Dominant Fireman Daddy by Scott Wylder
CHAPTER TWO
Talia
My nose burns with every gasp and teeth chatter with every gush. I’m just so happy to breathe air again, I cry. Sob actually. I must look like a fool to this man, but I am just so happy.
“I’m going to need you to calm down, Miss.” He says more quietly, but with a sense of certainty. “Just sit her on the bank with me breathe.” I already know that it is better to do what the fireman says. I have not been making good decisions.
After I catch my breath, he asks me some hard questions. I knew as soon as he pulled me out of that canal I would have to answer questions. Avoiding the questions is half the reason I jumped in the first place.
“Now, you’re going to have to tell me how you found yourself going for a swim in this less than pristine canal in the middle of March when it is only 45 degrees outside,” he says. He sounds more like one of those small-town nice cops you see in reruns that are only in black and white. “You see, I have this radio and they are going to wonder why I ran off so quick. I mean I had to leave Roscoe to go on home by himself…”
“Who’s Roscoe?” I inquire in between gulps of air.
“Roscoe is the Firehouse dog. He’s a lab or something, a mutt really, but he’s got a heck of a personality.” He jokes. I smile, almost laugh which seems to help regulate my breathing.
His jacket, still warm from his body, surrounds me like a hug and I warm up fast. His scent calms me. He saved me. I am worth saving.
Once I calm down and my shivers slow. He says “So, here’s the way I’m seeing things. There are three possible scenarios with three possible outcomes.” I stop shivering where I did feel cold, I now feel the burn of embarrassment. “Option one, someone pushed you and I make a call, and a police car shows up.” I cannot breathe or move until he says something else. It seems like an unbearable pause. “Option two, you jumped off on purpose, even if it’s shallow water it is still really cold and maybe you were thinking you may break your neck or something. If you jumped trying to hurt yourself, I am going to have to call in as a suicide attempt.”
“It’s not a suicide.” I say quickly. “It was NOT suicide.” I say as calmly as I can. One cannot hysterically argue for sanity. “I did not do this on purpose. And I know it’s shallow so that is why I dove.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t a suicide,” he says.
“It wasn’t,” I say. I feel caught.
“But then how did you know to dive if you didn’t fall in or jump on purpose. I’m sorry, you “dove” in on purpose. But you somehow know how to dive but not how to swim?” He looks more at the water than at me. Perhaps he thinks less than direct eye contact will be easier for me to tell the truth. It isn’t.
“Diving is easier than swimming.” I say hoping he will believe me.
“No, it’s not.” He doesn’t believe me. “You’ve got to learn how to swim before you know how to dive. And when I rescued you, you sure as hell looked like you did not know how to swim. Hell, you acted like you didn’t know how to stand.”
“I panicked.” I say and shrug. He is not buying it.
“So, you didn’t fall, you didn’t jump, you dove on purpose, but not on purpose?” He asks with his face half turned up like he’s heard a bad joke. The nice cop from the black and white TV show just got cancelled.
“Exactly.” I nod. I am wishing I had a hot cup of cocoa so I would know what to do with my hands. I hide them deeper into his jacket’s pockets.
“What’s it going to be? Do I call for the police, an ambulance, or behavioral health?” He is not playing.
“What if I didn’t mean to jump, I tripped and fell. Then at the last second, my instincts kicked in and my brain told me that the canal was shallow, and it is best to dive as to skim the water, so you don’t go so deep. And then the water was so cold, all I could do is flail around.” I must sound like a crazy person. Run-on sentences just sound like lies. He is not convinced. “It was really cold, Sir.” His half smirk is now on the other side of his face. I’m breaking through. “I promise you, Sir. I am not a threat to myself or others.” I figure I should at least speak his language.
“Are you okay, Chief? Frank?” The radio squawks.
“I’m okay but come by the bridge on Carrolton Ave and pick us up.” He says into the radio on his shoulder.
“Us? Did you say?” The radio asks.
“Yes, two of us. Myself and the vic… and a citizen.” He tells the radio.
“But Sir. That is not procedure?” The radio cautions.
“Chris, she’s fine. Just come and get us, okay?” He requests. “Chris, she’s, a…you know,” he says like the both of them know. “So, come get us.” His request turns to a command.
I shiver not quite sure what was happening or what is next, but at least we are leaving in a vehicle without sirens.
“My name is Frank, by the way.” He outstretches is hand, this time for a shake rather than to save me. “The customary thing to do next is you shake my hand, and you tell me your name.” I blink, not knowing what to do. I feel small. I want a blanket. I want my stuffie. “Come on, I’m not going to report this. It doesn’t seem that I’m going to have to. You have no injuries, so we’ll call it an accident.” I stretch out my hand and shake it without a word. I reach my thumb to my mouth unconsciously, and then put it back into his jacket like I stole something.
“I understand.” He says, “I understand how the world can seem so big and scary when you’re Little.” He looks me in the eye like we both known that was a capital “L” in “Little” means.
I nod. “My name is Talia.” I say and allow my thumb to reach my mouth. He nods and wraps his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay, Talia.” He says with kind eyes and a smooth tone. “I understand, and it’s going to be okay. Daddy’s here.” I snuggle closer.