Our next stop is Concord Elementary.
The school sits on the outskirts of town, nestled against the forest. It consists of a large brick building and a handful of smaller buildings that have been added as the town grew, and are connected by hallways. It gives the school the appearance of a living organism.
We find our way to the main office and a door marked ‘Principal’. A stern woman in her fifties is sitting at a large desk, going over paperwork. She looks up as I rap on the door.
“Mr. Price, I presume,” she says.
“That’s me.”
She walks around the desk and extends her hand. “I’m Principal Jean Craig.”
Her handshake is like her demeanor: firm. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you must be Caitlyn,” she says, repeating the gesture.
“Hi,” Caitlyn replies, also shaking her hand.
“We’re very happy to have you here at Concord.” She then addresses both of us. “How are you liking Kingsbrook?”
“So far, so good. We took a little tour this morning, didn’t we, Caitlyn?”
Caitlyn nods.
“And the Nightingale House?” Principal Craig asks.
“We love it.”
She slips momentarily into a wistful smile. “I love that Nightingale House. I grew up in Kingsbrook. Seems like everything has changed, except that house.” Her stern demeanor quickly returns. “You’re not planning on doing any renovations, are you?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Good. Now, Caitlyn, let’s go meet your teacher; Ms. Hancourt.”
*
Principal Craig gives us a brief history of the school as she guides us down the hall.
“The school started with one building with six rooms, one grade in each room. Now, it’s one grade per hall.” We stop outside a door with a plastic plaque marked ‘Hancourt’.
Principal Craig knocks. “Ms. Hancourt?”
“Come on in,” a voice answers.
Principal Craig motions us to go inside.
Sunlight spills through the windows and across the desks. Books and papers are neatly stacked on shelves and cabinets around the room. The markerboard is a pristine white. At the markerboard is Ms. Hancourt. She’s in her mid-thirties with cropped brown hair and plastic-rimmed glasses.
She approaches us with a broad smile. “Is this the Caitlyn Price I’ve heard so much about?”
Caitlyn seems delighted by the idea that she somehow has a reputation that has preceded her.
“I’m Ms. Hancourt.”
“Hi,” Caitlyn replies, warming to her instantly.
“Are you ready to start school in a few days?”
Caitlyn thinks for a moment, treating it as a serious question. “Not really. We haven’t gone shopping. I don’t have any papers or pencils, yet.”
“We’re going shopping right after this,” I quickly say, feeling the need to defend myself for some reason.
Ms. Hancourt laughs. “Well, I can’t wait to have you in my class.”
I glance at Principal Craig, who takes the hint.
“Caitlyn,” she says, leaning down to her. “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll show you the rest of the school?”
Caitlyn looks at me and I confidently nod.
“Okay,” she enthusiastically answers.
Principal Craig leads her out of the room. We can hear her asking Caitlyn about her favorite subjects as they walk down the hall.
I turn back to Ms. Hancourt. “Thank you for meeting with us, Ms. Hancourt. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course, and please, call me Denise.”
“I’m Daniel.”
“Principal Craig told me what happened. I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“How is Caitlyn doing?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, just so you know how she’s … uh … ‘coping’.” I hate the sound of those words coming out of my mouth.
“It’s all right. You two have been through a horribly traumatic experience.”
Her tone sets me at ease and I realize that she understands more about child psychology than most, quite possibly more than the psychologist I sent Caitlyn to.
“So, how is she ‘coping’?” she asks.
“Caitlyn’s got an active imagination … and sometimes, she uses it a bit too much.”
Denise nods and patiently waits as I struggle to find the right words.
Flustered, I shake my head. “Sorry. This has been rough for us, and I … I guess I wasn’t ready to try to explain what’s going on with her.”
“I would say that I can only imagine what you’re going through, but I can’t.”
Her answer stops me in my tracks. It’s perfect, like she completely understands. Most people say something like, ‘I know what you must be going through,’ and give some advice or insight they have no right in giving, but not her.
“You said she had an active imagination. How so?”
“She makes stuff up about people … and things …” I finally drop my attempt at being delicate. “She lies, sometimes.”
“I understand. Does she believe the stuff that she makes up?”
“No. She knows the difference, but you may have to call her on it.”
“Are you okay with me doing that?” she asks, gently guiding me to tell her what she needs to know.
“Yes. I love her more than anything, but you have a job to do and it’s not fair to the other kids. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you.”
The silence that follows is broken only by the cicadas outside the open windows.
“So,” I finally ask, “is this the weirdest parent-teacher conference you’ve ever had?”
She laughs. “Not even close.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I had a father offer me money to tell everyone in the class that his son was the smartest child I had ever seen. He wanted to boost his self-esteem.”
We both laugh.
“I’m not that crazy,” I assure her, but add, “Close, but not that crazy.”
“And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
I can’t tell you the weight that’s lifting off my shoulders, the ease that she’s putting me into, and I casually ask, “You have kids?”
She grows quiet. “No … It’s, uh, it’s—”
I hold up a hand—it was a dumb question. “‘No’ is a perfectly acceptable answer, and I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
She nods, appearing somewhat relieved. Then, she reaches over and takes something from her desk.
“Well, here is my card. I give my contact info to every parent. If you have any questions about how Caitlyn is doing, feel free to call me.”
I tuck it into my pocket. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll only call if it’s an emergency.”
“Dad!”
Caitlyn bursts into the room, followed by Principal Craig.
“The playground is huge!” Caitlyn declares.
“She really liked that part of the tour,” Principal Craig says.
“I’m sure she did.”
*
After a trip to the store where we stocked up on food and copious amounts of school supplies, we’re driving back to the Nightingale House.
“So, did you like the school?” I ask.
“Yep,” Caitlyn absent-mindedly answers.
“Did you like Ms. Hancourt?”
“Uh-huh,” she says, gazing out the window. “She’s really pretty.”
“Yes, she is,” I reply and freeze.
It was a simple statement of fact, nothing more, but I have never spoken about another woman in front of Caitlyn and I’m worried she won’t understand.
I glance sideways at her. She continues to stare out the window, watching the trees blur by.
Thankfully, my statement appears to have blurred by her, as well, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I wasn’t just worried about how she would react. It’s true that I’ve never spoken about another women in front of Caitlyn before, but this is also the first time that I’ve said that I found a woman attractive since Nicole died.
In the grand scheme of things, I know it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t ogling her or being a creep. She is attractive, but for a second, I’m overwhelmed with guilt; like there’s a brick tied around my heart, pulling it down.
I take another glance at Caitlyn, who is still staring out the window. It’s a bigger deal for me than it is for her. As I turn to look back at the road, my eyes brush past the rearview mirror to see Nicole staring at me from the backseat.
I gasp.
My hand slips on the wheel.
For a terrifying instant, we drift into the opposite lane. I grip the wheel and pull us back, but I almost pull too hard, sending us off the road. I’m able to get us back in our lane and avoid any disasters.
The whole episode is over in seconds, but my teeth are on edge and adrenalin is coursing through my veins. The moment I’ve got control of the car, I check the rearview mirror. The back seat is empty.
“Dad?”
I keep my gaze on the mirror for a beat longer and then look at her. She’s more confused than scared.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Daddy’s hand slipped. It’s okay.”
She slowly turns back to the window.
That’s it. I have to sleep tonight. Something like that can’t happen again.