I had been eight. "It's been so long!"

  "I've…been busy."

  "Oh, you don't have to tell me! I know, I still see your mama every day. She's always talking about how busy you are."

  I winced—it was a thinly veiled rebuke and we both knew it. "I'm sorry."

  "Well, you're here now. Tell me all about your busy life. You know, in my day what kept a woman busy was her family. A husband and some babies, yeah?"

  "I'm working on it." This conversation was becoming downright painful and I was beginning to wonder if even a good, home-cooked meal was worth the interrogation.

  "Well—"

  Just then, the bell over the door tinkled and we both turned to look. To my relief, it was Jack, wearing an expression that bordered on pure terror.

  "She hasn't redecorated in twenty years," I called out, relief washing over me at the sight of him. "I had that same look when I saw the place for the first time, too."

  "Oh, hush," she scolded as she smacked my arm. "He's cute, Mia," she whispered loudly before making her way back to the register. She stopped to pat Jack's arm for a moment before walking around the counter, which didn't do anything to ease his shell-shocked expression.

  "Come on, I've got us a booth." I nodded to the one in back before walking toward it.

  In no time Jack was sliding across from me, his eyes wide behind his square-rimmed glasses. "I don't mean to be rude, Ms. D—ah, Karen, but, uh, is my car safe outside?"

  "Relax." I gave him a grin. "You've got insurance, right?" He sent a panicked look at the door which made me burst out laughing. I didn't have the heart to tell him that no one wanted his beat up '97 Saab. "It'll be fine. Promise. Scouts honor, even."

  He looked marginally reassured and picked up a greasy, plastic coated menu, probably more to have something to do than to look at the food. "You were a girl scout?"

  My grin grew. I'd been right, Jack really was too easy, but now that I wasn't his boss I found it more humorous than annoying. "No. Try the fajitas, they're amazing."

  "Thanks. How do you know about this place?"

  For a fraction of a second, I tensed. I never discussed my personal life with employees. Jack had worked for me for six years and I'd never so much as told him the name of my pet dog. Not that I had one, but if I did, he wouldn't know it. I didn't believe in making friends with coworkers, particularly subordinates. But that wasn't what he was now, was it? We were just Jack and Karen, two people having lunch. What was the harm? "I used to live around here."

  If he was surprised, he hid it well. "That wasn't your mom, was it? I feel bad I didn't introduce myself."

  "No, she's not my mom. My mom isn't far from here though."

  "You ever come here with Brandon?"

  I was a bit taken back by the question—this friend thing was going to take some getting used to. "No."

  "I guess your mom probably likes to cook."

  I furrowed my brow. I didn't see what one had to do with the other.

  Just then, Jack looked up from the menu and met my eyes. He tilted his head a bit to the side. "He has met your mom, right?"

  "Ah…no, actually." Why was admitting that so hard? Why did the acknowledgement make me squirm? So what if he'd never met my parents. That didn't really mean anything.

  "Oh, I thought you two had been together for a while."

  "Ten weeks."

  "Oh," he said again before turning his attention back to his menu.

  I sat on my hands, bouncing my foot under the table and waiting for him to say what he had to say. The problem was he didn't seem interested in saying anything. He had to look up from that menu sometime, right? It wasn't even that interesting. "Well?"

  He seemed taken aback by my impatient tone and I regretted it immediately. "Well what?"

  I cleared my voice and made an effort to soften my voice. "It's just, you said it like it meant something. 'Oh,'" I said, echoing his emphasis.

  "Are you feeling okay, Karen?"

  Jesus, why did everyone keep asking me that? "Why, do I look feverish to you?" God, could I say anything without coming across like a bitch?

  "No…" He trailed off uncertainly and I could have kicked myself. I knew he was probably regretting having come to meet me at all. I would be, if I were him.

  "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean it like that. I'm okay, just…" He stared back at me silently and I took a deep breath, preparing myself to open up. It wasn't easy for me, but I figured I owed him. "Brandon and I are sort of…taking a break." I winced when I echoed his words and prayed for the fiftieth time that day that that was what it was.

  "I'm sorry, Karen. I know that can't be easy."

  I gave him a tight lipped smile. "I don't have anyone to blame but myself." It looked like my admission had embarrassed him, because Jack went back to studying the menu. "I lied to him about being let go," I confided. "I also just told him that…" I took a deep, quavering breath and willed myself not to cry.

  "You don't have to—"

  "That I kissed Mark Patterson."

  Jack dropped the menu back on the table and stared at me agog for a full minute before he spoke. "I thought…I guess I just assumed…"

  "That he lied?" I guessed, my voice thick with emotion. "Well, he didn't. Not this time, anyway. And the worst part is, I only told him after Mark had beat me to it."

  Jack slumped back in the booth and whistled. "Damn, girl."

  In spite of myself, I had to giggle. "Where did that come from?"

  "Hey, I thought we were past all that employer-employee stuff."

  "We are," I assured him, reaching over to pat his hand. "And you know what? I'm glad."

  "So, what are you going to do about Brandon?"

  "I don't know," I sighed. "What can I do? If he doesn't want to see me, I can't make him."

  "Huh." He reached over and grabbed his sweaty glass of water and took a deep gulp.

  I was pretty sure it had more to do with avoiding commenting than actual thirst. "Is anyone going to take our order?" I grumbled, mostly to myself as I looked around the restaurant. It was nearly empty, but Rosa's got more business for breakfast and the after work crowd.

  "I'm comin', Mia!" she shouted as though she'd heard me.

  "Why does she call you that? Is it a middle name?"

  He sure did like to get personal, I noted, flicking my gaze at him. It was better than talking about Brandon and all the ways I'd screwed up my relationship, I guessed. "When I was growing up, I learned English before learning Spanish. Well, Rosa found that appalling, so every time we came in she took me aside and tried to teach me. When I was young, oh, about five, I guess, I used to say 'mia' instead of mina. It's the Spanish word for 'mine'. Anyway, Rosa thought it was cute, so that's what she calls me."

  "No, I call you that because you're mine," Rosa intoned as she walked up. "Now, what are you hungry for?"

  "We'll both take your steak enchiladas, Rosa." She might nag as bad as a mother, but she always made me smile.

  "So…you're really not going to try to talk to him?"

  "Sure, why not?" I grinned sardonically. "What else could I possibly say to make it worse?"

  "You could try telling him the truth."

  "That's what I did, Jack. Look where it got me."

  He shook his head with a sigh. "Well, I'm sorry. I wasn't the only one who noticed how happy he made you."

  I winced—the loss of him still prickled and I had a feeling it would be a long t
ime before that stopped.

  "I guess it makes sense, though."

  I looked up sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing. Just that you always do what you have to do for work, right? You always have, it's just who you are." He said it nonchalantly, but as the words reached me, I froze.

  He was right. I always did what I had to do. "Jack, I'm sorry, could you excuse me?" I leapt to my feet and reached for my purse. "I'll make it up to you, promise, and lunch is on me."

  "No, I've got this one. Let me know how it turns out."

  I tossed him a grateful smile over my shoulder before I fled the restaurant.

  Chapter 6

  This time I didn't need anyone to show me the way to Brandon's classroom. I had a great memory, and besides, I was a woman on a mission. I didn't even hesitate to knock on the door, even in spite of the full classroom I saw. Nor did I wait for him to let me in—I had a hunch he just might ignore me and I couldn't risk that.

  "Karen, what—"

  "I need to talk to you," I said, ignoring the stares of his students.

  "This is not the time or the place. I'm in the middle of—"

  "So I see. Can't you have them read quietly or something?"

  His blue eyes narrowed and my heart skipped a beat. Damn, he was so good-looking he even made annoyance look breath-taking. "No, I cannot. I am their teacher. Now, I have to ask you to leave."

  My heart sank. He really wasn't going to talk to me, after I'd come all this way? But I just had to tell him how I felt, I had to apologize. I had to find some way to make him listen. If he sent me on my way now, maybe I wouldn't be able to work up the courage next time. As I took in his stiff posture, I was struck with an idea. Maybe there was a way. "I'm not going anywhere." I said it with a saucy toss of my hair and was gratified to hear the snickers behind me.

  Brandon's eyes narrowed into slits and I saw him flex his hands into fists.

  "Let her stay, Mr. F! She can sit next to me!"

  I smothered my grin as Brandon's neck reddened. It would work. It had to…

  "Karen," his voice was a controlled but warning growl, "I'm not going to ask you again."

  "You didn't ask at all." I gave him my sweetest, brattiest smile.

  "No, she didn't!" I heard from behind me.

  "That's enough," Brandon snapped at the offending student, taking his eyes off me for only a second. When he gave me his attention once more, his expression was so stern that my thighs began to tremble with a strange mixture of trepidation and excitement. "Have it your way. You can sit at the back of the classroom, but I don't want to hear one peep out of you, do I make myself clear?"

  As embarrassing as it was to be chastised in front of a roomful of students, I felt a thrill of victory. He wasn't sending me away! He was going to talk to me and I'd explain, I'd do whatever I had to in order to convince him. At least now I had a chance which was more than I'd had ten minutes ago. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it would have to do.

  The class passed remarkably quickly as I rehearsed what I was going to say over and over again in my head. I still hadn't completely worked it out when the bell rang and the students scrambled to their feet. Some passed quick looks my way while others giggled as they passed Brandon. He stood at the head of the classroom, hands on his hips as they filed out. I didn't have to look at him to know his eyes were on me—I could feel the burning stare on the top of my head.

  I kept my eyes on my folded hands even as I heard him walk to the door. He closed it and I heard the lock click.

  "It's my planning period. But then, I suppose you knew that."

  Though he spoke quietly, without malice, I still winced. The steady flow of love I'd always heard when he spoke was covered with disappointment and fury. I could hear it, but worse still, I could feel it. "I…I didn't. I just had to come, to tell you…"

  "Come to the desk, please."

  My eyes snapped to his face at last and I could see two things right off the bat: one, that he was serious and two, that it wouldn't be good for me. Still, I obeyed, walking toward him on shaky legs. When I reached the front of the classroom, I caught a whiff of the cologne I'd bought him for his birthday. It made me happy and sad all at once. Maybe when things were resolved between us I could settle on one emotion at a time instead of the whirlwind they were lately.

  "Bend over the desk, please."

  I could see by the hard set to his mouth that he wasn't kidding, but still, I hesitated. "Brandon, what if someone—"

  "I locked the door."

  I licked my lips nervously. "I know, but…couldn't someone still look in and see?"

  "Yes, they could," he replied evenly. "But if you can disrespect me like that in front of my students, you can't really expect me to be too concerned about that."

  My face flamed. I'd wanted to make him mad—just mad enough to talk to me. Even though I knew he'd spank me first, I hadn't expected the lecture to sting so much. "I'm sorry, Brandon, I—"

  He held up a hand. "I get it. You were doing what you needed to in order to get what you wanted. That's just who you are."

  I drew my breath in sharply. Damn, that hurt. I knew he hadn't meant it to, which almost made it worse.

  "Desk."

  I took two steps forward and laid myself over his desk, putting my feet together and pushing my bottom toward him as my cheek lay on the cool wood.

  "Is this what you had in mind when you came barging in here?"

  His voice had softened a little and I relaxed. "No, Sir."

  He'd walked around the desk and I saw him pick up a long wooden pointer leaning against the wall. When he turned toward me with it in hand, I gasped and sprang to my feet.

  "Brandon, you can't—"

  "Bend over the desk." He'd never sounded so formidable and I obeyed without another word. Once I was back in place he began to walk around the desk. "You wanted to talk, so fine, we'll talk. But first, you're going to get spanked for disrespecting me. Don't you dare reach back here or try to stop me or you'll take the rest of your punishment on the bare. Are we clear?" He emphasized his point by tapping me on the bottom.

  I grimaced, already imagining the burning line of fire that thing would ignite in my tender cheeks. "Yes, Sir. Brandon?"

  "Yes, Karen?"

  "I really am sorry. That didn't go the way I planned."

  "I'm sure the irony of that isn't lost on you, either."

  Before I could reply, I heard the pointer cut through the air. The first strike landed hard across my offered bottom and I let out a guttural cry, kicking my foot up reflexively. I quickly set it back down, breathing in sharply as my bottom burned. The next followed after a brief pause and I gasped for air. Thinking about what it would feel like on a bare bottom made me shudder. Each and every stroke felt like a nest of angry, stinging bees across my bottom. I quickly lost count of the strokes—I didn't know how many it would take to absolve me, anyway—and instead focused on the searing pain. It didn't take many before tears were pouring down my cheeks; it had as much to do with the last couple of days as it did the burn of the pointer.

  "You're doing so well, Karen. Just a few more."

  His praise lifted my heart as much as a caress would have done. He was talking to me like he loved me, which seemed impossible considering. Impossible or not, it gave me hope.

  The next stroke landed across my sit spot and I couldn't contain the yelp that emerged from my open mouth. "Ow!" I exclaimed, leaping to my feet, my hands shooting toward my injured bottom.

  "Karen."

  I whirled to face him, eyes wide when I realized what I had done. "Brandon, please, no. I'm sorry, it was an accident."

  "I know that, sweetheart."

  Had he just—did he say—?

  "Bend back over the desk. You'll have to take these last three without your panties."

  I was crying anew as I resumed my position over the desk. As wonderful as it felt to be touched by him, I wished with every fiber in my being that
it was for a different reason. I tensed and stayed that way as he draped my dress over my back to reveal my panties. I hadn't even worn pretty ones, not that I'd thought there was a chance of him seeing them when I woke up this morning. Was it just me, or had he taken a little longer than was necessary to skim them down to my ankles?

  "Be still for me, okay?"

  "I'll try," I whimpered, closing my eyes tightly as though it would do something for the pain I knew was coming. I heard the stroke before I felt it—when it landed, I bit back a shriek. My skin felt scalded and as the pain registered, it only seemed to get worse. Brandon let me feel the full effect of the burning before whipping it through the air once more. This time, I couldn't stop the yowl that tore through my lips as he placed a stroke right across my tender sit spot.

  "Shh, shh. You're doing so good. Last one, okay?"

  I couldn't speak. Tears were streaming down my face faster than I could blink them away so I merely nodded. The last stroke was the worst by far, landing hard over all the previously spanked skin. To my credit, I gripped the sides of the desk tightly and managed to hang on, even when the swat pushed me up on my tiptoes.

  "You may get up now."

  I'd only just stood when I stumbled right into Brandon's waiting arms. It felt so good to be in his arms again, it almost made me forget my throbbing behind. "I'm so sorry," I sobbed into his chest over and over again.

  "Shh. It's okay. It's all right now. Take a minute to calm down."

  "I really am, p-pl-ease be-lieve me."

  "I believe you, Karen. It's over now, okay? You've been punished."

  I pulled back, still sobbing. "N-not for that. For…for everything. Can you f-forgive me?" He didn't answer right away and I started crying harder. "Brandon, please…I can- can't be without you."

  "We'll talk in a minute, when you're calmed down and not before. Understand?"

  I nodded and let myself be pulled back into his arms. I laid my head on his chest and let the tears come. I sobbed quietly into his shirt and enjoyed the feel of his hand rubbing my back as he shushed me. When I could finally speak without sobbing, I wiped my eyes and pulled away.