The Good Mom Read online

  He rolled his eyes in mock good humor. “We’re okay, Mom.” And then he added something she hadn’t heard before. “If something was really bad, they would have called Mrs. Sharpe.”

  Vivian Sharpe? She eyed her precocious son. “Why would they call her? She’s not your mother.”

  He smiled faintly. “Nope. You are. And everybody knows it.” Then he took out his smartphone and skimmed through it. Ashley said nothing because it was what all his friends did.

  But his comment still bothered her.

  “Has Vivian Sharpe contacted you lately?” she asked.

  “No, Mom. You know she hasn’t.”

  Okay. She shouldn’t worry, then. Maybe she should make a pact with herself to stop worrying.

  They fell into an easy pace while she shook off the bad feeling and tried not to worry any longer. This early in the morning, the streets weren’t very busy. Brandon scrolled with his thumb while he walked, one eye on the screen in front of him, one eye on the street.

  When they got to the school, Brandon paused and glanced up at her. For a moment, he was her little boy again, instead of this more complicated preteen. Still skinny, with a smattering of acne across his nose, he leaned over and gave her a hug.

  “I love you, Mommy,” he whispered. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she felt close to tears, wanting to hold on to this moment, wishing it could last longer than it did.

  And just as quickly, they were walking on. Up the stone steps, passing a group of four men who seemed to be teachers. They greeted Brandon warmly. One of them—Dr. Prosser—the English teacher—directed her to the corridor where the headmaster’s office was located. Ashley hadn’t been inside since Brandon’s admittance interviews last spring.

  The receptionist looked up as Ashley entered. Glancing over the top of her eyeglasses, she, too, smiled warmly.

  See, nothing to worry about, she told herself. All these nice people cared about her son’s welfare. So why was she so jittery?

  She sat, folding her hands and placing her purse on her lap. For the millionth time, she wished her sister was here. This was Lisbeth’s world, not hers. But it couldn’t be helped. Ashley would have to handle this alone.

  * * *

  AIDAN WASN’T EXACTLY sure what he was doing, standing with his grandmother outside the dining hall at St. Bartholomew’s. Curiosity, maybe? Secretly hoping for a glimpse of Ashley, his pretty hairstylist?

  He must be nuts. He should be back at his condo, getting it ready for a quick sale.

  Ding! Another text message hit his inbox. He glanced at his smartphone.

  We would like to call on Saturday. What time is good? the message from Albert Sanborne read.

  Saturday was tomorrow. And Gram was right; he needed to deal with this.

  Noon, Aidan typed back.

  There, it was done. One more step in moving on.

  He glanced up and realized that his grandmother was moving on, too, doggedly forging ahead with her cane. He saw that she was having difficulty with the uneven stone floor, so he jogged ahead and gave her his elbow, helping her walk past the open doors that showed morning breakfast session in full swing.

  It was the same as he remembered from his time, and it was smaller, too. Back when he’d been twelve, thirteen, fourteen—the age of the boys who attended St. Bartholomew’s—this place had been his whole world. Most boys boarded at the school, and Aidan had been no exception. Many of his friends had come from far away—from Europe, from Asia, from Mexico. Many were sons of wealthy families. But even the wealthy couldn’t protect their kids from everything.

  Failure, for example. This had been the first place where Aidan had failed. He’d never been a studious kid to begin with, had never really cared about following in the family footsteps and being a doctor. He’d wanted freedom, the ability to go off anywhere he felt like, to have an adventure.

  Fleur had brought him on adventures, the last one being a war zone halfway around the world. Perhaps that had been the initial attraction between them. But even that had fallen apart.

  He’d loved her once, and thought she’d loved him, but in the end, he hadn’t been able to fix their relationship.

  His grandmother had been the one person in his family who’d expressed reservations about Fleur. On the surface, she’d seemed perfect for him. “She doesn’t put you first,” Gram had said. He’d thought Gram had been crazy to even think that way. Who in his family did that? And he definitely didn’t want someone who fawned and trembled in his presence, depending on him. He’d wanted independence. And freedom. And he’d definitely wanted adventure.

  Until he’d had his fill of it.

  Swallowing, he paused in the hallway, his hand still on Gram’s arm. Honestly, it was crazy that he was even here this morning. But maybe he was looking for something, too. So out of character of him. He was thinking. Brooding. Trying to figure out the next step in his life. Something he’d never, ever worried about before. Normally a man of action, he’d been more like...

  Like that kid in the corner of the dining hall. A ring of kids surrounded him—he had them mesmerized. Telling some kind of a joke, showing them something on his phone. They were nodding and smiling. The towheaded kid, the life of the party.

  “Aidan, we’re here,” Gram murmured. They were outside the conference room where Gram was scheduled to meet with the board.

  “I’ll wait outside,” he told her. “Call me when you’re finished.”

  “Yes, Aidan.” Gram smiled at a tall, thin man who’d stood to greet them. “Dr. Pingree, I’d like you meet my grandson, Dr. Aidan Lowe. Aidan, this is Dr. Pingree, the headmaster.”

  Aidan greeted the headmaster and shook his hand.

  “I understand you’ve moved back to Boston,” Dr. Pingree said.

  “For a short time, yes.”

  “Thank you for coming back to see us. We love to see returning alumni. Especially those as accomplished as you are, Dr. Lowe.”

  “Thank you,” Aidan said politely.

  “Since I have a few minutes before the board meeting starts, would you indulge me and allow me to show you our newest improvements in the facilities? It will take just a few minutes. So often we reach out for donation appeals, but we don’t usually get the chance to show some of the capital improvements the funds make.”

  Gram was quite generous with St. Bart’s. But she wasn’t going on the short tour, she said. Aidan was well aware she had an angle with him today. He knew how to say no to people very well.

  Maybe he should.

  “Sure,” he said to the good doctor. “Why not?” He left his grandmother and headed back to the dining hall by Dr. Pingree’s side.

  The boys quieted as Dr. Pingree walked through their midst. These would be the first-year boys. Most were clustered together, wearing their new suit jackets, self-conscious, maybe a little afraid with back-to-a-new-school jitters. Aidan guessed that most came from very wealthy, very busy parents who had high standards for their children. He felt compassion for them. He remembered the feeling, the heavy burden of expectations. The fear of not measuring up. The realization of the investment.

  The table that the headmaster was leading him toward was the one that Aidan had observed earlier, as he had walked with his grandmother. The table that seemed to be centered on one boy who kept the attention of the others. The happy-go-lucky kid.

  Blond hair. Slight. Skinny, as if he’d just had a massive growth spurt to which the rest of his body hadn’t caught up yet.

  Aidan paused. “Who is that boy?”

  “That’s Brandon,” the headmaster said.

  Brandon. Aidan wasn’t at all surprised. He’d thought he’d recognized the kid from the photo in his mom’s workstation.

  Brandon saw them conferring. When the headmaster gestured for him to come over,
he got up from the table without hesitation.

  “Brandon, this is Dr. Lowe,” the headmaster said. “Dr. Lowe, I’d like to introduce you to one of our first-year students, Brandon LaValley.”

  “Hi, Dr. Lowe.” Brandon confidently stuck out his hand. But his voice cracked, and his cheeks flushed.

  Aidan gave the boy an easy grin. Took his outstretched hand and shook it. “Hi, Brandon. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Dr. Lowe is one of our graduates,” Dr. Pingree said. “He’s currently an orthopedic surgeon at Wellness Hospital.”

  Aidan didn’t correct him. Technically, Aidan supposed, he still had his position on staff there. Really, he was just grateful that the headmaster hadn’t mentioned his posting with Doctor’s Aid. Or his relationship to Vivian Sharpe. Or his past affiliation with the New England Captains organization.

  Aidan was just about to make an excuse to leave when he caught Brandon’s expression. The boy stared at him with big eyes and shaggy hair and skinny arms. Aidan remembered the awkwardness of that age, and he felt some compassion.

  “Are you going to help tutor me?” Brandon asked anxiously.

  “Why? Do you need a tutor?” Aidan asked, taken aback.

  “Um...” Brandon glanced hesitantly at Dr. Pingree. “Some of my friends who board here were assigned tutors last night. I, um, think I probably need one, too.”

  Aidan stared at Dr. Pingree. “Have you discussed me with him?”

  Dr. Pingree shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I saw you once, Dr. Lowe, when I was eight,” Brandon piped up. “You were in the Captains clubhouse with Carlton Martinez. You were treating his elbow. I know who you are.”

  Aidan had stopped consulting with his grandmother’s team at about that time. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you back then,” he said to Brandon.

  “That’s okay. We’re meeting now.” Brandon gave him a smile.

  Oh, man. He did want to help the boy. The kid was personable—he could see his grandmother’s point about his fundraising value. Aidan could feel himself being sucked in to caring what happened to him.

  “What...are your requirements for assigning tutors?” he asked Dr. Pingree. “Just as a hypothetical.”

  “The student has to feel comfortable with the tutor,” Dr. Pingree replied. “As does his parent.”

  His parent. That would be Ashley.

  Brandon vigorously shook his head. “My mom doesn’t need to know about this. Please. I’m good.” He looked anxiously at the headmaster.

  What was going on here?

  “Your mother is in the office meeting with your math instructor,” Dr. Pingree said gently to Brandon. “We have to let her know the status of your algebra pretesting examination.”

  Brandon winced. “That means I failed, doesn’t it?”

  “We’ll have this conversation later, in private, after we speak with your mother,” Dr. Pingree said.

  “I don’t want her to worry,” Brandon mumbled. “She’s gonna worry about me.”

  Oh, man. Aidan could see the whole problem spread in front of him. The boy trying to be a man. The mom worried for her son.

  “Ah, maybe I could help,” Aidan said to Dr. Pingree. “I’m not a professional tutor, but I did go to St. Bart’s, so I understand the culture.” He lowered his voice. “When I was a student, I failed my algebra pretest. I had to work with a tutor myself—and work hard—but I managed to pull my scores up. To this day, math is one of my strengths.”

  “You certainly would have a wonderful perspective to offer a newer, struggling student,” Dr. Pingree said. “You know how difficult it can be to catch up academically to St. Bartholomew’s standards.” He nodded. “Yes, I would support your choice as a mentor/tutor and give my recommendation to Brandon’s parent.”

  He hoped she took his offer in the spirit of generosity with which he meant it.

  But he managed a smile. “Please talk to Brandon’s mother, give her my name, before I get any more involved in this process,” Aidan said to the headmaster.

  “Certainly, as long as Brandon is comfortable,” the headmaster said. He peered at Brandon. “Would you like to talk more with Dr. Lowe?”

  Aidan looked at the kid. He just seemed worried. Aidan remembered feeling shell-shocked at Brandon’s age, when he’d realized he’d failed his pre-test. It had been the first time he’d ever failed anything in school. Maybe Brandon felt the same way.

  “Come on,” Aidan said to the boy, motioning to a table close enough that they weren’t out of the headmaster’s earshot, but far enough away that the kids at the other tables couldn’t hear them. He was treading carefully with this situation.

  Nodding, Brandon followed him. Sat down. Stared at a hangnail on his thumb.

  “What’s going on?” Aidan asked the boy. “Did you study for the pre-test? I don’t know how it is now, but I remember that they recommended I study for it over the summer.”

  “Yes,” Brandon said. He shrugged. “In my old school it was easier. I didn’t expect it to be this hard.”

  “Yeah. I remember the same feeling.”

  Brandon glanced up. Aidan could see the pain in his eyes. “My aunt was an anesthesiologist at Wellness Hospital. She went to a regular public school, and she became a doctor.”

  “Well, yes.” Aidan paused. “Of course that’s possible. What’s your aunt’s name?”

  “Dr. Elizabeth LaValley.”

  Aidan struggled to keep a straight face. He’d done surgery with Dr. LaValley once or twice. Seemed like a million years ago, and he’d been in such a different place then.

  “You know her?” Brandon asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t realize your connection to her at first.” He should have recognized Brandon’s last name. He’d just been so...caught up in his own situation. He needed to rectify that. Aidan cleared his throat. “Dr. LaValley is a good anesthesiologist. We worked on some hip replacement surgeries as part of a team.”

  He’d been the bored hotshot surgeon blaring Led Zeppelin music while she’d sat in her anesthesiologist’s chair wincing because she preferred Mozart.

  But he kept his expression level. None of that was the kid’s problem.

  “My aunt tutored me this summer,” Brandon said. “We used Skype every Monday and Thursday. She’s in San Francisco now.”

  Ashley had mentioned that. But oh, here was potentially another reason for Dr. LaValley to dislike him. He would be stepping in to help where Dr. LaValley had failed. Some people wouldn’t take that so well.

  “Why do you suppose you didn’t pass the pre-test?” Aidan asked him.

  Brandon shrugged. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  Aidan remained silent. Brandon fidgeted. Finally he sighed. “I’m a commuting student, not a boarding student. The boarding students get special help from the resident teachers that I don’t get.”

  Aidan nodded. Perhaps it was a valid reason, but it definitely wasn’t an avenue he was exploring. Brandon’s living situation was really none of his business.

  “What else?” Aidan prompted gently. “Do you think there are any other reasons you didn’t pass?”

  “Well...my aunt said I haven’t learned to be focused enough. My old school—the one I was in before this—I got all A’s there and I didn’t even need to try. I could just memorize stuff. But here, everything is faster. I guess I didn’t believe her this summer, but now I do. I think I’ll do better next time. Or I would if I was here at night with the other kids in quiet study session.” He looked longingly back at the group of boys eating breakfast together.

  “Okay,” Aidan said. The last thing he wanted to do was to contradict either the aunt or the mother or the headmaster or his grandmother. “Why don’t we go back to see Dr. Pingree?”

  “So are
you going to tutor me?” Brandon asked.

  “Do you want to be tutored?”

  “Um. Yeah.” Brandon glanced at him. “Do you want to tutor me?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ashley in the corridor, being led to meet Dr. Pingree. She looked pretty, with her hair done up so that her long neck was exposed. He had to be content gazing at that attractive sliver of skin, because every other part of her was covered—in a conservatively cut tailored blazer and wide-leg trousers. She was making an effort to fit in, he observed, not wearing her trendy hairstylist clothes, and that just made her all that more remarkable in his eyes.

  He stilled, remembering what Gram had said about Ashley going to alcohol rehab. Aidan didn’t hold that against her. He thought highly of her for it. Still, he couldn’t deny that it raised a warning flag. Would she think he was “interfering” in her home life? Would he have to worry that her alcoholism might influence her to do something she shouldn’t?

  He should have thought of that before he’d reacted so impulsively, wanting to help Brandon without thinking it through.

  He tried not to wince as Ashley noticed his presence. He watched as her eyes widened. She seemed wary. Her lips pressed together.

  It saddened him to see her react that way toward him. He’d liked her yesterday. He liked her calm manner, her inherent gentleness, even though she’d had a steel spine, too. In her own sweet way, she was no pushover.

  Brandon was staring at him. He hadn’t seen his mom yet. And he was waiting for an answer from Aidan.

  “Let me talk with your mother,” Aidan said to the boy.

  “Okay. Um. Here she comes, the lady with Dr. Pingree. That’s her.”

  Ashley was stalking toward them, ahead of the headmaster. Brandon glanced at Aidan and smiled hopefully as she stood before them.

  “This is your mother?” Aidan asked, by way of verification, even though he well knew it was.

  “Yeah, this is my mom.”

  Ashley crossed her arms. Two bright spots of color blazed in her cheeks. The corners of her mouth tugged down.