The Good Mom (17 page)

“Actually, Brandon,” Aidan said casually, taking off his new Captains cap and holding it out. “I bought this today, and I was thinking I'd like to go up to the Sunshine Club and give it to one of the kids in the cancer ward. We left during the third inning, so the game is probably still on.” The television in the children's room always played the Captains games. It was his grandmother's policy. “Maybe one of the young fans would like to have it.”

“They can have mine, too,” Ashley said softly. She held out the cap that Aidan had given her. “If you don't mind, though, I'll wait here while you go up with Brandon.”

Brandon rubbed his cast. “Okay,” he mumbled. He looked at Aidan, surprised. Maybe even suspicious.

“Lead the way,” Aidan said. “I've never been up there before.”

“Seriously?” Brandon asked.

“I haven't. I'm ashamed to say...well, I was always too busy.” Not only that, but to his mind, that part of the hospital had been his grandmother's province.

“I know everyone in the Sunshine Club,” Brandon said. “Come on. The access is by the main elevator.”

Aidan couldn't help turning as he walked off, and Ashley gave him a secret smile and a little wave. Every time he looked at her, he felt a warm glow. Damn, she was sweet. And caring. And...appreciative. That was it—she didn't take him for granted.

Yes, there were red flags. He still needed to talk to her about that whole insinuating he was Brandon's father thing just to get him in the ambulance. And she was fragile still, emotionally, no doubt about that. His grandmother had said it first—just the fact that she was a former addict was worrisome. Was a former addict ever really trustworthy?

She'd told him the extent of her problem, and it seemed relatively manageable. But did he really know? He should be wary. Especially for someone with the money and power his family had. This should be a warning to him.

But yet...he glanced back at her one more time. She was still gazing at them.

She didn't
seem
like a person to desert or cheat on a man. Yes, he was sure of that, to his bones, and yet, he was telling himself that without even really knowing her.

Tread carefully.

* * *

U
PSTAIRS
IN
THE
Sunshine Club, Aidan was shocked to find that a crowd was gathered around the large television in what was obviously the children's family community room.

Painted bright yellow, with colorful drawings and photos pinned up of child cancer patients who'd come through the Sunshine Club program, the room was a warm, inviting space.

Brandon moved about easily, seeming to be at home here. He took Aidan and introduced him to his doctor. Dr. Zedelkowsky gave Brandon a long, genuine hug. “What have we here?” he asked Brandon.

“Broken wrist,” Brandon said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Nothing serious. I got the bone set today, and then I have four weeks in the cast.”

Aidan was heartened to hear the boy take ownership of the situation. It eased some of his reservations and worry.

“This is Dr. Lowe,” Brandon said to his oncologist. “He's been tutoring me in math. I'm going to St. Bart's,” he said, his chest puffed up with pride.

Aidan smiled at the doctor, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you. I've seen your name of course, but...”

“Wellness Hospital is a big place,” Dr. Z said. “I rarely get out of the ward.”

“I'm in orthopedics.”

“Ah! A specialty that has come in handy to young Brandon, I see.”

Aidan laughed. “Unfortunately.”

“I'm an alumnus of St. Bart's myself,” the doctor mentioned.

“Really?” Aidan asked, interested. Judging by the good doctor's snowy-white hair, he'd graduated years earlier than Aidan. “Ah, have you ever done any mentoring?” Maybe here was the answer to his problem.

“No.” Dr. Z shifted his computer tablet to his other arm. “They always ask, but that's, ah, not my forte. I commend you, good sir.” He winked at Aidan from behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

Oh, well.
It had been a thought.

“Come on,” Brandon said to Aidan. “Let's check out the game.”

Aidan was well aware that Brandon hadn't watched any television or even seen his phone in almost two weeks now. “I have him on a no-media diet while we get him settled in his new school,” Aidan remarked to Dr. Z.

“Then that explains this...” Dr. Z reached into the pocket inside his lab coat and pulled out his personal phone. He swiped the screen and showed it to Brandon.

“It's his social media page,” Dr. Z explained to Aidan. “I saw the accident on TV and wanted to leave him a message.”

Brandon grabbed the phone and swiped eagerly. “It's true. People are sending me get-well wishes! The announcer on television told everybody that I broke my wrist!”

“See,” Aidan said drily, “the internet world doesn't end when you're not on it.”

“Yeah. My mom posted a note on my front page. It said that I'm off-line so I can study. Here it is.” He swiped some more. He appeared to be reading silently. Then he frowned. “I'm off-line, studying hard, because I really want to be a doctor and work in the Sunshine Club someday.”

Brandon paused, frowning. Then he handed the phone back to Dr. Z.

“Is that true?” Aidan murmured to Brandon after Dr. Z had left them to make his rounds.

Brandon nodded. But he wasn't looking at Aidan. He seemed to be thinking deeply, keeping his own counsel.

“You have lots of time to change your mind, buddy,” Aidan said. “You're only twelve. You could be anything you want. Just remember not to let anyone push you into a direction you don't really want to go.”

“Yup,” Brandon mumbled. “Okay.”

Aidan wasn't sure what to do next. His point was made, but...he still wasn't sure that everything was okay. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

He wished Ashley was here.

“Come on,” Brandon said to him. “Let's see if anyone wants those Captains caps.”

“I'm on it,” Aidan said.

Brandon caused a little bit of a stir when he entered the community room. He was still in his uniform, and he was holding out that solid black cast.

“Why is it black?” Aidan heard a little girl ask.

“It's cuz I'm a pirate,” Brandon told the little girl, and at that simple, childlike statement, Aidan smiled.

The girl giggled. “Like
Pirates of the Caribbean
?”

“You like that movie?” Brandon asked.

“I like Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“Me, too. Would you like a Captains cap?” He held it out to the girl. She was sitting in her dad's lap, and she must have been through chemo treatments, because when she took off the pink cap she wore, her head was completely bald.

Proudly she put on the Captains ball cap. “Thank you, Brandon!”

Aidan swallowed a lump in his throat. It was hard being up here, in what was still a children's cancer ward, no matter how brightly decorated or whimsically named.

He gave Brandon credit. The boy was more kindhearted—and focused—than Aidan had given him credit for.

He knew what he was doing. Maybe Aidan shouldn't worry. Maybe he should just trust him.

CHAPTER NINE

A
SHLEY
SET
HER
keys down on the table in the hallway and then opened the door wider so Brandon and Aidan could follow.

Her son's eyes were drooping. Aidan hadn't been kidding—the painkillers they'd prescribed for him had obviously kicked in, and Brandon looked like he could sleep until tomorrow morning.

She led him into the bathroom and helped by putting toothpaste on his brush. Yes, he was twelve—almost thirteen—but at the moment he was a small child again.

“I'll wash your hair for you when you need it,” she told him. “Some things are going to be hard for you to do for a while.”

“I was just wondering that, Mom. How am I going to write?”

That thought had concerned her, as well. “We'll go in to see the headmaster on Monday together.”

“Do you think he'll let Dr. Lowe help me take my math test?”

“I'm sure they'll work with us on this special circumstance. I think the most important thing is to get a lot of rest tonight. Monday you can start studying again.”

He nodded sleepily. “It could be a lot worse, you know.”

“That's true.” She smiled. She loved seeing this upbeat, positive side he had. She'd been worried he was losing it, truth be told.

“I think I need to go to the Sunshine Club more often, Mom. It helps me. Maybe on Sundays again, since that's my day off with Dr. Lowe.”

“You know, I think that's a good idea.”

“Okay.” With a teasing tone, Brandon said, “You can go now, Mom. I'll put myself to bed.”

She hid a smile. “If you need me to put your jammies on...”

“Mom!” he said in outrage, then rolled his eyes at her.

Ah, yes, this was more like it. Her almost-teen was back.

“G'nite, Bran,” she said, and then closed the bathroom door behind her.

But when she got out to the kitchen, Aidan was still there. She wasn't sure why, but she'd thought maybe he would have excused himself and left. She had a feeling he'd been angry with her earlier, at her emotional reaction to Brandon's injury.

He stood at the stovetop, fiddling with her teakettle. “Hope you don't mind, but I made myself at home.”

“No, I don't mind.”

“Would you like some black tea with honey?” he asked.

“Sure. There's honey in the cabinet, but I'm not sure how old it is.”

“It'll be fine.”

She sat at the table, twisting her hands together while he gathered the supplies. His voice was so quiet and calm. His expression was thoughtful, though. It gave him an attractive quality. He hadn't yet cut his hair, and with the lingering effects of that desert tan, he still looked wildly sexual to her.

She swallowed. He'd kissed her today. She wished he would bring it up again, but there was this new, angry barrier between them. It made her sorry.

The teakettle whistled. Aidan took it off, poured the hot water over the tea bags in a pair of her best mugs and then stirred in the honey.

So strange to have someone else take over her kitchen. She never allowed that. But she allowed him.

He put the mugs down and then sat across from her. With his head lowered, he gazed up at her, his wide, clear eyes steady.

She rubbed her bare arms. Crossed her legs under the table.

“I should have asked, Ashley,” he said in that low voice of his. “I should have asked you before I ever started tutoring or mentoring Brandon.”

She wasn't sure what he was talking about. But she suspected.

“Where is Brandon's father?” he asked.

Her fingers trembling, she placed them on the sides of the mug for heat. She knew she owed Aidan an explanation. But if she told him, she was pretty sure that he would start questioning some of her decisions. He might even take over. Or leave.

“Ashley, you can't say that I'm his father,” Aidan said calmly. At least he wasn't being rude. She was grateful for that.

“You can't do that,” he repeated. “It's not good for Brandon, and it puts me in an awkward position with him.”

She hadn't considered the effect on him —she'd been mainly worried about Brandon—but he was right.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “You're right, about everything you've said. I was afraid today, and the words just slipped out without my thinking about the ramifications.”

Aidan sat back in his chair. “You know, I don't want to be the bad guy, but Brandon says things to me like, ‘You're not my father.' Do you think it bothers him that his father isn't around?”

She inhaled. “He knows that his father is deceased.”

“Deceased?” Aidan's eyebrows shot up. His mouth worked, as if he didn't know what to say.

Ashley slowly rose. Feeling numb inside, she went to the back cupboard in the pantry. High on the top shelf, she reached for the oatmeal box. Instead of oatmeal, it held a metal tin with a very strong lock.

She brought it to the table and then sat down again. Aidan was watching her. His brows were knit in curiosity.

“I've been keeping this for Brandon, for someday.” She swallowed and looked down. “The counselor I work with said he'll help me show it to Brandon when he's older. Brandon will have a lot of questions to ask, and a lot of feelings to work through, so...so that's what we have decided to do. This...this is part of what I talked to my counselor about while you were in the surgical room with Brandon.”

“You did?”

“I didn't mention it at the hospital because Brandon came back in the middle of the conversation that you and I were having.”

His gaze flicked to the tin.

She knew she would have to show him. This wasn't like his history with Fleur —there were things Ashley wouldn't ever have to know about their relationship, because that one hadn't produced a son. This seemed different. Brandon was here. She'd taken a risk today, and she'd gone out with Aidan. Her first date in thirteen years. Her first kiss.

She pressed her hand to her mouth. She wanted to keep building on what she and Aidan had started. Tonight was a turning point. She had a terrible feeling it would end here if she handled things badly. Or, possibly, it could go on.

That part would be up to Aidan. But to not show him—that would end it for certain.

“Was he abusive to you?” Aidan asked angrily. “Because if he was—”

“No,” she interrupted. And then more calmly, “No.” She squeezed her eyes shut, but she knew Aidan was staring at her, in pain.

“
I
was abusive to me,” she said.

“I don't understand.”

“I've never discussed this with anyone. Not a soul. Not even my sister.” Her throat felt hoarse and painful. Like her words were getting stuck in it.

“Ashley...”

She felt like a patient...a perpetual, chronic patient, and that was making her angry. “There are reasons I stopped drinking,” she said, her voice betraying her anger. “When I was young, before Brandon was born, I was a college student. Elizabeth wasn't the only one in our family to try and escape our background.”

“What were you studying?”

“Business.” Her voice broke. She felt so sorry now—to think about those old youthful ambitions that had no chance of ever being realized. “I was working so hard. I'd passed my beauty school tests during high school, but my dream was to open my own shop. I wanted people working for me, not the other way around.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. Her dream had been so vivid. “I wanted a neighborhood shop, community based. I didn't want to have to depend on other people...” Her voice trailed away. In that respect, she'd gotten entirely what she'd wanted. She hadn't been dependent on other people, because the people she'd most needed had deserted her.

Aidan was silent, listening.

“Well, I told you that Elizabeth and I grew up in a house with an alcoholic mother. My father wasn't around, because he was married to somebody else and had been the whole time, and he didn't want anything to do with us.” She blew out her breath. She still hadn't answered Aidan's question.

She dared to take her attention away from her tea, which she was stirring round and round with her teaspoon, and looked at him. Not quite in the eyes, but...she was ashamed of this part.

“I drank back then, too. I had friends...classmates that I went out to college parties with. Boston is...well, you know that there are a lot of young people here.”

Aidan nodded. His face didn't look unkind.

“I got pregnant. I was...very frightened.” She looked at her thumb again. “By this point, Elizabeth was in college. She was only sixteen and very intent on becoming a doctor. My...mother had moved. I was living in a falling-down apartment in Brighton with four other girls who were in my classes. We were all splitting rent.”

She sighed. “I wasn't exactly dating the young man. I...barely knew him. A student at another college. I don't even know what he was studying.” She shook her head.

“Did you tell him?” Aidan asked.

“Yes. Of course.” She still couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“What did he say?”

“He told me to take care of it.”

Aidan winced.

“My friends,” Ashley continued, “roommates, really...told me to go back to him and ask for money to pay for it. They said they would go with me.”

“What did you do?”

“It was hard. It was really hard... I left Boston and moved back to my old neighborhood, my old town. I had my haircutting license, so I was able to get a job with Sal—he was the older brother of a friend from high school. He let me bring Brandon with me and sit him in his stroller while I cut people's hair. You should have seen Brandon—he was such a little cutie. Everyone loved him. He was personable and loving and...” Her eyes filled with tears.

Aidan reached across the table and took her hand. “When was the last time you spoke to Brandon's father?”

She shook her head. “I told you.”

“You never...?”

Tears blurring her vision, she fumbled with the lock on the tin. She hadn't opened it since the day she'd put the article inside. Until tonight, she hadn't even realized why she'd saved it to begin with—probably because no matter how deep her denial was, a part of her knew, had always known, that Brandon would have to be told. He wouldn't be a child, easily dissuaded, forever. He would deserve to know, when the time was right.

But, oh, it was such a fear of hers. She'd been so reluctant to think about it...to talk about it. Even now.

The lock sprang free, and the lid popped open. Inside was the article, clipped from the Boston newspaper. Folded in quarters, locked away for almost twelve years.

With shaking hands, she passed it to Aidan.

He opened it. Spread it on her kitchen table with his broad, solid, doctor's hands. An accident report and a death notice, both on one page. And square in the middle, a photograph of the young man who'd tragically died on a summer construction accident, falling from the tall building where he'd been installing windows.

Aidan looked up at her, his eyes wide.

“By God. He looks just like Brandon.”

She sat down at the table, hard. Looked over Aidan's shoulder at the photo she hadn't seen in twelve years.

It was her worst nightmare come true. He looked even more like Brandon than she'd realized.

Her hand went to her mouth, and she nearly choked.

“Now you know why I'm always so anxious,” she said to Aidan. “It used to be that every time we went out...or when he was on television at the ballpark, or on one of your grandmother's public service announcements...” She gazed at him. “I even worried that you, coming into my new salon, could be someone from his father's family, there to take Brandon away from me because I'm not a good mother.”

“Ridiculous! You're a great mother!”

“After everything I've said and done, you can still think that?”

He stood them. Scraped back his chair roughly and pulled her into his arms.

He felt good. Solid. Trustworthy. A safe place.

She leaned her cheek against his chest and felt free to sob her eyes out.

* * *

A
IDAN
FELT
A
surge of fierce protectiveness as he clasped Ashley in his arms. He smoothed her pretty auburn hair back from her shoulders and felt the warmth of her tears against his chest. “Please don't cry,” he told her. “You are a good person. I don't think any less of you. I think
more
of you.”

He did. It was true. He rubbed her back, rubbed the cool skin of her bare arms even as he closed his eyes and thought.

She couldn't know it, but she was such a contrast to Fleur.

Fleur, who'd never cared about another person as much as she'd cared about herself. Who'd always put her own needs and ambitions ahead of her personal relationships, no matter who it hurt.

It made him feel bleak, even still, to think of it. At times he'd wondered if there had been something wrong with him—if he hadn't been enough for her.

But sitting here, listening to the wrenching truth coming from Ashley tonight, it had struck him that he simply
liked
Ashley better. He liked who
he
was better when he was with Ashley—and Brandon—than when he'd been without them.

“Ashley?” He smoothed back her hair and peered at her face. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

She took a tissue from a pocket. Wouldn't look at him as she blew her nose. “Do you want to go now?” she asked.

“Actually, I want to stay,” he said quietly. He really did. “Would you like to order something in? Watch a movie with me on television?”

Slowly she wiped her eyes, glancing toward Brandon's bedroom.

“He's sleeping,” Aidan said. “He'll sleep until morning, I'm sure. We'll turn your TV on, quietly, and we'll just sit here together. We don't have to say anything.”