It was never going to be easy for either of us moving. But the job offer was hard to turn down; we needed the stability it provided, especially now. And the house had a ghost. Not a real one of course, but her presence. The memory of what we had both lost. Even after a year and a half, it hung heavily on me. And I knew it was the same for Hannah. It was difficult for both of us to talk about some things. Hard to engage with an eight-year-old about the mother she no longer had. Hard for me to acknowledge the gaping void in my life. I didn't feel I had the words.
Nicole had been at home for the last few weeks. It had felt like the thing to do. It probably was, for her. She was in her own house, her own bed, not in a faceless hospital or hospice. But now the walls bore the imprint of her passing. It was pervasive, inescapable, indelible. A new start wouldn't erase her memory, I didn't want to do that. But it might make things a little more bearable for both of us.
The move was to a new town in a new state. It meant leaving friends for Hannah, which was tough. For me, it was easier. I'd burnt bridges with so many people. I guess we process grief in different ways. I became a depressive asshole who was impossible to be around. Some friends tried, but eventually I drove even the most persistent of them away. Yeah! I could do with a new start too. Maybe I was being selfish and should have thought more about my daughter, but I hadn't exactly been the best version of me. I hoped a reset might help to get back to being a semi-decent father. I told myself it was best for Hannah as well.
It didn't feel that way as we drove to the new place. Hannah sat in the back with her headphones on and refused to acknowledge my presence, let alone reply to my attempts at conversation. It had been a long three hours, but I now parked in the drive.
"Here we are, big girl. Home."
She silently got out, waited for me to open the house door and disappeared upstairs. We had stayed with my mom for a few days while the movers had been at work. I wanted Hannah to have the place set up, her furniture and things in situ. So much for that idea. I resisted the thought that I had a premature teenager on my hands and instead told myself that Hannah had been through hell. Who wants to see their mom die, for fuck's sake? Give her time, give her time.
--
We arrived on the Saturday. Monday was Labor Day and school started on the Tuesday. Hannah would be joining in third grade, with children who had known each other since pre-K. I knew it was going to be tough, being thrown in at the deep end so soon. The way things worked with the new and old houses, we couldn't have moved earlier. And I didn't see much point waiting until later in the year. Still I realized it sucked.
Her mood had gotten better over the long weekend. I did my best to be fun dad. We explored our new Main Street. Saw some awful Disney confection at the theater, a period building that I found charming. Found a pizza place she liked -- and which I noted for future reference did deliveries. She'd helped me with grocery shopping and buying the few things that inevitably had got lost in the move. On the Monday, I gave her the iPhone she had wanted; though I was far from convinced it was best for a girl her age. Yeah, there was some guilt there, I'll admit to trying to buy my way back into Hannah's good books. Later, we had a dad and daughter BBQ. And no one got food poisoning.
But, that night, she couldn't sleep. She said she was OK, but I know my daughter. I guess she had learnt to protect grown-ups from shit, the way I couldn't protect her from what happened to her mom. I tried to settle her, but she ended up in the big bed, with my arm round her. The big bed? I couldn't bear to keep the old one. The one in which... I was unclear why I'd bought a new big bed. Probably just autopilot. Lying awake at just gone midnight, my daughter finally asleep next to me, I missed Nicole. I missed my Nicky so very much.
--
I'd dropped off Hannah. She had trudged more than walked. Her teacher had given her a friendly greeting, which she had barely responded to, eyes surveying the floor. I reminded her to be polite. But the teacher had said she understood and would look after her. And then she was gone.
And I was alone.
I'm a technical author, I write documentation for software, or user guides, or training manuals. I had been freelance and worked exclusively from home. That had been handy when Nicky was working. She had been in financial services. Hers was the main income and she worked long hours.
My time had been pretty much my own to organize, as long as I met my deadlines. That meant it was dad who dropped Hannah off, dad who picked her up, dad who took her to swimming, or play dates, or birthday parties. Friends used to joke that I was the real mom. I didn't mind, it made sense and I liked the time with my daughter.
Now I'd taken a permanent job with one of my regular clients. With just one income, freelancing felt too risky. I'd still be mostly at home, but they wanted me nearby. Able to come into the office for half days, maybe once or twice a week, if required. Hence the move. The were a good organization and already knew I was a single parent. They had promised me a lot of flexibility.
In the past, I'd got to know the other parents. A couple of at home dads like me, but mostly moms. I was on the PTA and knew some of the other members pretty well. All people I'd now never talk to again. Today was different. It wasn't just Hannah who knew no one. I adopted my daughter's hang-dog gait as I walked back to the car.
"Jacob! Jacob! Please wait."
A raised female voice, I wondered whether Hannah had had a meltdown. Something like when Nicole and I found an older girl had been bullying her for weeks, with the school blissfully unaware. I turned, fearing the worst.
"Jacob. Thank you. It is Jacob, right? I hope I haven't been shouting at the wrong man."
She was a little out of breath, her light brown hair pulled up and held messily by a crooked claw-clip. Her face was round, warm, and open, slightly flushed by running after me. I don't think I noticed her clothes, mom clothes, I guess. Sort of shapeless. But her smile was nice. She was also holding a blue sweater.
"Hi. Yes, I'm Jacob."
"Oh good. Wait. You are Hannah's dad, right?"
"Yes, that's right. Can I help you?"
"No. But I'm meant to help you."
I must have looked quizzical.
"Sorry. First day back is always so hectic. I'm meant to be your buddy. For school that is. I'm meant to help you and Hannah get to know the school and the area. But the school office only sent me your details this morning. Really sorry, I should have contacted you a few weeks ago. But I couldn't get anyone at the school to respond."
She paused and took a deep breath.
"Sorry again. So frazzled. I'm being rude. I'm Paula. My daughter, Riley, is in Hannah's class."
She held out her hand and I shook it.
"I'm happy to meet you, Paula."
Again I got the big smile. It lit up her face.
"Right. So I was meant to have contacted you before. Sorry again. Want to maybe go grab a coffee and I can fill you in."
"That would be great. And really no need to apologize. In fact it's me who needs to say sorry. I have a deadline today and with the move and settling in, I have to do some work. But how about tomorrow after drop off? Does that work for you?"
"That's actually better. Let's do that. I've just remembered, I didn't give Riley her sweater. So hectic. Speak tomorrow."
