Her responses filled him with pride. They did not, however, seem to afford her the level of assurance he wanted her to have where the upcoming test was concerned.
As the day went on and she met one goal after another, she seemed to become more and more tense. It was a pattern he was becoming familiar with. Success appeared to frighten her, almost to send her emotions into a tailspin.
He began the effort to calm her by referring to the previous day's adventure. The diversion was successful for a little while, but she was back to nervous fidgeting in short order.
He suggested a walk. She refused.
He mentioned a ride. She declined with asperity.
He offered to read her something just for fun. She sneered.
By that point, he could clearly ascertain her stubborn intention to turn a thumbs-down on any plan he presented. It was classic Andee Carlisle, daring him to try to tame her and calm the tempest brewing inside that he was certain was brought on by all her fears about Monday.
So he turned the tables and asked, in the mildest and most reasonable of voices, what she thought she might like to do as a reward for her hard work. He knew he would need to be able to tell himself later that he had attempted every mature approach possible.
Her scorn was palpable. It was her use of the 'f' bomb that sealed her fate as she escalated, in customary Andee fashion, while flinging the question back at him.
She was obviously courting an explosive response. He denied her one.
Instead, he stood up calmly and took a few steps toward the kitchen sink. He rattled the cooking utensils, including the wooden spoon, in their ceramic container and admitted he did it just to watch her squirm. Then he rummaged in the drawer where she kept knives and other such tools. She sat tense with expectation, her back to him, but her head turned to catch any hint of his plan.
"You know, I think I may have been overly optimistic about what an excellent student you've proven yourself to be, Andee," he said in a conversational tone of voice while his hands were busy. "There's no question you know Hamlet coming and going. I imagine you could put every other student in the class to shame. But you don't seem to have learned some other very important lessons. Things like self-control, good manners, and appropriate methods for dealing with stress. You could easily pass for a preschooler in those areas. Well, maybe not a preschooler—after all, you have a much better command of the language, even if it does dip into gutter English at the slightest provocation. Could be you do a better job of mimicking a precocious ten-year-old. You might even be on a level with some middle schoolers."
He held the object he had been shaping with her paring knife up to the light, made a couple more careful passes with the cutting tool, and decided he was satisfied with the finished product. He turned on a stream of water and tested it with one finger until it was warm, letting her wonder about what might happen next.
He washed his hands carefully and wet down the object he had been carving thoroughly, shaping it further between his palms under the warm water.
"Stand up, Andee," he said cheerfully. "Time to pay the piper."
"I don't want to."
"Before this wastes a lot of time for both of us, let me remind you I can finish this job, or I can walk out and leave it half done. You might want to think about where that will put you at this late date. Now, stand up."
"Are you going to hit me?" she whispered.
"I do not have the slightest intention of ever hitting you. I can't imagine doing such a thing."
"But you already did," she protested.
He slipped his hands under her hunched little shoulders and nudged her out of the chair, then turned her to face him.
"I spanked your bottom, and I'll do that again if you need it. Let's not confuse the two. Open your mouth."
He took quick advantage of just such action when she tried to protest the order. Before Andee knew what had happened, he had grasped the back of her neck with one hand and thrust the cleanly carved piece of soap in her mouth with the other, holding it there by force while she tried desperately to spit it out.
"It's nothing but soap. It tastes awful, I know, but it won't hurt you. It will, however, remind you what a nasty, dirty little mouth you have when it suits you. And it will stay in your mouth for exactly ten minutes. The timer starts when I feel I can take my hand away and you will accept your punishment. If you spit it out, we'll do it for twenty. Remember, the countdown only starts when I remove my hand. If you understand me, nod your head."
She did her best to twist away from his grip, but both of them knew that was impossible.
"The sooner you obey me, the sooner it will be over, little girl." He said it in something close to a whisper, very near her ear. It had the curious effect of calming her. After a few moments of breathing rapidly in and out around the repugnant intruder, she seemed to accept her predicament. She nodded carefully and he gradually released his hold on her.
"The soap is punishment for your appalling language. The corner is to give you time to think about a better way to deal with the things that scare you. We're going there now. You're staying; I'm not. Oh, and you'll be doing your contemplating with your jeans and panties down and your hands behind your head. If you are embarrassed, you should be, because you're behavior has been outrageous. You have managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory once again, and I will not allow this to continue. Don't make my job any harder than it has to be, or I may do something even more unpleasant where you are concerned. Now, come with me."
She shrugged off his guiding hand with something he considered perilously close to defiance, but she did follow the sound of his voice directing her to the place he had decided would help her adjust her attitude.
"Put your toes against the wall, your hands behind your head, and lean in until your elbows touch something," he said.
She obeyed until she realized the stance would force her bottom to jut out at an embarrassing angle. Then she tried to inch her feet back so she could keep her body aligned in a single plane. It was a move he anticipated, based on experience with several other corner occupants he had placed in similar circumstances.
"Toes and elbows touching the wall," he reminded her. "If you need help remembering, I'll be happy to assist you as soon as I unbuckle my belt."
She moaned around the soap but quickly assumed the position he had decreed.
"Good girl. Now, I'm going to pull your jeans and panties down and I'll start the timer. I suggest you focus on the reason you're here, because when your time is up, you're going to write me a five-hundred word essay about how your punishment made you feel and what you're going to do to avoid having it happen again. Got it?"
She groaned, but her head bobbed just enough to pass muster with him. "You're on ice so thin I can almost see through it, young lady, so I suggest you dig way down and find some respectful behavior and use it. I'd hate for you to have to stand here with your bare bottom a bright shade of red."
This time her head moved from side to side with far more animation.
Satisfied, he encircled her waist long enough to find the snap and zipper on her jeans, then hooked his thumbs in the two garments covering her plump, pale cheeks and shoved them down.
"Make sure they stay around your knees."
His order made it necessary for her to open her legs slightly while struggling to keep her toes in contact with the wall. When she settled into her new position, he gave her an approving pat on one cool, trembling cheek and turned back toward the kitchen.
"Ten minutes, provided you behave. Your time begins now. Use it well."
*****
Imagining the view she was providing was embarrassing in the extreme. For the first time in a dozen days, Andee was absurdly grateful for the mask covering her eyes. If she had been able to see any part of her body, displayed in such shameful fashion, she was reasonably certain she would have died of mortification. As it was, she could only focus on what her other senses were telling her. A rustle
behind her confirmed her suspicion that Mr. Benjamin had taken a seat with a clear view of her predicament, once he set the timer on the kitchen stove.
At first she was furious and humiliated. The slimy, nasty soap in her mouth was leaking out and trailing down her chin and onto her clothes and the floor. It was either allow that indignity or swallow the mess, and she gagged at the thought.
After what seemed like a good quarter hour, she became aware that her shoulders were aching and sending a commiserating sensation down her spinal column. Her arms, even braced against the wall, felt like lead.
A moment later her tutor announced conversationally, "Two minutes in. Only eight to go. I hope you have the beginning of your essay firmly in mind."
The little stomping motions of frustration she made relieved nothing at all and simply added to her shame when she realized the activity had created a reciprocal jiggling motion in her backside that must be all too evident to her audience of one.
"Andee Carlisle!" he barked.
She interpreted the sound of his voice as a threat and tuned her hearing fearfully for the jingle of his belt buckle. How had she ever entertained more positive reactions related to that implement of correction, she wondered miserably. At the moment, she would do anything imaginable to avoid contact.
*****
He told himself he was doing well, behaving with admirable circumspection. It was a lie, he finally admitted, five minutes into Andee's corner session. He tore his eyes off her delicately curved and enticingly rounded little figure and went to the kitchen to prepare a tall, cool glass of water. It helped, but it wasn't enough. A cold shower was definitely called for, he acknowledged with a wince.
When the stove's timer finally beeped, he felt he might have attained a proper frame of mind for dealing with her. With a deep breath, he returned to the corner and put his hands lightly around the place just above the ridge of her hipbones. She trembled and then seemed to melt into his touch.
"Time's up, provided you think you're past your tantrum."
A question was implied. She took a deep breath and nodded.
"Right. Well, we shall see. The thing about corners is, they are pretty much always available. So, you may take your hands down and pull up your panties and jeans, then I'll take the soap and you may rinse your mouth out."
He stepped back, allowing her space to restore her clothing, and then gently turned her toward him and nudged a folded kitchen towel beneath her chin.
"Spit it out and I'll point you toward the bathroom."
It took her a while. First she made a futile attempt to wash away the bitter taste of the soap. Then she stripped down, scrubbed at the residue that had leaked on her neck and upper chest, and wrapped herself in the fleecy robe hanging on the bathroom door. When she finally emerged and took her seat back at the kitchen table, she was a little the worse for wear physically, but her emotions seemed more under control.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Benjamin. I'll never use that word again."
"I should hope not. But it's all right now. Here's your laptop. Write what you've learned now, while the experience is still fresh on your mind, and have it ready for me in the morning. I'll be here by 8:30. Any questions?"
"No, sir. I'll be a good girl now. But you don't have to go. You could stay while I write and then we could…" Her voice trailed off and her cheeks flooded with rosy color.
"I think you need some time alone to think about today, Andee. You are my good girl, except when you choose not to be, and that is a choice that's entirely up to you. You are the only one who knows what price you need to pay."
Chapter Twelve
Why was it, Andee asked herself as she burrowed back into her futon escape while twilight closed in, that everything Mr. Benjamin said, everything Mr. Benjamin did, reverberated with double meanings? She was mentally exhausted trying to determine exactly what he meant and emotionally taut from working out how to react.
His parting shot haunted her on a lonely Saturday night. What price did she need to pay? She could have answered what she was willing to pay: almost anything that would keep him near her. She could even have practiced brutal honesty and responded to what she ought to pay: whatever penalty he decided upon once he discovered the extent of her faults and failures.
But the needy question brought her full circle to her own motivation, the origin of her deepest fears and desires, and how Mr. Benjamin figured into the equation. If only she could begin by assigning him a role she could be content with and he would agree to fill. Then, perhaps, she could determine what it would all cost her and whether paying the price would, indeed, make the difference she seemed to be perpetually searching for in her life. There were too many variables, though, with Monday's outcome, both academically and medically, being chief among them.
How could he expect her to answer his question when there were so many huge unknowns in her life? It was unfair. No, it was more than that. It was horribly, impossibly and totally unreasonable. Just as his putting her in the corner like a misbehaving little girl and subjecting her to that horrible bar of soap had been completely uncalled for. He should have known she just wanted to be scolded, or spanked, she thought, unable to deny the desires that had teamed up with her fears to drive her to that point. Then there should have been a hug. How could he have left without hugging her and telling her it was all right? What made her so totally unacceptable that he could deny her that comfort after he had punished her so severely? What had happened to alter the script she was coming to depend on? Why had he left her in this turmoil? Why couldn't he love her the way she—
But that road was one she could not bring herself go down. So she slept little that night, although she seemed to dream much. Those dark visions left her with an impression of such loss, even though she could recall no specific details, that she wept when she remembered them just as a new day, full of promise she could not see, came to light.
*****
It had been a long night for Nick.
Leaving Andee alone in the misery she attempted to hide behind her penitential stance had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. He hoped he was right in his assumption that offering her comfort and company would only have given her an opportunity to evade the truths she needed to face before she could meet Monday's challenges head on.
He sat on his porch swing, a place he had been occupying for too many sleepless hours, as the Sunday sun came up. It brought him hope and comfort, at first. Then it seemed to impart an overwhelming sadness and dread as he realized Andee might never see one like it again.
She was going to ace her exam, he thought, provided her private demons gave her permission to reward, instead of to punish, herself. What she would do once the medical verdict was delivered was a mystery, however.
If she walked out of the office knowing hers would always be a world of shadow or pit-like darkness, would she want him to guide her through it, or would she need to make a clean break with her past in order to make a totally new start with someone else's help? If she emerged able to see the world, would she be ready to embrace his reality, or would she be expecting some youthful celebratory companion whose attributes he could not possibly match?
How many times had he stared into his bathroom mirror the last few days, wondering each time what Andee would see? Would the crisp gray at temples that had once been shadowed by errant locks of dark brown hair dismay her? Was it possible the marks etched by living around his wide mouth and soft brown eyes or the jaw line softened just slightly through the years would be so at odds with her image of him that she would turn away in disappointment?
His back was still straight, his arms and legs more strong and muscled than many men half his age, his glutes relatively tight, his abdominals amazingly firm. He was more than an acceptable specimen of manhood at his age. But he was still a man his age. And whatever image Andee had been responding to in her mind, he knew, might cause her to retreat when she was faced with reality.
It was entirely possib
le his journey with Andee was drawing to a close. What his mind told him about traveling the final few miles and what his heart whispered about the passage were two entirely different things, a fact that was further complicated by the unknowns on the other side of midnight.
Andee held all the answers, but he had no idea how she would need to make him draw them out of her.
He wished he were a praying man.
*****
By mid-morning, Andee had decided to try to shake off the dreams that still darkened her world and put on her happy girl face. Nick had decided to reward her obvious effort, finding a lift for his own mood in the process.
They spoke of only the most inconsequential topics as he picked her up and drove twenty miles beyond the city limits to a place that was important in his life. It was the land his great-great-grandparents had claimed in 1867, when they finally gave up on recovering from the war in Tennessee and headed west. He had never taken anyone there before, except Lori, who had failed to appreciate what it meant.
It was a little cooler in this higher elevation than in the city. He was glad he had thought to bring along his blue long-sleeved T-shirt so Andee could pull it on over the summertime top she had chosen. It matched perfectly the blue yoga pants she was so fond of wearing.
She stood near the hip-high stone wall where he had encouraged her to wait, while he unloaded the car, and let her senses feast.
"Where are we this time?" she asked.
"It used to be a farm. My ancestors homesteaded it, but it's been years since anyone lived here or worked the land. My grandfather tried to keep the little orchard going, but he had to give it up after he broke his hip. The rest of the family never had much interest in the place, but I've always loved it. It's my good weather retreat. There's no shelter, so it's not a place you'd want to come when it's cold or rainy, unless you want to just park and sit in the car or put on your martyr's boots and tramp around."
He spread a ragged quilt on the grass at the edge of the thirty or so trees that still marched away to the north in orderly rows. Half again as many had once occupied the space as well, he knew from inspecting the orchard and hearing its history from his grandfather as a six-year-old.
Reading Her Heart Page 12
