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Chapter 3
Blake
With Nan out of commission,it was my job to get Merry's old room ready for her. And it had to be done the way Nan would have done it. Nothing but the best. Fresh sheets, fresh flowers, family photos, girly bath stuff, all that jazz. Nan had given me a long list, and I had followed it to a tee. I had also taken the liberty of making sure the room was fully equipped with the things I anticipated it needed to have.
Merry had an old hope chest in the closet, stuffed with winter blankets and romance novels she hadn't wanted us to know she was reading. Underneath all that were a Dom's essentials—wooden paddle, small cane, condoms, lube, arnica, the works. I wasn't getting ahead of myself, I was just being prepared. Like a boy scout.
At twenty-six, I had been afraid of letting Nan know that I had feelings for Merry. At thirty-one, I was more afraid of not getting the chance to right old wrongs. And I was one to face my fears head on.
We were family, Nan, Slade, Merry and I, whether Merry knew it or not. And if she didn't know, she soon would. Slade had said we had our work cut out for us, not only in convincing Merry to accept our forgiveness, but in convincing her to forgive herself. The idea that she hadn't been able to was breaking my heart in half.
But then, Merry had never been one to forgive anybody, least of all, herself. I guess that's how we had ended up here in the first place. With my hands full of fresh sheets, I sank down onto the full size bed, remembering.
I had just finished painting the old woodshed, and my hands were full of paint and supplies. As I came around to the front of the shed and kicked the door open, every hair on my arm stood on end. "Who's here?"
The only answer was a soft cry. Setting the paint on the shelf, I went to investigate. The shed was small but crowded, with shelves and equipment. The cries continued, and I followed the sound to a bench in the back corner.
Merry sat, looking dejected, hugging her knees, with her hair falling in her face, hiding her tears. Not knowing what to do, I sat next to her.
"Bad day?"
"I lost my temper with her." She spoke without looking up. "I lost my temper and I yelled, and I said mean things. These kids don't need that here. This is supposed to be their safe place. Nan would have never done that. She never loses her temper."
"No, Nan doesn't lose her temper, "I agreed slowly. "But Nan has something you don't."
"What's that? A heart?"
"Really? You have to ask? You're sitting here on the bench, in the woodshed, where I know for a fact Nan tanned your hide plenty of times, and you have to ask what she has that you don't?"
That garnered a chuckle, followed by a new round of tears. "That would make it easier," she wailed.
"What would? If you could take a switch to them?"
She had finally looked up then, revealing a face streaked with crocodile tears and the remnants thereof. "No, if I still had someone to take a switch to me!"
I laughed out loud then, but it was a feeling I could relate to.
"I'm serious!" she cried, as the tears continued to fall. "I can't get rid of this horrible guilt! The more I try, the worse it gets! I keep thinking about every unkind or inpatient word I've ever said to them. Blake, I'm not half as nice to those poor kids as I should be."
"That's unfortunate. That is our job here. Sometimes, our words are the only kind things those kids hear all month. You know this better than anyone, Meredith."
At the use of her given name, she brushed her hair from her eyes and peered up at me. "Why are you calling me that? Nobody calls me Meredith here," she said slowly as the blush crept across her cheeks. "Unless I'm in trouble."
"Well, don't you think you ought to be?" I asked sternly. "If you don't receive a consequence for your actions, you won't be absolved of the guilt or learn from your mistakes and do better in the future."
The look she gave me was one of interest mixed with a high level of suspicion and hope. "Do you really think it would help?"
"Didn't you just say it had helped in the past?" I questioned.
"Are you seriously offering?" she countered.
"Oh, no. I'm not offering. I'm telling you what is going to happen."
I watched as her jaw dropped into a quiet "o" of surprise. I tucked a lone strand of hair behind her ear and wiped another tear from her face with the crook of my finger.
"You need to learn to forgive yourself, baby girl, and you also need to learn the lesson that our job here is to show kindness, forgiveness, and the things these kids aren't getting anywhere else."
She nodded, tearfully, her face full of longing, and I could see that she wanted what I was offering. That's why she had hidden in the woodshed, of all places. The choice was telling.
