“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.
But that need could be a liability, too.
“Please, let’s put it behind us, Brandon, and come up with new solutions.”
He stubbornly set his chin. “I think Mrs. Sharpe wants me to work with him. She’s his grandmother, you know.”
Ashley inhaled. She liked her son’s arrangement with Mrs. Sharpe less and less as time went on. “Did you speak with Mrs. Sharpe about any of this?”
“No,” he admitted. “We don’t see her much at the ballpark. She doesn’t come down to the team rooms—she’s too old. But I remember Dr. Lowe from the Captains bullpen when I was eight. He used to work with the team. He left right around the time I started, but I remembered him. I really think he could help us, Mom. He’s smart.”
She couldn’t argue with any of this—except to tell her twelve-year-old that Aidan Lowe, like her, was a complicated person who carried baggage along with him.
She sighed and glanced at her watch. They weren’t going to solve this problem now, and, unfortunately, she was going to be late for work if she didn’t get moving. “Okay, Brandon. We’ll talk more tonight.”
“Please, Mom,” he begged. “Let me talk to him if you won’t. It’s either that or you’ve got to let me board at St. Bart’s with the rest of my class.”
She ground her teeth. “You’re not the only commuter kid in your class.” She was sick of the boarding talk.
“You’ll talk with Dr. Lowe?”
“I can try,” she said reluctantly, thinking of that note that Vivian had left for her.
Brandon brightened. “Thanks, Mom.” He looked as relieved as if she’d already made it happen.
“I’m not promising anything,” she warned.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT DAY, before Ashley headed to work for her Saturday morning half shift, she placed a quick call to her sister. From the busy coffee bar in the lobby of her building, she stood facing the windows. The smell of brew and the feel of warm morning sunshine hit her skin, and she inhaled deeply.
“Ash?” Her sister’s sleepy voice caressed her ears.
“Hope I didn’t wake you,” Ashley said softly. “I know it’s early, but I’m counting on the fact that you’re an early bird yourself.”
“Yes, I’m up. I’m headed in to the hospital, but I’m keeping my voice down because Jon got in late last night.”
“We watched his game.” Ashley felt a twinge of guilt for letting Brandon stay up so late to see his uncle pitch. But after the day they’d had, she couldn’t say no. Unfortunately, the game on the West Coast hadn’t ended until almost midnight.
“Is everything all right?” Her practical, focused sister always got straight to the point.
“No, actually.” Ashley lowered her voice even more. The coffee shop was crowded, and she didn’t want anyone to overhear her business.
“I’m calling about Brandon,” she said. She held her sister’s opinion of academic matters in very high regard, since Lisbeth had been the one who’d encouraged Ashley to seek out preparatory schools for Brandon in the first place. She’d helped consult with the entrance forms, with the recommendation gathering, with the entrance examinations. “He failed his math pretest.”
“I was afraid of that.” Lisbeth’s voice was low, too. “Will you be getting him a tutor now?”
“Yes, the school suggested someone.” Ashley paused. “But before I get into that, did you know that Vivian Sharpe was on the board of directors at St. Bartholomew’s School?”
“I noticed her name,” Lisbeth said mildly. “She has her fingers in a lot of worthy projects in Boston.”
Ashley inhaled, taking a moment to process the news. “So...you don’t think I have anything to worry about from her?”
“No. She’s never directly interfered. She’s more of a patron to Brandon. She’s very much in the background. As she should be.”
“Has she ever said anything to you about Brandon? About directing his schooling?”
“No. When I recommended St. Bartholomew’s to you, I based my decision on the scholarship offer they discussed. Vivian Sharpe never came in to the equation. Though frankly, when we listed Brandon’s extracurricular activities with the Captains and the Sunshine Club on the application, I assumed it would be noticed.”
Ashley swallowed. “Well, she’s recommended a tutor for Brandon. Her grandson, Dr. Aidan Lowe. Do you know him from Wellness Hospital?”
There was a snort on the other end. Then a crisp, “Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound like a vote of confidence,” Ashley said, her heart sinking despite herself.
“I’ve worked with him,” Lisbeth said. “He’s rude.”
“He’s not all that rude,” Ashley found herself protesting. “That’s just his prickly outer layer.” If anyone, her slightly antisocial sister should understand that. Lisbeth could be prickly herself.
“You’ve met him, I see,” Lisbeth said drily.
“He’s...had a rough time. Aidan was overseas at Doctor’s Aid, and his clinic was bombed. His partner, Dr. Fleur Sanborne, was killed.”
“Oh.” Lisbeth’s voice was soft. “That was them. Last autumn, right? I heard about the bombing, but I didn’t...” She trailed off.
Ashley understood very well why this was news to Lisbeth. Her sister was obsessive about those things that interested her—like Pompeii exhibits and academia and now, thanks to her husband, the sport of baseball. Everything else was outside the scope of Lisbeth’s concern. Her intense focus had made her a great student, but unfortunately, sometimes people misunderstood her. Ashley didn’t. Ashley loved her wonderfully smart, loyal baby sister.
“Given that, and what you know of him personally,” Ashley said, “do you think I should go ahead with asking him—” begging him “—to tutor Brandon?”
“Did the school recommend Dr. Lowe?” Lisbeth asked.
“Yes.”
“And Brandon wants him?”
“He does.”
“Then I don’t see the problem in asking him to do it. If the teachers at his school trust Dr. Lowe, then that’s what’s most important. I just don’t personally like him. Personally. Professionally, he’s respected.”
There was Lisbeth’s logical side coming out yet again. Ashley knew how to take care of her baby sister—she’d spent her childhood managing some tough situations, for herself and for Lisbeth. If she could handle that, then she supposed she could handle whatever Aidan threw at her, too. She hoped.
“Thanks, Lisbeth. I’ll go see him after my shift and ask him if he’ll do it. Wish me luck.”
* * *
ASHLEY WAS ABLE to scoot out of work a few minutes early, and when she did, she headed directly to Aidan’s high-rise on the water.
Her feet were killing her in the heels she’d worn. She’d tucked her old clogs inside her bag, and when she got to the street, she slipped those on.
Copley Square was bustling just before noon. She took public transportation—the T—to the stop closest to the address that Mrs. Sharpe had left for her.
She walked down the street by the waterfront, where expensive hotels and restaurants and tall office buildings cast shadows over the wide boulevard. Across the street was the long park, a swath of grass known as the Rose Kennedy Greenway, after the mother of the late president. At one end was a pretty rose garden that Ashley had visited once when Brandon was small. They used to have “family fun days” together back then, as she had called their tradition of spending weekend time together. They’d gone everywhere together, all over Boston. Ashley, her friend Sharma, Sharma’s son and Brandon. Now that Brandon was growing up and starting his new, intense school, she was feeling nostalgic.
Sighing, she turned on the GPS map app on her smartphone and followed the directions to Aidan’s building.
The lobby was busy with residents and visitors. She pulled her purse tighter to her shoulder and headed for the elevators in the back.
She unfolded the slip of paper that Vivian had left her. Aidan’s apartment was on the top floor. The penthouse.
Unfortunately, a doorman controlled the elevator to the penthouse. “I’ll have to call upstairs and announce you,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“It’s a trap,” a woman said behind Ashley. Ashley turned. “If he announces you, then Dr. Lowe will instruct him not to let you up.”
The doorman cleared his throat. “Are you another journalist?” he asked Ashley.
“No, sir. I’m a hairstylist.” She opened her bag and, in a fit of optimism, showed him the full metal can of superhold hair spray that she always traveled with. She also showed him her trimming scissors, a mini set of shampoo and conditioner, and a barber’s comb—in case he didn’t believe her.
The doorman smiled at her. “Bill,” his nametag read. “People have been feeding me lines all morning,” he said to her. “But you, I believe. I’ve seen Dr. Lowe’s hair since he returned home.”
She laughed. “I know. He reluctantly came to my shop yesterday, but I’m still working on him. I’m Ashley, by the way.” She held out one of her business cards.
“Nice to meet you,” Bill said. He glanced at her card. “Perceptions on Newbury Street. Sweet.”
“Feel free to spread the word,” she said. “I’m open to new clients.”
“Absolutely.” Bill moved aside and held his hand forward to her. “Step inside. I’ll take you up.”
“Seriously?” asked one of the journalists as the elevator doors closed on the lobby.
Once inside the elevator, Bill pressed the button for the penthouse. “I love tweaking journalists,” he confided to Ashley. “Vultures. The Globe ran a story on Dr. Lowe’s homecoming last night, and now everyone else wants to talk to him.”
Ashley hadn’t seen any newspapers today. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s been hard for Dr. Lowe to adjust to being home.”
“Yes,” Bill agreed. “I’ve noticed that, as well. And I’m glad you’re here. Maybe it will calm things down.”
“Isn’t...he alone?”
“No, there are two people up there already.”
Her heart fluttered with alarm. “Oh?”
Bill nodded but didn’t elaborate. Apparently, that was as much gossip as he was prepared to share.
She wasn’t getting a good feeling.
The elevator doors opened. A middle-aged man and woman were in the hallway, knocking on Aidan’s door.
Ashley paused, shrinking back.
The sound of something breaking came from within Aidan’s penthouse.
The man knocked on the door again. “You have to let us in, Aidan!” he called.
“Good luck in there,” Bill murmured to Ashley. He looked expectantly at her, as if she was the one to fix this dilemma.
“Thanks, Bill.” She mustered a smile and stepped onto the landing.
Immediately the elevator doors closed.
The man and woman in the hallway by Aidan’s door paused to stare at her. The man stopped knocking, and the woman looked Ashley over, up and down as she tentatively approached.
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
Ashley smiled wanly. It was too late to head back down. The elevator was gone, and it likely wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.
Ashley licked her lips and told the truth, since it seemed to be working for her so far this morning. Again, she opened her monster bag and displayed the tools of her trade. The fact that she was wearing comfortable clogs didn’t hurt, either. “I’m a haircutter,” she explained. “I work at a salon called Perceptions.”
The man turned to the woman. “He’s that afraid to go outside?”
“Well, he was in the newspaper this morning. He’s obviously upset about that.”
The woman turned back to Ashley. Her lower lip quivered. She wore a bit of mascara, but it was smudged and starting to run. “A reporter called us yesterday and we answered all her questions. I’m afraid he’s angry with us now.”
“I’m sorry,” Ashley said. “Are you Fleur’s parents?”
“Fleur was my daughter,” the woman whispered.
Oh no. Ashley ached for them, and for Aidan. Though she still thought he was being rude leaving them out in the hall.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. “I never met Fleur, but from what I’ve heard about her, she was very brave.”
The man nodded eagerly. “We were proud of our daughter. She always wanted to be a doctor. Our little town was too small for her—she wanted to go and save the world instead.”
“That is so admirable,” Ashley said, struck by their obvious need to talk about their daughter, even with a stranger.
The woman wiped away a tear, smudging her mascara a little more. “This has been hard for us. We never imagined...”
“I have a son.” Ashley touched the woman’s arm. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if I lost him.”
&
nbsp; The woman reached for Ashley’s hand.
“May I hug you?” Ashley asked.
Nodding, the woman hugged Ashley without speaking. A soft, motherly hug. She sniffled, and Ashley squeezed tighter. She wished she had her mom to hug sometimes. “What’s your name?” Ashley asked Fleur’s mother.
“I’m Flo. This is my husband, Albert.”
“Albert, it’s nice to meet you, as well. My name is Ashley LaValley.” She held out her hand to shake it, but Albert caught Ashley up in a hug of his own.
He was a slight, sad man with a gray, bristly beard. Ashley hadn’t grown up with a father. She counted Fleur as lucky in that respect, too.
“So, what’s happening with Dr. Lowe?” she asked carefully, looking from Flo to Albert. “Did he know you were coming today?”
They exchanged a look. Flo gave Albert a slight nod.
“We arranged a time to come for our daughter’s things. He told us noon, and here we are, but when we came, he immediately asked us to leave.”
“He told us that he’s not ready,” Flo interjected.
“Oh. Dear. And you don’t want to leave?” Ashley asked, for clarification’s sake.
“No. He has been putting us off for eleven months now. First, he didn’t come home for the funeral. He stayed overseas. Now that his contract is up and he’s home, he’s been avoiding us.”
“We want to have a memorial service,” Flo added, her lips quivering again. “The funeral was rushed and private, and we were in such shock. Now that it’s been nearly a year, we want to have a service in our church, with tributes from those who knew her from her childhood as well as her professional years.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. Have you told Dr. Lowe?”
“We’ve tried to. We need his help to invite the colleagues that she was close to.”
Ashley saw the problem. Aidan didn’t want to do it.
“It sounds lovely to me,” she said honestly. “Very healing to have a lovely tribute for your daughter’s life.”
“Exactly.” Flo nodded. “You understand.”
The Good Mom Page 7
