Cathryn Parry - The Good Mum

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.