She woke from her reverie as she came across a cache at the bottom of Fleur’s underwear drawer. Ah, women and their underwear drawers.
She’d dutifully put those things into the cardboard box for Flo and Albert. There were some small boxes of old jewelry hidden there. Into the cardboard box they went. At the very back of the drawer, there was a journal. Ashley’s heart nearly stopped. Of course, she should have expected it. She shouldn’t have been surprised.
The journal was an ordinary one. Plain tan leather. No lock. No name on the cover.
Ashley had kept a journal while she’d been in rehab. It had helped her sort out her feelings. She’d thrown it away—burned it, actually, in a private, triumphant ceremony—because the worst thing that could happen would be for her curious young son to find something so deeply personal. She no longer did a lot of things because of living with her son, protecting her son, above all being a good mother.
That had made her think of throwing the journal away. Or destroying it. Certainly, that is what she would have wanted, in the woman’s shoes.
Maybe Ashley could tuck the diary into the bookcase. Let Aidan find it and decide what to do with it himself, later in a more private moment. Perhaps he’d see it when he felt less raw.
Ashley slid the diary between two volumes on the bottom shelf of Aidan’s bookcase.
She continued on through the living room toward the kitchen. To the side, there was a nook, again with the floor-to-ceiling windows, where Aidan sat alone at a table, staring out the window.
She backed away, slipped into the kitchen, sidestepping some broken glass and a spill of water—that must have been the crashing noise she’d heard earlier. She looked for a broom but didn’t see one at hand. Later, she would sweep up the glass for him. For now, he needed something else.
She opened a cabinet door until she found a box of English tea and some sugar packets. No kettle that she saw, but there was a microwave and a refrigerator that had a water filter.
There was one thing that Ashley knew how to do well—her go-to reaction to any difficult situation—and she made the decision then and there to take care of Aidan.
Quickly, she made two tall glasses of iced tea. By habit—because it was what Brandon liked—she stirred a packet of sugar into each glass. Brought the glasses to Aidan at the table in the other room.
He looked up, distracted, and she almost dropped the glasses. By goodness this man was beautiful, even in grief and pain. Maybe especially in grief and pain. His dark eyelashes contrasted against pale skin. His gaze was distant.
She longed to go and put her head on his shoulder. It was curious that she could admire him from afar because it was safe—he was grieving and therefore not interested in her.
She sat down beside him as he lifted the glass and took a sip. He wasn’t looking at her; he was gazing out the window at the sailboats in the marina.
She crossed her legs and sipped at her own drink, watching him over the rim of her glass. He was so beautiful; he made her long for something. For what she couldn’t have. But it was okay to long, because it was impossible. Lisbeth may have wanted Tony to come back and marry their mom, but Ashley had always known it was a fairy tale that wouldn’t come true. She hadn’t even bothered to feel bad, one way or another.
Imagining Aidan kissing her was safe. It was only a dream that would never happen. The poor man was still grieving, for goodness’ sake.
She glanced around at the nice apartment. The pretty things. The outwardly gruff, though inwardly kind-at-heart Aidan. It struck her again that Fleur Sanborne had been one lucky woman.
Aidan suddenly glanced at her. “Thanks for this,” he said hoarsely, indicating his drink. “And for packing those boxes. I appreciate it.”
She nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m not a monster,” he said.
“I know that.” She smiled at him. “I wouldn’t let a monster tutor my son.”
That made him chuckle. He shook his head and looked directly at her. It was a look of awareness, of her body, of how close and alone they sat, and it made her freeze.
“I can’t commit to the whole semester,” he said, “but I can promise to work with him every day, if that’s what you want, for the next two weeks. After that, I can help find someone else to take over for me.”
She tried to mask her disappointment. She’d hoped for more than two weeks. Glancing at her glass, she asked, “Do you plan to leave Boston then?”
“I do.” His frank gaze made her want to pull her thin sweater tighter across her breasts.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Thanks for telling me.” And then she babbled. “Brandon will be very appreciative, he—”
“I’m not doing it for Brandon,” he said sharply, “I’m doing it for you.”
“For me?” She could feel her cheeks heating.
“You’re a good person, Ashley. So I’m going to say this. You should prepare yourself for things not to work out the way that you’d like them to.”
She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
He swept his arm over his apartment. She glanced back and saw the pile of jumbled household goods scattered there, and it occurred to her that he was talking about himself more than about her. He’d lost his love. His life had fallen apart around him. He wasn’t handling it particularly gracefully. “Tell your son that life sometimes blows up in your face no matter what you do to stop it.”
“No!” She leaped out of her seat and stood, her hands shaking, her knuckles white on the back of the wooden chair.
But the look he gave her appeased her anger. She remembered that he had been through a heartbreaking tragedy. “Your wife died in your arms, Aidan. I know—”
His cheeks reddened. “She wasn’t my wife,” he spit.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That was a slip of the tongue, but—”
“She turned me down, Ashley. I wanted to marry her, but she said no. And that’s not even the worst of it. Those last few months together, we’d fallen out of love. Both of us. Our Doctor’s Aid assignment was a last-ditch effort at making something work again. It didn’t happen. Instead, we broke up for good.”
“You...?”
“A week before she died.” He tore a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t tell anyone. You saw her parents. They’ve been through hell—she was their only daughter. You think I could tell them the truth?”
“I...”
He shook his head. “Fleur was a complicated person. Forceful.” He glanced at her. “I’m never gonna talk about her with you, but suffice it to say, there’s more than what’s apparent on the surface. That’s what I was arguing about with her parents when you first got here. They want a memorial service. I understand. But the truth of the matter is, I’m not comfortable being a part of it, given the circumstances.”
He glanced at her again. “Your sister would probably call me arrogant for saying that. No, I think ‘rude’ was her word for me.”
“Well...”
He shrugged. “I know how it looks. I know how I seem. And I know that maybe I was tough about things sometimes—regular, everyday things. But it’s what I was taught in life, to be tough. I wasn’t taught to be kind. But honestly, I’m doing my best. And I do feel for Flo and Albert. I really do.”
“It’s okay to ask for help with this,” Ashley said softly.
He slumped in his chair. He passed his hands through his hair. She knew how hard it was to ask for help—she’d had to learn that lesson in rehab. But she’d learned it. And so would he.
“I’d thought I was over it,” he muttered. “I thought I’d dealt with the breakup and her death during the last eleven months.”
“You’re human,” she said gently. “Healing is a process.”
He stood. “All right.” He blew out a breath. “We
’ll start working together with Brandon on Monday evening at seven o’clock. Give me your address.”
“My—”
“Address. Or is there another place you want me to tutor your son?”
She swallowed. He’d segued so quickly, her head was spinning. “Um, actually, I thought you’d be tutoring him at school...”
Aidan shook his head. “Brandon isn’t a boarder, so it would be better for him to be in his own space.”
Ashley twisted her hands. She suddenly wasn’t sure she liked this. Having Aidan in her tiny apartment seemed too personal. Too risky to her.
Aidan in her house? Every night?
“I recommend going from seven to nine every night except Sunday,” Aidan said. “Two weeks should be enough to get Brandon started. You can be present, but it would be better if you were in another room so as not to distract him. No matter how much you might want to jump in.” He laughed suddenly. “Though not jumping in to help might be hard for you—I’m starting to see that.”
“Are you saying I’m overbearing?” she protested.
“No. Just a mama bear taking care of her cub.”
“Hey! That’s not a bad thing.”
He laughed again. “We’ll see.” He picked up their empty glasses and headed to the kitchen. When he was confronted with the pile of household goods, plus the broken glass on the floor, he grimaced.
“Aidan, where’s the broom? I don’t mind cleaning up for you.”
“No, it’s my mess,” he said. “I’ll handle the rest from here. And I’ll meet Albert and Flo when they come back.”
“Are you sure?”
When he nodded, Ashley sighed and handed over the boxed ring she’d tucked into her back pocket. “This is for Flo,” she said simply. “The family heirloom she was asking about.”
Aidan’s jaw tightened, but he met her gaze and then gave her a steely nod.
It had to hurt him. It had to hurt him a lot.
* * *
HOURS AFTER ASHLEY had left—after they’d all left—Aidan went outside to the marina and borrowed his neighbor’s boat. He motored past the moored sailboats in the inner harbor, going slowly, and once in the outer harbor, lowered the controls, pushing the engine to its fastest, until he was alone in the Atlantic.
He cut the engine. Bobbing alone, the air smelling like sea and water, the city far in the distance, he pulled out the slim volume from the backpack on the seat beside him.
Fleur’s diary. He’d found it in the bookcase tucked into the bottom shelf. He hadn’t known what it was until he’d opened it and had seen her large, bold printing. No cursive for Fleur; she printed everything. Sharply, confidently.
He slammed the book shut. Hadn’t wanted to read it, then or now. It wasn’t his to read.
She’d embarked on an affair with another man toward the end. Aidan hadn’t known until they were already overseas. He’d found out through a mistakenly addressed email. Or maybe not mistakenly addressed. It hadn’t mattered how, just that he’d known.
Aidan wound up his pitching arm and hurled the diary as far as he could. Fleur’s secrets would go to Davy Jones’s locker.
He sat for a moment, still bobbing alone in the waves. He could taste the bitterness and the regret. Even though he knew it did no good to wallow, he let himself. Five minutes. That was all.
And then he fired up the engine. Smelled the faint tint of gasoline, the gurgle of seawater churning in the propellers beneath him.
At least nobody else knew. Nobody else would ever know he knew, but himself and Fleur, and she wasn’t around to tell anyone.
CHAPTER FIVE
LISBETH WAS TALKING to Brandon via Skype on the computer in Ashley’s kitchen. Lisbeth rubbed her very pregnant belly and gazed with adoring eyes at her husband and Ashley felt a brief moment of envy.
But then Ashley looked at her son. She was lucky to have him. She didn’t have a husband like Lisbeth did, but that couldn’t be helped.
“Did Uncle Jon leave for the ballpark yet? He’s the starting pitcher tonight, right?” she heard Brandon ask his aunt. Ashley dried her hands on a dish towel. She always let Brandon watch Jon’s games. Brandon idolized his professional ballplayer uncle.
“No, I’m still here.” Jon appeared in the screen, lowering his head and giving them a quick wave. “Hey, Ash.”
“Hey, Jon,” she said.
“Whatcha cooking?”
“Frozen gluten-free pizza for Brandon.” Her brother-in-law knew about Brandon’s wheat allergy. When Jon had lived in Boston while Ashley had been in rehab, he’d fed her son often and he knew the challenges.
“Are you going to the game tonight, Auntie?” Brandon asked Lisbeth. “I think they’re going to the World Series this year,” he said excitedly.
The timer near the stove dinged, so Ashley turned it off and then took out their pizza dinner. She calmly dished it onto plates while she listened.
“You need to finish up your call,” she finally told Brandon. “Your tutor is coming over soon.”
Aidan. She felt herself smiling. To her surprise, she’d found herself looking forward to his arrival, not just for Brandon but for herself. After the long afternoon in his apartment, she’d gone home and thought about all that had happened and been said between them. Her initial anxieties about his presence in her home had been calmed by the realization that despite his gruffness, Aidan listened to her. He took her advice, and he worked with her. He honestly seemed to respect her.
Yes, he was healing from a difficult experience. Maybe mentoring Brandon would help him, too.
Brandon certainly needed the help.
“Good thing the game doesn’t start until eight,” Brandon said to his aunt. “I want to see Uncle Jon win his sixth straight game.”
Again, Ashley felt the slight sting of envy. Her baby sister’s husband was talented, rich and a good partner to Lisbeth. She was happy for her.
“Who did you get to tutor Brandon?” Lisbeth asked over Brandon’s open laptop screen.
“Dr. Lowe,” Ashley said evenly. “We spoke about it, remember?”
Brandon momentarily dipped his head to scarf a slice of pizza. While his attention was away, Lisbeth mouthed to Ashley, “Call me.”
Ashley hesitated only a moment. Nodding, she took out her phone and called up Lisbeth’s number.
Lisbeth answered. “Honestly,” she whispered to Ashley, “I never thought he would actually agree to do it! How did that happen?” Her face went off Brandon’s laptop screen, and her husband appeared in her place, chatting casually with Brandon, keeping him occupied while the two sisters talked privately.
“Why didn’t you think that Aidan would agree to tutor Brandon?” Ashley asked.
“So you’re calling him Aidan now?” Lisbeth said on the other end.
“Yes. He asked me to.”
There was a snort.
“What, Lisbeth? If there’s some other problem I don’t know about, then tell me quickly, because he’s going to be here any moment.”
The long scrape of the buzzer rang out. Too late. Ashley sighed. “I’m hanging up. He’s here.”
“I got the door!” Brandon said. He actually broke away from conversation with the uncle he idolized to go open the door for Aidan, down a short hallway from the cramped kitchen they sat in.
Ashley could see Aidan as the door opened. Darkly tanned skin, a serious expression. Clear brown eyes that stared directly at her, over her son’s head.
And that new feeling skipped inside her. A short jolt of pleasure and happiness. The tiny spark of growing familiarity she had at seeing his face. The pleasure that they’d shared confidences, and that he still chose to help her.
Lisbeth groaned audibly over the monitor. “You like him,” she mouthed, crossing her a
rms as if disapproving.
Ashley scowled at her sister, irritated, but when she turned back, Aidan was addressing her son. Aidan carried a white textbook in his hand, and Brandon helped the good doctor take off his windbreaker, wet with raindrops. Brandon hung it on a hanger in the tiny front coat closet.
Another groan came from the monitor, and Ashley turned back. “This is for Brandon,” she said quietly to her sister. But her sister just stared at her in that quiet, focused, enigmatic, judging way she tended to have about her. As if she understood Ashley better than Ashley understood herself. And Ashley felt uneasy, reminded of the one time she’d imposed on Lisbeth. The one time she’d had to leave Brandon with her sister while Ashley went to inpatient rehab.
Maybe Lisbeth thought that gave her the right to criticize her mothering skills. If so, Ashley was ready for that to end.
“You know I’m a good mom,” Ashley reiterated. “I always put Brandon’s needs first.”
Lisbeth sighed. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She glanced at her round belly. “Maybe it just reminds me of—”
“Of our mom?” Ashley asked.
Lisbeth looked taken aback. “Yes, of Mom.”
She glanced up and saw Aidan looking at her, brow wrinkled quizzically.
Just wonderful. He was here, but the tension had returned to Ashley’s shoulders. The magic and pleasure of his arrival had gone.
* * *
AIDAN PAUSED BEFORE the table in the small apartment where he’d obviously interrupted not only their dinner but some kind of heated sisterly conference. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was the problem.
He paused, textbook still under his arm. The goal tonight was to work with Brandon for just one hour to start. Have the kid do some quick problem sets with him. Assess where his difficulties were. Make a plan for his next tutor, because Aidan wouldn’t be here long enough to finish the job. He was sorry, but that’s the way it was.
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