“Hi, Mr. Hicks!” She’d reverted to my surname after a stern admonishment from her mother.Sia said, “I did ask. Mrs. Sanderson said it was okay...”With a sigh of frustration, I clarified. “I meant ask me.”Sia leaned back from the hug and studied my face. “You always say yes. Why would I ask you?”“Because ... maybe I’d say no?”“You mean Jasmin can’t stay?”“Of course she can stay.”With a grin, my daughter let me go and returned to the couch. “See? You always say yes.”Shaking my head, I went to. Well, she had agreed to do anything, so... He led her to sit in a large, square wooden arm chair, likea throne or an electric chair. Her feet dangled, and the hard,flat wooden seat pressed the backs of her thighs and her bottom. The pressure forced the inserts a little deeper, but that didn'thurt. Swiftly, he taped her forearms to the arms of the chair, probably with duct tape. By moving her shoulders, she couldrelieve the pressure of the seat a little bit, but it wasn'tworth the. More

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