The Good Mom (6 page)

“Aidan,” he said.

“What?” she asked. He kept confusing her. He was looking at her straight in her eyes.

“Aidan. Call me Aidan.”

“Fine. Aidan. But did you even hear what I said?”

“Don't worry—I'm not going to interfere with your kid again. I promise.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “Then...why did you talk with him this morning?” she couldn't help asking.

He shook his head. “I don't know. Curiosity? I'm sorry. It was a mistake.” He shook his head again. “I need to clear my things out of Boston and get on with my life.”

She digested what he said. He was still new to being home. Still reentering his old life again, but that old life was gone.

Just like hers.

“Good luck to you,” she murmured. She wished that she could say she thought he would be okay, too, but she wasn't sure of that.

He glanced away, very briefly.

“Aidan, I really am sorry about what happened to your girlfriend,” she said softly.

He said nothing.

“Well, we should go...”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. She squirmed. It was so hot in this tiny school office that smelled of books and wood and leather from the big tan-colored chair behind the desk she was leaning against.

“Ashley...”

“Hmm?”

“Elizabeth would be a good person to help him,” Aidan said.

“Elizabeth?” she asked, confused again. Aidan was still staring at her lips with that dazed look in his eyes.

“Yes, Dr. LaValley. She's tough. She can help Brandon settle down and study.”

Oh, Aidan was speaking of Lisbeth. And Brandon. Of course, her son was the whole point of their conversation.

She licked her lips. But that made it worse, because Aidan sighed as she did so.

She fanned her face with her hand. It was so hot inside, and she was just off balance, and she shouldn't be looking at his body, so close to hers...

“Um, what did Brandon say when you talked with him just now?” she asked. She knew she shouldn't ask—she'd just told him off, after all. But...he'd mentioned Lisbeth, her sister, as if he knew her, and that made it seem okay.

Aidan's warm brown eyes rose to hers. A slight flicker of concern crossed his face. Then she wasn't sure what he was thinking. But he was shaking his head again, this time vigorously.

“No. No, I can't get involved,” he said in a loud voice.

She blinked, surprised.

“There's too many kids with too many problems, and I can't save them all. I couldn't even save...well, it doesn't matter.” Aidan tore his hand through his hair. “But just know that I'm the wrong one. I'm not the one that saves people.”

“Of course.” She nodded, trying to smile, trying to soothe him. What he must have seen in that clinic in Afghanistan...

“Let's...well, I'll call Lisbeth.” She decided. “I'll explain the situation to her. And Brandon will certainly understand that you can't help him.”

“He wants to board here with the other boys,” Aidan said.

“Well, he can't do that.” She pushed it all away, set her chin and went to find the headmaster.

* * *

T
EN
MINUTES
LATER
, Ashley stared at Dr. Pingree. She didn't know what to say to the news, other than the brutal truth.

“I can't afford to pay for a tutor,” she explained. “Isn't there another option?”

“I'm afraid I don't have an alternative to give you,” he repeated. “Other than Brandon can come here at night and take the extra tutoring study sessions with the boarding students before lights out. That's the best I can offer.”

Ashley didn't like Brandon being out that late on weeknights. That option was impossible.

“Isn't there another volunteer tutor available?” she pressed.

“Not that I'm aware of.” Dr. Pingree sighed. “As I said, most of our tutoring is done in these extra study sessions. Dr. Lowe is an excellent choice to tutor Brandon in math. He actually failed his pretesting in his first year, as Brandon did, but Aidan came a long way from those preliminary scores and went on to be one of our best math students. I'm certain he has a wonderful perspective to offer a newer, struggling student. As a mentor, he would know how difficult it can be to catch up academically to St. Bartholomew's standards.”

“That's a wonderful recommendation,” Ashley murmured. “Thank you.”

She wasn't going to say so, but it was apparent that now that she'd chased him away, Aidan no longer wanted to help.

Her biggest problem with the entire situation was that she'd been blindsided. She hadn't appreciated being caught off balance. By Brandon's mischaracterization of the note sent home, by Vivian's behind-the-scenes monitoring of Ashley's family, by Aidan's involvement. Even so, she was doing her utmost to be a good mom here. To keep her attention focused on Brandon and what was best for him.

“Thank you, Dr. Pingree. You've given me a lot to think about.”

Dr. Pingree just sat at his large desk looking at her, tapping his fingers together. “I'm sorry, Ms. LaValley. As you recall, Brandon's entry examinations last spring showed him to be behind in math. He was to have studied for the autumn pretests over the summer. I thought we made that clear.”

Yes, he had worked with Lisbeth. She was highly skilled and capable—even Aidan had said so.

“Maybe Brandon was simply nervous,” she said. “Could he take the math portion of the test again, please?”

“I'm sorry, but we can't change the rules for one student. I'm sure you understand.”

“It's not a change,” she said. “It's more of a bend...”

Dr. Pingree shook his head.

At that moment, Vivian Sharpe's distinctive voice could be heard in the outer office.

“Thank you, but could you excuse me for a moment?” Ashley asked.

Dr. Pingree stood. “You're quite welcome, Ms. LaValley. Feel free to call me and make an appointment to talk anytime you need to.”

She nodded, impatient to see Vivian before she left. “Yes, Dr. Pingree. Thank you for your time.”

She finished the niceties and then hurried outside. A secretarial worker was on the phone, her back to Ashley, but Vivian Sharpe wasn't there.

She wasn't outside in the hallway, either. How did an elderly woman with a cane move so quickly?

Ashley sighed. She was still absorbing the fact that Vivian Sharpe had turned out to be a hidden puppet-master mentor for her son's education. She wondered if Lisbeth knew. She was the one who had helped select the schools for Ashley to apply to for Brandon. And other than feeling threatened and worried, Ashley wasn't sure what she thought about it.

The worry was for herself. It was scary to think she could lose Brandon—her influence over him, his love for her—to someone wealthier and more powerful. Vivian Sharpe controlled all the things that Ashley's son cared about. His work with the Sunshine Club charity. His weekend job as a Captains Club ball boy. And now even his entrance into his new school.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. She was grateful, at least, that Aidan had told her. At least now she
knew
.

If she had met Aidan at any other time—before she'd had a son, or after her son had grown—then maybe things could be different. She was drawn to him, attracted to this gruff, sweet, complicated man who was dealing with even worse issues than she was.

Crazy as it sounded, the fact that he seemed to have a touch of a stress disorder from his stint overseas, even the fact that he was clearly still grieving, made him feel safer to her, because he was more like her than she'd first realized. Another woman might run away from the problems, but Ashley was flawed herself. Her alcohol issues. Her excessive worry. Her problems with being a single mom...

Brandon
, she thought. When she'd left him, he'd been talking with Aidan, no doubt assuming that Aidan would be his mentor. Now that it wasn't happening, he would naturally blame her for shutting him down.

Brandon also wouldn't like it when she discussed curtailing his weekend ball boy activities. At least twice a month during weekend home games, Brandon suited up and did what every kid in Boston wished they could do, too. And now she would have to force him to make some tough choices.

He's twelve. He's old enough to make these basic choices. To understand consequences.

She at least needed to talk with him now. Pave the way for a more difficult conversation this evening. She didn't like that when she'd left him, she'd snapped at him. That wasn't like her, and she didn't want it to bother him.

She went back to the desk where Dr. Pingree's secretary sat. Ashley prepared to ask her to please allow Brandon to leave his class for ten minutes, in order to talk to her.

The secretary behind the desk brightened and then hung up the phone when she saw her. “I'm glad you haven't left yet, Ms. LaValley.” She held out a slip of paper to Ashley.

“What's this?”

“Before she left, Mrs. Sharpe asked me to give it to you.”

Her heart pounding, Ashley unfolded the slip of thick, cream-colored stationery.

Inside, there was no printed name or heading. Just a bold, cursive scrawl written firmly in black ink.

Three lines: Aidan's name. A Boston street address. A phone number.

Her hand shook.
Mrs. Sharpe, the spider.
She probably thought she was being helpful.

Ashley shoved the contact information into her purse. She had no intention of using it—or Vivian's implied approval that Aidan should tutor Ashley's son—but it reinforced to her that Vivian didn't want to have any direct, face-to-face interaction with her.

Fine.
She was too tired to take offense right now. Too concerned about Brandon's future.

The most important thing this message showed was that the all-powerful woman didn't have the power to keep her son from flunking out of the elite St. Bartholomew's School. She thought that only Aidan could do that.

Poor Brandon
, she thought.

* * *

F
IVE
MINUTES
LATER
, Ashley met Brandon at the bench beside Headmaster Pingree's office.

He looked at her hopefully. “Will Dr. Lowe be tutoring me now?”

Pushing away the guilt she felt for disappointing him, she shook her head and chose her words carefully. “Brandon, I want to make sure you're okay. You got some big news today.”

He hung his head. “I'm sorry, Mom. I don't want to see you worried.”

“When you told me not to worry this morning, did you know that you'd failed the pretest?”

He shook his head. “I found out for sure after you did.”

“But you suspected it?”

He stared at his hands. “I try not to think bad things, Mom. I always try to think positive thoughts. You know that.”

Yes, she did. That was important to him—she knew her son. And at least she could feel better that he hadn't outright lied to her. “Could you help me understand something, Brandon? What happened with your studies this summer? You seemed to be working so hard.”

He shrugged and didn't meet her eyes. “There was so much to do. I guess I just didn't get it.” He looked bewildered.

“School has always been pretty easy for you.”

“It's different here,” he mumbled.

“I know. And Aunt Lisbeth used to spend hours locked in the library when we were kids. Maybe she studies differently than you do.”

“I have a life, Mom,” he said indignantly.

This was where it got sticky. She nodded. “I know you want to keep up with your friends and your social media. I know you want to suit up and be a ball boy this weekend, Brandon. But life is about choices. You need to decide which is most important to you.”

“I can do both. My social life
and
school.”

“Perhaps. But you aren't doing them well right now. And I'm afraid that if you fall behind in math, it'll just get worse. And all the connections you have can't help you if you don't pass the tests. It's on you, Brandon.

“If you're going to stay here, you need to take responsibility for the work, not anyone else. That was made quite clear with me today. That's why I've been in meetings all morning about it.”

She sighed. “Look, I would tutor you myself if I could. But I'm afraid I was never strong at math. I took as little of it as I could get away with when I was in school. And now you're at a higher level than I ever saw.”

He worried his lip. “What if I can't pass it?”

She looked at him sadly. “We can't think that way. Positive, remember?”

“I know, but...what if I can't pass the next test? It's in October. If I can't pass that one, then I'll have to leave at the end of the semester, right?”

She didn't say the obvious. “We will take one step at a time,” she said firmly.

“You can tell me the truth, Mom,” he said.

She sighed. “If you don't pass, it won't be the end of the world. You'll just have to go back to your old school.” And he wouldn't get as good a foundation for a preparatory high school followed by college entrance exams. Medical school would seem that much more difficult to achieve.

God, he's only twelve! How can he have so much pressure on him?

Brandon glanced down. “Did Dr. Lowe not like me?” he asked in a small voice. “It seems like you're saying he's not going to tutor me. I have a feeling he could really help me.”

She put her arm around her son, her heart breaking. It reminded her of the day, four years earlier, when she'd had to leave him to go into rehab. When they'd sat in the therapist's office and broken the difficult news to Brandon. He'd taken it in stride, but he'd been just a little boy then. The conversation had been harder for her than for him.