Page 2 of Penn

“Yeah, very. I’m gonna go find you a clean towel or washcloth, okay?”

“No okay, I like your shirt, it smells good.”

A grin smears across my face. “You have your sense of smell. That’s a good sign. Not sure how accurate it is, though…” I softly chuckle, “…if you think it smells good.” I can’t let it sit too longon her face before changing it out. I go and dig through my stuff in my tent, finding a clean rag. Back to the river, back to the girl.

“Until I can get you to a hospital, we need to just keep this skin cool and moist.”

“Moist,” she repeats, almost deadpan.

“What.”

“Some people don’t like that word.”

I crack a smirk. “What would you rather I say, wet?”

“Damp?”

“Sodden.”

“Soaked.”

“Not soaked. We definitely don’t want the skin to be soaked.”

“Definitely not,” she says, and this time I know she’s teasing. Her sense of humor at a time like this is astounding to me. If I had just one ounce of it under pressure, I might not need to escape like I do. “There is no good word,” she adds, morosely.

“I’m so sorry.”

Silence falls on us for a blip. And then eventually, I ask, “What’s your name?”

“Hearth.”

Almost seems appropriate. Or inappropriate. “Nice meeting you, Hearth. I’m Penn.”

“Penn?” she asks quizzically. “What’re you like, a writer?”

“I’m a firefighter.”

“We should switch names.” She laughs.

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah. Well kinda. I haven’t published anything.”

“If I’m being honest? I haven’t put any fires out. Not real ones anyway.”

“Well you did save me.”

“I’m also an EMT.”

“Tell me more.”

“You’re a curious thing.”

“Writer, remember?”

“Is this going to end up in a book?”

“I almost just burned my whole face off tonight. OfcourseI have to write aboutthat.”

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