Читать книгу The Good Mum - Cathryn Parry - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“BRANDON, HURRY UP, we’re going to be late!”

If there was one thing Ashley could take heart in, early on this Friday school morning, it was that her almost-thirteen-year-old son wasn’t in the bathroom preening. There were no girls in his classes at St. Bartholomew’s, unlike in his public school. He seemed to be taking that fact in stride, though. Sometimes nothing appeared to faze her happy-go-lucky kid.

She found him in his bedroom, typing swiftly into his smartphone. He kept a social media account that Ashley monitored as best she could. He shared photos mainly. And his friends commented, in their weird kid-speak that was totally different from the kid-speak that Ashley and her friends had used too many years ago.

She put her hand on her hip. “Brandon, we need to go.”

“Okay.” He gave her the lopsided grin that was already slaying female hearts from the North Shore to the Cape—wherever the Sunshine Club donation appeals were broadcast.

Thankfully, though, her scary-smart kid still liked school. Ashley had been a middling student—not like her reclusive genius of a younger sister.

But Brandon was neither reclusive nor middling. No, he’d gotten the best of the LaValley family genes—not that that was saying much. It was as if they’d saved up all the good ones for this amazing kid. God, she was lucky.

Brandon grabbed his backpack. His blazer was looped through the top—it was still warm outside—but every day this week she’d watched as he’d put it on, looking natty, as he entered the school archway.

With a bottle of juice in his hand, he said to her, “You don’t have to walk with me.”

They’d been through this. “I know I don’t have to most days,” she said, “but today I need to.”

He cocked his head. “That note is probably no big deal.”

He was referring to the letter that the school had sent home, requesting Ashley’s presence at a meeting in the headmaster’s office this morning. “It’s standard, Mom,” Brandon had already explained. “In schools like this, they send notes to parents all the time. All my friends probably got them, too.”

Frankly, she trusted his judgment when it came to St. Bartholomew’s more than her own. He’d been there a week already, and he came home happier each day.

“I’ll see the headmaster and find out what he has to say,” she told him.

“I know I’m doing well in my English class. There are, like, these kids in my class, they’re from Mexico and Korea, and their English isn’t that great yet.”

“That’s a long way from home,” she remarked.

“It is. I wouldn’t want to be them. I’m only a few miles from home. I can still see my old friends on weekends.”

“True,” she murmured, grabbing her purse from the closet she kept it locked in. Old habits. Their previous apartment had been broken into twice, and she’d learned not to leave her valuables out where thieves could see them. Then she motioned Brandon toward their front door and locked it behind them.

“So, what does the headmaster do when he wants to talk to your Korean friend’s parent?” she asked as they headed toward the street.

“Cho,” Brandon said. “His name is Cho.” He ran his hand through his shaggy bangs.

“Okay, Cho. What happens? Do they get his parents on a video call? Or send them an email?”

“Cho’s father uses an interpreter from their embassy. I think he’s an ambassador, with an office down in Washington. Or something like that.”

Not for the first time Ashley marveled at the company her son was keeping. It made her heart swell. She felt weepy with all the opportunities he was getting.

“So this is just a normal check-in with parents,” she repeated, for probably the tenth time, wishing she had more experience with private schools.

“Don’t be nervous, Mom.” Brandon shot her a grin. “We’re good.”

“Right.” She nodded, averting her gaze as they walked past the package store that had made her so nervous yesterday. “Good.”

Brandon reached in his backpack to put on his earphones and music, but she grabbed his hand. “Can we just talk, please? It’s only a few more feet to walk with your mom.” She smiled as easily as she could. “Humor me.”

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.

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.

* * *

“VIVIAN SHARPE,” ASHLEY 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.”

“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.

* * *

TEN 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.

* * *

FIVE 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.

Now...

He was growing up. Things were different.

She swallowed, aware that she had to do this parenting on her own. No counselor to help her.

But she was doing it.

“Brandon,” she said carefully, “Dr. Lowe has a lot on his plate right now. His decision has nothing to do with you.”

Brandon hung his head sadly. “Yeah, it does. He said he wanted to help, and then after he met me, he obviously changed his mind.”

Ashley’s heart nearly broke for the millionth time that morning. Brandon thrived on making sure that people liked him. And he was so genial, so happy-go-lucky that most people did like him.