When I First Met Carina

Sullivan

Robert was getting ready to go for a run in the park near the station. Shift had just ended and he was not in the best mood.

He and Andy had been married for about three days and she was insistent they tell no one. He was ecstatic to be married to this amazing woman, but it was almost like she was embarrassed of him.

He kept trying to convince himself that she was just trying to adjust and that she didn't want to make a big deal about it because there was enough other stuff going on right now at the station. However, he couldn't help but feel like maybe she was already starting to regret her choice to be with him only a few days in.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head as he entered the park, which was essentially empty, heading over to a double bench to stretch in hopes of keeping his CRPS under control. On the far side of the second bench, a woman was sitting there, also dressed in what appeared to be running clothes, talking on the phone.

As he approached, he realized this woman was not speaking English, but rather Italian. He frowned as he listened to her rant to someone on the other end about how they needed to get help, needed to admit they had a problem, that they were worried they were going to hurt someone,. He was blown away by what he was hearing as he continued to stretch. The woman hung up, clearly angry.

"Is everything ok?" he asked in Italian, catching her attention.

"Si," she answered in what was clearly her native tongue, "Everything is fine."

"You know, if someone is hurting you or someone else, it's not really fine," Robert said, raising an eyebrow.

"You were listening to my conversation?" she said, eyes wide as she looked at him, "That is none of your business."

"You were having the conversation in public in front of me," he responded, not understanding why she was so upset, "I am a first responder. Battalion Chief for the Seattle Fire Department. If you are in a dangerous situation, I can help."

"I do not need your help," Carina said, "And I was sitting here first. You came over here where I was sitting. There are plenty of other perfectly good benches in this park."

"You don't own this bench," he said countered, a little shocked his Italian was still this fluent after how long it had been since he had spoken with it, "You know what, I am going to go on my run. If you decide you would like help with the problem you are clearly having, let me know. My office is at Station 19. Feel free to drop by anytime."

"Go to hell," the woman said as he put his headphones in, "I do not need a man to take care of my problems."

He took off, pissed about what had just happened. Why was it that women would not just accept his help when he offered it. He was a good guy, always trying to make sure people were taken care of in the best way he knew how, and with all his experience, he knew better than most. The path he had decided to run was a circular one, only about half of a mile, because he needed to be able to have a quick exit if his CRPS flared.