Rain tattled on the crumbling asphalt roof of the tumble-down garage where she hid, and cold drops seeped through the weather-worn ceiling lumber.  Bits of gritty roofing tile littered the damp concrete floor and lay like bits of lava stone atop plastic buckets marked "chicken feed," assorted rusty tools and a sundry of buckling cardboard boxes whose contents had long since ceased to enjoy protection from the elements.  Fumes from old motor oil and spoilt gasoline floated between the decaying walls.

Celeste sat Indian style between scattered boxes and wondered if spiders lurked in them, or in the shack's dark corners or in the rafters dripping above her head.  Eighty-two dollars lay crumpled in her wallet - enough, she hoped, for a bus ticket to San Diego where her best friend, Margie, had moved the month before.  When Margie was around, life was better.  Margie's parents liked Celeste, although not enough to take her with them to California, Celeste noted.  But maybe enough to let her stay once she stood on their front porch.  Their home had provided refuge from Celeste's own, where she awoke each morning only to bristle her way through a shower and breakfast before escaping her mother's bogus gaze of concern and Fred's increasingly nettled glances.

"I will never love you," Celeste had mouthed to him as she passed in maid-of-honor regalia, sized down for her 13-year-old frame, and he stood in tux and cummerbund, waiting for Celeste's mother to appear at the head of the aisle.  She'd said it numerous times before, but the first was in response to the first of many of Fred's heart-to-hearts about how he wasn't going to take her mother away, how he wanted to give her a better life, how he sincerely cared about her, and so on.  She didn't mind if her vow hurt his feelings.  She meant it.  Celeste couldn't stop the marriage from happening but did possess the power to crush their dreams of forming a happy, tight-knit family, at least one that included her.

She'd not missed having a father and looked down her nose at the yearnings for paternal warmth that so plagued other girls raised by a single mother.  The partnership she and her mother  formed over the years was satisfying beyond the ideal nuclear family since it allowed her to be an adult, discuss finances and budgeting, make decisions, plan holidays, share chores and enjoy weekend excursions to whatever destination Celeste responsibly chose.  Fred changed everything.  Gone was the three-bedroom apartment that Celeste had painstakingly painted and decorated.  Now a six-bedroom rancher in rural Silver Springs castled her belongings, but not her heart.  Her mother stopped discussing finances with Celeste; Celeste stopping discussing anything with her mother, and outings were now planned by the happy couple. Disney World was next on their list and, as Celeste flicked bits of asphalt tile off her jacket, she thought how good it felt to know that she would escape another day of their toadying, even if it meant missing the 'Twilight Zone Tower of Terror' too.

The last straw was father/daughter night at Fred's country club. Celeste refused to go despite her mother's tearful pleadings and bribes.   Fred didn't get angry.  He simply stated that Celeste would attend, either happily or with a backside scorched by a wooden spoon applied to the bare.  If she didn't behave well during the affair, he wouldn't hesitate to haul her across his knee in the middle of it.  Celeste didn't get angry either.  She went quietly to her room, threw some clothes in a backpack and left through the window.  She hadn't made it to the bus terminal and didn't exactly know where it was.  Town was fifteen miles from the house and she estimated that she had already covered ten.  The dark of night and chilly rain persuaded her to duck into the slender side door of the old garage.  But as the sun rose, the rain abated.  Exhausted, Celeste ventured out of the dilapidated shadows and right into the arms of her stepfather.

"You followed me!" Celeste shrilled.

He didn't answer the accusation.   "Are you ready for your spanking now or do you want to spend a while longer in there?" he asked, pointing at the garage.  Celeste noticed that he looked as tired as she felt.

"I'm not going to let you spank me!"

"Then back you go," he said in a good-natured tone and sent her through the slender doorway with a gentle swat before firmly closing the door.

Celeste stood silent and searched her mind for an escape.  There was no other way out but the big two-car garage door.  It could not be opened silently, provided it worked at all.  She couldn't hope to rush past a man whose daily routine included a ten-mile run.

"You can't make me stay in this nasty place forever!" she yelled.

"Hon, I don't intend to make you stay there forever.  Come on out as soon as you're ready to take the spanking that you've been begging for all these months."

"Have not!" she retorted.

"Ah, I feel guilty for not putting an end to your nonsense sooner.  God bless tender-hearted mothers, but with a strong-will girl, maybe a firm hand will win more peace than gentle words."

Again, Celeste reviewed her options and gravely concluded that she had none.

"I won't come out if you are going to spank me.  If you promise that you won't, I'll come out," Celeste offered in a much softened tone. "Maybe we can talk it out, like adults," she urged.

"Celeste, I have said everything I can think of to get you straightened out and mellowed out.  Talking hasn't worked so far, and you are not an adult anyway.  We can talk after your spanking."

Celeste resumed her position, Indian style on the cold, hard floor. She didn't think she could outwait him - too tired and thirsty and hungry.  And she needed to find a restroom soon.  It occurred to her that Fred had already outlasted her - all night out there, he waited. The various discomforts wore down her resolve, and she began to think about what a spanking would be like.  'How bad could it be?' she thought.  'It would be over in a minute.'  She stood up and looked at the door, but her courage faltered.

"Fred, what exactly are you going to do if I come out now?" Celeste asked, using his name, which was a rare thing.  She generally tried to avoid acknowledging his existence at all.

"I'll break it down for you.  You and I are going to walk over to that tree stump.  I'm going to sit down and you are going to lower your pants before lying across my lap."

Celeste envisioned the scenario and blushed at the picture of her most private parts naked in front of him, her bare-skinned bottom swelling above his lap.  She imaged the sensation of his warm denim jeans against her rain-chilled thighs.

"Then I'm going slap your bare bottom, hard and repeatedly, until your skin turns rosy red and you cry like a little girl."

Her bottom tingled at his words and Celeste wondered how hard he could spank - really hard, she guessed.  She imagined sting, painful heat dished out to her bottom by the palm of his hand and squirmed in response to the fancied hurt.  Celeste tried to remember what it felt like to cry.  She couldn't recall the feeling but knew that the last time was years before when her mom was at work and Celeste's cat had kittens.  There was something wrong with the littlest one.  The mother cat kept pushing the new baby away even though she let the other kittens nurse.  The baby got cold and Celeste held it in cupped hands, close against her chest, trying to keep it warm.  Then the kitten stopped breathing and a tiny drop of blood from its nose stained her Buzz Lightyear shirt.

"And then I'll let you up, pull your pants up and give you a hug if you want one.  We'll have the two-mile walk home to talk about how things are going to different from now on, which will include a prohibition against addressing me by my first name.  From now on you call me Mr. Schultz, or sir, or dad - your choice."

As Celeste listened, tears dampened her eyes.  She grieved the kitten all over again.  She grieved her own vulnerability, abandoned years before like the desolate cardboard boxes that rotted in the dark interior of the cold garage.  Celeste gathered the full measure of her lion-heartedness, knowing that the spanking was the least frightening thing awaiting her.  She took a deep breath.

"I'm coming out now . . . okay . . . Dad?"

"Okay," he softly answered.