Paul turned to our son. "Karen doesn't feel very well. Let's let her rest until dinner." He took the bowl and set it on the night stand and we left Karen alone.
I didn't think she'd come out for the quickly prepared meal, but she took a plate of food without speaking and retreated back to her bedroom. I followed her up but when I heard the click of her lock, I decided to give her more time. Paul and I spent a miserable evening, moping around, putting Timmy to bed, only after he had shouted at Karen's door, "I hope you get better!"
That night, in the privacy of our room, we held each other as closely as we could.
"I never thought I'd strike a child of mine. I was just like my father. I don't know if she'll ever forgive me. I hate myself but then I think back to what she did. God, I was so scared."
"That's what your father did to you?" I asked.
"Often. Too often. I hated the bastard! Now Karen will feel the same way about me."
"No, she won't. We'll talk it out."
"I still hate him. He barely needed an excuse. He'd take off his belt and grab me and I'd fight him like a tiger. I even swung a board at him one time and broke his arm. It didn't do any good. He had this gardener Amos do it for him, double, while he watched."
"God, Paul! Where was your mother?"
"She was as cowed by him like everyone else. That's why I never see them. We just pretend we're family by sending cards and checks when our secretaries say it's appropriate. Now I'm striking my own daughter. Maybe we're destined to follow our parent's example." He turned to me. "See why I'm so willing to let you dictate what happens around here? I have no clue about how to do it right. At least you had a childhood to guide you. I didn't."
I closed my eyes. "I had no right to try and stop you. It wasn't my place, but we both should have taken time and thought this thing through, rationally. You struck her out of anger and she deserved to be prepared for what to expect as consequences of her actions. We've never done that with Karen and Timmy; set rules and punishments."
"What's the next step?" He asked it quietly, as if I were the one who had some idea of what to do.
"I don't know. Tell her how much we love her and that she isn't bad; she simply did something very bad. She has to learn to accept responsibility for her actions."