I was just about to pass Lucilla’s door when it popped open.“Is dad calling for me?” she asked, her dark-brown hair falling about her tan face. ...ike me, she had that Mediterranean coloring, proof of our Italian heritage. At fourteen, she was cute as a button, her face round, her brown eyes soft.“No, nosy bee!” I said as I darted past. “It’s my package.”I heard what sounded like an annoyed hiss then she slammed her door. I reached the stairs, racing down them, my bare feet smacking in a staccato. I am dressed in a suit and tie, holding onto a very large oak paddle. You look at the paddle in my hand, knowing that I made no attempt to hide it on my walk from the car to your door. The thought that the neighbors saw the paddle and now know what is going to transpire here shortly darts through your mind.I ask you to hold out your arms straight in front of you, palms up. You do so. I lay the paddle across your outstretched arms and tell you to hold it there, in that position until I tell. More

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