I let her be and walked over to the living room to watch the news, muting the volume so I could hear Connie and Ruby chattering in the other room. Connie’s good mood was obviously forced, but Ruby didn’t notice, judging by her excited little voice echoing through the whole house as she answered Mummy’s questions. I could hear wild splashing, they were probably playing their favourite water games. They stayed in the bathroom for so long that the water must have turned cold.
“Alright, out of the bath and straight to bed with you. Which story would you like?”
“All of them!”
I laughed quietly. Ruby was impossible when it came to stories. If it was up to her, she would listen to every single one of her children’s books before falling asleep. I usually read her two or three, like Connie told me. You have to set some limits or you’ll never make it out of her room, Dad. But today Connie breached the rules herself. Based on their bickering, she must have read at least six stories. I was almost dozing off when she finally emerged into the hallway.
She mindlessly pottered around the kitchen for a while before she put a few bramboráky on a plate and joined me in the living room. She sat into an armchair but instead of eating, just stared at the plate.
“I swear I didn’t poison them,” I said lightly and hoped it might make her smile.
She sighed. “Actually, I’m not really that hungry.”
“Are you feeling sick again?”
“No, it’s not that,” she answered, but I noticed a slight moment of hesitation there. “It’s just been a hard day at work today and I don’t really have an appetite. I’ll eat it later, sorry.”
She was sitting there completely frozen, except for her fingers fidgeting in her lap.
“You seem a bit off,” I dared to voice my concerns.
She shrugged and waved her hand. “Like I said, a tough day at work. Nothing to worry about.”
“I didn’t mean just today,” I replied. “I meant more like these days… Would you like to talk to someone maybe?”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Sure, to me,” I agreed. “Or maybe a professional.”
She made a face. “I don’t need a psychologist…”
“That’s what I said, too.”
She sighed again and her eyes were clouded by a wave of memories. I didn’t need to be able to read minds to know that we’re both thinking about the day I broke down after my colleague’s tragic work accident. The timing was very unfortunate. I had scared Constance to death.
I’d been feeling especially anxious that day, and since it was Sunday, I needed to somehow fill all those empty hours I’d normally be spending at the sawmill. Wyatt had already made plans with his wife and children, he did invite me to join in but I didn’t want to intrude on a family day out. Then I called Connie and hoped she’d have some time for me. I could have gone fishing, but that would give me too much time to think, and that seemed dangerous.
I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. I listened to the phone ringing and tried to stop the unpleasant memories which were trying to suffocate me.
“Hey Dad!” she said cheerfully. “I was just thinking about you!”
I couldn’t get a single word out and realised with horror that there was something stuck in my throat, and my eyes were stinging. I was going to suggest we spend the day together, I so desperately needed to not be alone. But all it took was hearing Connie’s voice and the constant need to protect others from my own suffering finally broke down. The dam was tearing apart and I couldn’t stop my sobs any longer. Never in my life had I been less in control of myself.
Connie became instantly attentive and her cheerful tone disappeared. “What’s going on? Dad? Dad!”
“Can you come?” I choked out and hated how whiny it sounded. What sort of a man was I, crying like a baby?
“I’ll be right there! Shall I call an ambulance?”
I imagined her shaking and covering her other ear so as not to miss a single syllable.
“No, no! I don’t need doctors, just you…”
“Ruby,” I heard Connie call out before the line went dead, “we’re going to see Grampa!”
In ten minutes there were brakes screeching in front of my house. Connie didn’t even need to admit that she’d been speeding, the drive between our houses normally took a quarter of an hour. She banged on the door with such strength I was worried she’d hurt herself. I opened and she rushed inside with Ruby in her arms, just about managing not to fall over.
“Oh my God, you’re living and breathing. You scared me to death!”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said and broke down crying again. Why was I being so pathetic? Why couldn’t I at least stop these outbursts in the presence of others?
As it turned out, I did in fact need a doctor. I’d thought that the anxiety and nightmares connected to my colleague’s death would just gradually go away, but weeks went past and all my issues were only becoming more frequent and more intense. I even started having panic attacks whenever I heard someone turn on the saw. When I was the one who had to do it, my hand was hanging above the machine lever impossibly long, as if I was about to put it into a crocodile’s mouth. The horrific whistling noise
