We're big on planning today, and light on work. Mostly because we're preparing for when Al does his year-end shutdown and maintenance. It's a big job, so the first task is to break it down into smaller jobs, and give those priorities. Like needing to rebuild a pneumatic circuit because somebody crashed into it with a forklift two months ago—but it still worked with some emergency repairs, so they left it. Or the drive chains for the massive carpet rollers. Bearing replacements for those too. And all that's before we get to some of the structural things we have to mod on a couple of the tufting machines—things that pull the loops of thread up through the carpet—which are fascinating to see at work, but which also need some heavy duty frames for holding giant drums of that thread.
Speaking of those giant drums, we might be needing to make some replacements for those too; just waiting on some parts. Hardest part is probably going to be doing the reinforcing bands around the outside of the endcaps. The endcaps are actually something like a 60mm plywood sandwich. They have to be custom made from two sheets apparently. I wondered about using plastic, but there's a one word answer why they don't: Forklifts. These drums—beams, they call them—wind up with something like ten kilometres of yarn on them. They weigh in around half a tonne, apparently, so forklifts are the only real way to move them around—and I've seen how those guys drive.
That's something that might keep us going through the January lull. The old, damaged drums can be rotated out and new ones rotated in during normal work. This stuff on the table now—including a lot of reference pictures we were allowed to take—is a lot more urgent, and can't be done during normal operations. So the top priority, as always, is the bearing checks and replacements. We'll need to get those drive chains off anyway, so while we do that, we'll go deeper into these machines and work on the bearings as well. And any travel mechanisms. Then, after we've cleared that, it's on to the structural work. It's only a couple of machines—the oldest ones, as always—that need mods, but it's still better to do it now, when no one else except the site engineers will be able to get in the way. Lastly, once we square that away, it's working on the pneumatic system.
Just looking at it, even itemised as it is, it's a daunting list. The sheer number of bearings will also present something of a problem. Luckily, we've got a solid three weeks to do it in. Actually, Al gave us four, but something else always comes up, or a job is bigger than we thought, or something goes wrong, and cascades through our timeline, so that's a buffer for us. Oh, and it counts for those times the site engineers will need gophers or helpers, or some other bit of work from us.
I'll admit that we don't often do meetings like this—at least, not so formal. Normally it's just a quick chat over lunch, or a priority list at the start of the day. It's worked pretty well for the nearly twenty years I've been here. But like I've said in the past, we're a small company, we don't need big meetings and team building exercises and all that crap. We get a job, and we do it. Someone hands us a problem, we solve it—so long as said problem involves broken machinery of some kind, or installing safety gear.
For the rest of the day, I'm helping Maurice as we work on a pack-out list for Al's job. We're just gonna take everything there, and leave it in their tool store—properly labelled, of course. We don't have to worry about any speciality tools because they've got them all, custom made and otherwise bodged together. Thinking of that brings back a very old memory, a time I'd just started working, and needed to work in a very long, hard to access, horizontally mounted drum for growing salad something-or-others in. Spray nozzles were mounted at intervals, but trying to get in to do the last two was kind of impossible.
…until Kristoff showed me his 'magical spanner lengthener'.
Which was nothing more than a long piece of steel bar with an old spanner welded to the end of it. It was a great joke, but it also made the job a lot easier—especially considering there were thirty-odd drums to replace those old spray nozzles in.
By the end of the day I'm pretty exhausted, but we're ready to go, some time next week. Al still has one last order to fill for the year, and can't exactly say when they can shut down, except that it'll be before next Friday. It's a surprisingly quiet drive home. I spend a lot of it slightly spaced out—we've done a lot of organisation and brain work today, so I need to recharge. It's different to more physically demanding days, cutting and welding stuff; or days with lots of work and moving around on site. Those days make me tired, but my mind is fine. Brain work days, it's more like I've still got all the energy, and just don't know how to direct it.
"Recharging?" Kristoff asks me when we make it home. I just nod in reply. "Take a nap if you need it, me and Joan can handle dinner."
"A nap?" I turn just enough to give him a look.
"Doctor's orders." Damn it, he knows how much I hate it. And also, how right he probably is. I do feel tired, or maybe a little groggy, but having all this energy…
"Or just relax for a bit before dinner if you can't sleep." He gives me a knowing wink. "We'll stay downstairs and be quiet for you."
Tempting, but… not right now. I head upstairs as he calls for Joan. Just some music, and then I throw myself onto the bed. Sometimes, thinking about nothing is hard. Part of me is still working out the plans, trying to cover everything we might have missed. I let my mind just wander—not blank, just without purpose. And I remember a time we walked through the woods, later in your treatment, trying to get lost. One of your better days. I'm glad no one found us. Or heard us. I giggle a bit at the memory of the snacks we'd brought, and the damage our… energetic… encounter inflicted on them. I especially remember that mangled chocolate bar, held in highly suggestive places.
There's stuff I wish I could tell Joan, but sharing details about our sex life with our daughter isn't really appropriate. She's only fifteen—and a half, as she keeps insisting—and probably not ready to learn about everything like that yet. Even though I know her and Tina have slept together, and I really hope you would approve of them. And just how much I wish you could see her growing up, with the best of all three of us.
It's then I realise, in my ramblings, that I've only really told Joan about the best of me and Elsa. Hardly anything about our failures. At least, not significant ones. I mean, we didn't have many, but I should probably still talk about some of them—and how we supported each other through them. I'm trying to think of a good example, but right now, there's nothing off the top of my head. Maybe therapy, and what you told me about your treatment schedule—but that wasn't really a failure, just unlucky. I don't know—I feel like we didn't fail very often. Or maybe it's that we didn't fail on huge things? I'm trying to think of something that either of us put our all into, and couldn't do.
Of course it's then that I realise what I've been doing. It wasn't any kind of failure, but the amount of effort, and time, and love we gave each other. I know that when we get towards the end of our story, Joan's going to feel it. Perhaps too much. But we're both kind of in too deep. She wants to know all about us, and I can't stop telling this story. Now I really do want to take that nap. I brush away some tears and roll over. I remember something else doctor Spiros told me, after I tried to kill myself—after you'd gone. Something I hadn't even thought about then. 'Grief is love that has nowhere to go'.
So, dinner was nice. We had lasagna, and then pancakes with whipped cream for dessert. Joan said all the sugar was to help reboot my brain. I know she just wanted a big dessert. Neither me or Kristoff bothered to call her out on it. Mostly because we all knew, and plus… pancakes. I'm not going to argue with pancakes. Not with that amount of cream on them, anyway. Of course, this has led to a slight problem—right now, both me and Joan are somewhere between food coma and sugar crash while we lie under some blankets on the couch.
"So—" and I have to stifle a yawn "—I told you I had therapy the next day, right?"
"Yeah, I think so," she's frowning at me, trying to recall. "No idea where to start, you said?"
—∞—
I thought riding to Styx would get easier. This was the third time, and I knew the route well. I was tempted to stop at a little cafe along the way. Maybe grab something from a bakery. Even 'accidentally' take a wrong turn and wind up somewhere else. I wished Elsa could have been with me, just to give me some of that quiet strength that seemed to hold her up despite everything. I really envied her for that. Among one or two other things. Which simply reminded me of yet another thing I was avoiding talking about. Which was also why I needed to get there on time, and be honest—at least, as honest as I could be.
Doctor Spiros was out the front again, talking to the woman from last time. Her hair was longer, and now mixed pink and purple streaks—actually done really well. Spiros seemed to be commenting on it, running a hand through his own spiked up hair. The blue there was a little bolder this time. He waved to me as I parked the bike. I gave a nervous little wave back. Out here—outside his office—I still didn't feel quite right. I ducked inside, pulling off my helmet and gloves. It was much warmer—warm enough that I unzipped my jacket to try and cool down.
"Miss Christian?" Spiros gestured to me as he entered. "If you'd follow me, I believe we can turn down the heating in my office."
"Or I could just take the jacket off," I stood slowly, following him. "I didn't want to leave it out here."
"As you wish."
His office was the same, with lights once again slowly cycling through various colours. I draped my jacket over one arm of the largest couch, then sat back against the other side. I saw him collecting his notepad, and a much shinier pen than usual. He must have noticed my sudden interest.
"A gift, from Percy. She had it engraved," he held it out for me to inspect. 'May our love ever grow' There was a stylised tree around half of the pen. The rest looked to be polished metal.
I handed the pen back. "It's a nice pen." I didn't know what else to say.
"Well then, miss Christian, would you like to begin where we last left off?"
"The grounding thing?"
"Yes," I could see a slight smile. "Has it helped at all?"
"A couple of times," I nodded, craning my neck to stare at the ceiling. "It's useful."
"You also mentioned that there were things you were unable to talk about—has anything changed with those."
"Sort of, maybe," I waved my hands about. "I might be able to talk about it. But… I think it's something about questions?"
"Asking the right questions?" His voice wasn't quite questioning, but it wasn't a flat statement either. "Or perhaps asking in the right way?"
I gave it a moment's thought, humming to myself. "Something like that."
"What do you think I should ask about first?" Doctor Spiros's voice was low, almost conspiratorial. "Remember, you are the one in control here."
"I don't know." I spread my hands, sitting up to face him. "I just… don't." I gave him a pleading look. "It's all so tangled up."
"Then perhaps we should go back to what started it—what were you feeling when you knew this was a problem?"
"El—A little frisky. Or a lot."
"What happened after?"
"I was on the floor, or she was. And all tangled up because I was panicked and felt trapped and scared and then she calmed me, but I was afraid I couldn't talk about it and now I am it's all coming out and it's not her fault, not that time, and not the other night. But my ex, he forced me to do things, but she—she never would, and I know that, but like I also don't, and my mind can't get it right, so I try to fight, or run away, and it's stupid, and right now we're both a little desperate and I want to—so, so much—but I'm afraid of it being like it was with him, even though I'm pretty sure she knows not to push too hard and even though I probably have no idea what I'm—not with another woman, anyway—and then part of me is scared that if even it's good I'll be afraid because of that bastard and I don't know how to tell her that, and that none of this is her fault, but then I feel like it's all mine and I'm a massive failure as her girlfriend because we're missing a big part of everything and—"
"Miss Christian?" I blinked, staring blankly at Doctor Spiros. "Anna?"
I let out an overly long breath, looking far too intently at the carpet. "Thank you."
"I would like to ask some questions about your ex; is this okay?"
"Yeah," I nodded. I managed to meet his eyes. "Yes, you can ask about Hans."
"We had already established that he was abusive towards you—physically violent. He was also controlling, emotionally," I nodded, not sure where he was going by stating these things. "Now I have learned that he was also violent towards you, sexually—"
"Not violent," I swallowed hard. "Not often. But he would force me to. Threats."
"Rape in marriage is still a serious crime," Doctor Spiros gave me a very serious look. "Your friends were not concerned?"
"I didn't really have any. Hans tried to make sure of it. I had to be a good wife for him. Or else."
"You mentioned a Kristoff, in an earlier session, and in your note. Your emergency contact, correct?"
"Right," a little smile tugged at my lips. "Boss, too."
"You had told Kristoff of some of the abuse you suffered?"
"It was too hard to hide it," I looked away again. "But Hans was a cop, and high up. And so damned good at lying it was scary."
"And who is now in jail for attempted murder."
"I guess it makes me feel a bit safer."
"I have a harder question now," Doctor Spiros was looking earnestly at me. "It might be more emotional, or it might be because you can't narrow it down, and that's okay."
"I'll try."
"Good. Now, what do you think broke the cycle of abuse?"
"Oh," I couldn't help what was probably a very inappropriate laugh. "That's easy. I hit Elsa with my bike."
"What?" I have no idea how he managed to have such a flat expression.
"She stepped into traffic to kill herself, but I couldn't react fast enough. A truck had already swerved, and I was next in line. Hans laid into me for that—one time I felt like I deserved to be punished—and demanded I go back to apologise. So I did. And it was weird because she was disappointed. I didn't understand. So I kept going back. To figure it out. To have her accept my apology. And somehow, she saw, and cared for me. She was the one that urged me to see you—well, to get therapy, I didn't know it would be you. But some things are still all twisted up, and I don't know why, which I guess is why I'm here."
"It is, miss Christian," there was a pause as he scribbled another quick note. "And I'm here to help you."
"It'd be easier if I could figure out exactly what I needed help with, right?"
"Of course," he laughed softly, smiling at me. "But psychology has never been that simple."
I just rolled my eyes. He was right. An issue like that wouldn't be easy to resolve.
"And I have some more homework for you," he handed me a sheet of paper with some neatly penned questions on it. "If you could think of answers for those questions, it will help us greatly for our next session."
"Next sessi—" my protest died the moment I checked my phone. Somehow the pauses and breaks—and all the talking—had taken far longer than I thought. At least I'd only cut a couple of minutes into another session this time. "Okay, next session." I frowned, doing the math. "Seventeenth?"
"The seventeenth, yes. You can confirm the booking with miss Lake in reception. From the twentieth until the fifth I'll be on holiday, so the following session will be sometime in the new year. If that's a problem, please let us know."
"I will," I folded up the paper he had given me, sliding it into a pocket, then collected my jacket and helmet. I had no idea if I'd made any real progress, but I wanted to tell Elsa about it. And confess that I'd told him about her initial suicidal tendencies.
—∞—
Joan is nestled next to me on the couch. Half on top of me, actually. I can tell she's worried from the silence.
"I'm okay," I give her a smile and gently stroke her hair. She doesn't even try to pull away. "It's heavy stuff, even for a fifteen—and a half—year old girl."
"It is heavy, mom," she smiles weakly up at me. "But it's really important, right?"
"It is, but if you want, I can try to tone it down, or just give you a summary."
"Like with the sex stuff?" She squints and frowns at me. "That's squick, I don't need to hear it. But this… I never knew this stuff was hard for you. Everything looks easy when you do it; when you talk about it now."
"Because I'm older," I hug her close for a moment. "Elsa might argue about the wiser part though."
"She might be right, too."
"…of course you'd take her side."
That smile.
