The Good Mom (5 page)

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.

She looked at Brandon, and Aidan saw hurt in her eyes. “We need to talk about our discussion earlier this morning, but not now. We'll do it when you get home this afternoon,” she said to her son.

“But, Mom, I—”

“I
said
we'll talk later.”

Brandon didn't argue. Looking pained, he shrugged and gazed at the headmaster, who led him away.

He and Ashley were alone. “What are you doing here, Aidan?” she asked.

“Ashley, I honestly did not plan this.” But then he paused, because in a sense, hadn't he?

He gave her a guilty look and a shrug because he didn't know what else to do, but she stared at him, not buying the insouciant look on his face any more than she had with her son.

From his peripheral vision, Aidan was well aware that not only was her son watching them but so was the table of boys he'd been sitting with.

“Let's talk out in the hall,” he said, smiling broadly for the audience across the room.

“Yes. Good idea.” She nodded and then turned on her heel.

He didn't follow her, though. He was damned if he'd let himself be given the questioning schoolmarm treatment. He could have easily outpaced her—his legs being longer—but he kept his strides even with hers.

Once in the hallway, she didn't stop. She marched straight into the closest office.

He followed her, raising a brow as he caught up to her. “Should we be doing this?” he asked.

“Yes. I'm not risking being overheard.”

Ouch.
She was tougher than she'd seemed.

She shut the door behind him and crossed her arms.

The room wasn't all that big. It was a very tight, very enclosed space.

“What are you doing with my child?” she asked.

He sobered. “I swear I didn't set out this morning intending to meet your son.”

“Are you following me?”

“My grandmother follows you.”

She gave him a look of horror. “Vivian Sharpe follows me? What are you
saying
?”

What
was
he saying? He'd just insinuated that his grandmother was a stalker.

“No, sorry, I just...” He shook his head and leaned against the edge of the desk. He was losing it. His pulse was elevated. His breathing shallow.

Aidan closed his eyes. Practiced slow, deep breathing to regain his equilibrium.

What had made him think he could do this—help another person? He'd just come back from a war zone. His nerves were shot as it was. He'd been neglecting dealing with that part of himself.

And his grandmother had been worried about Ashley being an alcoholic? What a laugh.

“Aidan?”

He opened his eyes and focused on her. She was the only one who'd been able to calm him lately. It really was great not to be called Dr. Lowe. Not to have to be so professional all the time.

“You'll be okay,” he said lightly to Ashley. “Don't worry about my grandmother. She loves your son and sits in the background, doing what she can for him. You'll never really be in trouble with her watching over you like she does.”

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “It sounds like she's a spider!”

He couldn't help it; he laughed out loud.

But Ashley was horrified. By him, by his grandmother. And maybe she was right to be horrified—maybe he should be more so himself. His whole life, he'd been surrounded by people who ran the show for him. Spiders, creating a web around him. This wasn't what he wanted. In fact, right now he just wanted his freedom. Wanted to be outdoors, with a wide blue sky overhead and an endless possibility of paths before him.

“You're right,” he said. “I made a mistake in offering to tutor your son. I only did it because my grandmother sits on the board of directors here, and she mentioned him. But I won't be getting swept up in helping anyone again. And I won't be having anything to do with the Captains, with baseball, with charities, with hip replacement surgeries. And I won't be going overseas and doing good with war-torn children. I'm done, Ashley. Although, honestly, anytime you want to give me a haircut, I am so there. Just call me, and that I'll be there for.”

“Oh, my God...” She put her hands to her cheeks. She seemed to be in as much shock as he was.

He was surely going crazy. The pressure had all caught up to him and he was coming apart in the most inappropriate way.

* * *

“V
IVIAN
S
HARPE
,” A
SHLEY
WHISPERED
, dying at the realization. “Vivian Sharpe is keeping tabs on my son.” That's what Brandon had been referring to earlier. How could she have missed it? “And she sits on the board at St. Bartholomew's School?” She'd probably even gotten Brandon his scholarship.

While she stood in stunned silence, taking it all in, Aidan gave her a tired look. It was that same tired, dazed look he'd had in the salon yesterday. And she understood. He'd been through a clinic bombing. His girlfriend—or maybe fiancée—had died in his arms. That was what he was dealing with.

She rubbed her brow. It was so hot in this tiny, tight space. And Aidan, with that dazed look in his brown eyes, he was gazing at her like...like he was mesmerized by her. Like no man looked at her anymore, not since she'd become Brandon's mom.

Brandon.
He'd failed his math pre-test and he needed a tutor. He needed her help. And she needed to focus—not on her worries and suspicions about Vivian Sharpe and certainly not on her physical attraction to this complicated man, Vivian's grandson.

She backed up. “Aidan...Dr. Lowe...please. Please, you need to tell Dr. Pingree that the school should find another tutor, someone appropriately qualified to work with middle school children on their mathematics studies. I'm not comfortable with your grandmother being involved in my son's schooling. It's hard enough that he's so involved with the Captains. I didn't realize that she was on the board of directors here, too. Will you do that, please? That way I can tell Brandon that we'll find someone else.”