Caring Fireman Daddy by Scott Wylder
CHAPTER FOUR
Darius
Betsy is quiet all the way home. I don’t turn on the radio. I don’t fill the air with endless chatter. I drive and she watches the world go by in the passenger seat. It starts to rain. The windshield wipers are a welcome distraction.
She breaks the silence. “You know what’s fun sometimes? Watching the water droplets streak sideways across the window like snakes and seeing which one gets the furthest before breaking.”
“Is that so? That does sound like fun, doesn’t it?” A smile comes to my face. I do love having a Little around. They see so much wonder in everyday things. Being a firefighter, I see a lot of tragedy. I’ve seen a lot of burning buildings, a lot of crashed cars, a lot of broken bodies. Having a Little makes me feel like if I can care for one special woman, then I can handle the rest of the big ugly world.
We get to my house on the southside of town. It is way too much house for just me. I bought it when I was first married, and we were going to fill it with kids. My wife decided to get filled by her trainer at the gym instead and they have three kids in Texas now. I just have the four-bedroom house and the mortgage. I got a good deal on it and it’s in a good school district. Maybe someday I can share it with someone special.
Instead of having a deer in headlights look or staring at the floor, Betsy looks around like a star-struck tourist. “Wow, your ceilings are so high,” she says. “You could roller skate round and round the staircase.”
There is a center staircase, and the open concept floor plan would make it possible to roller skate. Especially since it is a little under furnished, to say the least. I have a card table and a few mismatched chairs I found on the side of road in the dining room. The kitchen is just a kitchen. Nothing to write home about. The living room does have one nice couch, long enough to sleep on, I’ve tested. Some people have couches that are just for sitting and not napping. Those people are monsters. I also have a nice leather recliner I like to relax in after a long shift and just watch whatever is on the sports channel until I fall asleep. The squeak of tennis shoes makes the place seem less empty.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any roller skates,” I say. “It’s still early, though, would you like to watch a moving or something?”
“We never did get that s’more,” she says in a not-so-subtle hint.
“I think we may have ice cream.” I go to the freezer and move around the sad frozen dinners that scream “single man” and find the ice cream. “Rocky Road OK?”
“That’s perfect. With the chocolate and the marshmallow swirl, it’s like a s’more only cold.” She seems quite pleased with her deduction.
“I suppose you are right. You are so clever,” I tell her. She beams. She soaks up compliments like dry land soaks up rain.
We eat our ice cream in the living room. She chooses an old movie with a little girl from the early 1900’s who has a positive attitude and sees the bright side of everything. Other Littles like cartoons or princess movies, but Betsy likes the old family movies.
It’s getting late and the issue of sleeping arrangements is approaching. I have a four-bedroom house, but only my room has a bed. One room is an office, another is gym, and the third bedroom is full of junk. I’m a little embarrassed. It is not like I’ve never had a woman over, but she usually just goes straight to the bedroom with me, and she doesn’t stick around. Often her choice, not mine. I don’t want to be that kind of guy anymore.
As the credits roll on our second movie of the night, I turn off the TV and she looks at me like she wonders why I would do such a thing, but doesn’t say anything. She has sprawled out on the couch and gotten quite comfy. I wanted her to cuddle with me, but the most she did was put her feet in my lap. She did let me give her a foot massage. She seemed to enjoy it more than she let on.
“So, look. I only have one bed.” I pause to see if she will volunteer to share. She does nothing but blink her beautiful brown eyes with their long lashes and glitter eye shadow. “So, we have some choices.”
“I can sleep on the couch. I have a sleeping bag,” she offers a solution before I can offer anything else. She seems to have already made up her mind. “I’ll be no trouble. I was just wondering if I could stay up and watch some more movies. We don’t have any streaming services at the apartment and if we did, my roommates would just hog the TV watching something boring.”
I give in immediately. She wanted a sleepover, and by God, she is going to have one. “OK, but you should get ready for bed. I’m sure you brought some jammies. And you probably shouldn’t sleep in your makeup.”
“I know that. I have stuff in my bag.” She gets up and gets what looks like a large, worn book bag. She may be living out of it. She does seem to be prepared for any emergency, kind of like a Girl Scout. If a Girl Scout would need an emergency pair of panties and eye liner.
I show her where the bathroom is on the second floor. “You can get ready for bed, even take a shower if you want. Whatever you need. There are probably hotel soaps and shampoos…”
“Oh, I’ve got those too.” She pulls out a plastic bag of little toiletries that seem to have been swiped from several different hotel chains.
“OK, so you’re set. Let me get you some towels.” I go to the linen closet and get the fluffiest, nicest towels I own; they were a wedding gift. I haven’t used them much, because I think they’re cursed. Maybe if Betsy dries her beautiful body with them, the bad mojo will wipe off.
I come back to the bathroom, and she has taken down her hair out of the ponytail and has some of her makeup already removed with tissue she had in her bag. She looks different, more grounded, but just as beautiful. She looks more like a woman who knows how to survive rather than a Little who wants to be saved. I think I love both.
“I’m a maid,” she says to her reflection in the mirror. She sees me looking at her and smiles. “It is why I have so many different hotel shampoos and stuff. I’m a maid. I clean hotels. I get fired a lot. But hotels always need people, so I go from one hotel to the next, sometimes twice. I’ve worked at the Fairfield Inn by airport three times.”
“That’s impressive,” I say, not knowing what else to say.
“No, it’s not, but it is nice for you to say so,” she says as she continues to remove her makeup. A few more swipes reveal round eyes, cheekbones that are softer and rounder than they were with makeup, and there is even a band of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “So, I’m gonna, you know,” she motions to the bathroom like I’m interrupting, because I am.
“Of course. So, you’re set downstairs on the couch with your sleeping bag. Do you need me to show you how to use the remote?”
“I think I can figure it out, but thank you,” she says. She takes out a brush and combs tangles out of her hair. I hope she will let me brush her hair for her, someday.
“OK then, good night.” I stand too long, hoping for a good-night kiss.
“Good night.” She closes the door.
