The Good Mom (18 page)

“Do you think I'm screwed up?” she whispered.

“No,” he said firmly. If anything, he was the one who was screwed up.

“Together we work,” he said. “Together we'll figure it out.”

She smiled tentatively, then gave a soft chuckle. She was laughing again, and that's what he wanted.

With the volume low, he found a movie for them to watch, an old Western in black and white. Where good guys and bad guys were clear, and the good guys always won in the end.

Ashley curled up in his arms. They didn't talk much, but they didn't have to. He didn't kiss her again, either, though he wanted to, because she didn't seem to be in the right place for it yet.

Instead he listened to her heartbeat against his chest. Stroked her smooth hair. Tried to lose himself in the movie, because he didn't know what else to do to help.

CHAPTER TEN

O
N
S
UNDAY
, A
IDAN
still didn't know what to do. It was pouring rain outside, and he sat on his couch, watching the sheets of water cascade down his windows. The harbor was fogged in. He couldn't see any boats.

Even without Fleur's belongings inside, the place was still a depressing reminder of the old life he was trying to forget.

The phone rang and he jumped.
Ashley
, was his first hopeful thought.

“My name is Gin Sanders,” said the husky, smoke-filled voice of the woman on the other end. “Ashley LaValley gave me your phone number.”

“Okay,” he said, not sure what to think.

“Is this Aidan Lowe?”

Not Dr. Aidan Lowe, but Aidan Lowe. He smiled. “Yes. Who is this?”

“I'm a real estate agent.”

He put his hand to his head. Was Ashley trying to get rid of him now?

The real estate agent—Gin—cleared her throat. “I've sold quite a few units in your building, Mr. Lowe, and I can get a great price for you. I know your market.”

“Okay. Sure.” He
was
ready to sell the place. “Come take a look.”

“Are you available now?” Gin asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“I'll be there shortly.”

He hung up. He thought about calling Ashley, but just then his buzzer sounded. Curious, he went to the door.

Bill with his newspaper. Bill used to always bring him his Sunday newspaper in the old days before Afghanistan.

Aidan took it from him. “Thanks,” he said warily.

“Did you get the call from the real estate agent I referred to you?”

“That was you who called her?” Aidan asked.

Bill nodded. “Your hair stylist called me. Ashley.” Bill's face grew red.

“Ashley called
you
?”

“She did. She said you were looking for a good real estate agent.” Bill's face was still red.

Aidan held on to the edge of the door, not sure he wanted to hear this. “You like her, don't you?” he asked Bill.

“Do you think she would go out with me if I asked her?”

“No,” he said. “She has a kid. She doesn't date because of that.”

Bill nodded. “Thanks for telling me that. You saved me some embarrassment.”

He turned and headed back for the elevator, and Aidan could only stare after him.

He
wouldn't give up so easily. Thoughtful, he turned to close the door.

But the elevator door opened. Bill again. And a woman with very short blond hair and lots of heavy makeup.

“Aidan?” she asked him. “Mr. Lowe?”

Bill's eyes widened. He'd only ever called him Dr. Lowe, and Fleur Dr. Sanborne. Fleur would've ripped into this lady for the insult, but all Aidan could seem to do was to smile.

“Yeah, I'm Aidan. That was fast,” he told Gin.

“I was actually on the floor below you when I called.”

“Good thinking. Please.” He opened his door wider. “Come in. Sorry, I haven't had time to clean yet.”

Gin walked in, her head swiveling, taking in everything. The huge room without furniture. The dirty windows he hadn't had time to clean. The kitchen, with empty packaging left on the countertops.

Gin wrinkled her nose. “No one has lived here for a while, have they?”

Hey—he was living here. Had been for more than two weeks. “I was overseas for a year.”

“Are you the sole owner?”

“Yes.”

“A trust is listed as owning it.”

She'd done her homework. He nodded. “I'm the sole trustee.” Trusts were just something they did in his family.

Gin walked over to a counter, clicked on her pen and made some notes. “Do you mind if I take photos?”

“Um...you need to do that now?”

She sighed. “How about you show me the other rooms? This is a two bedroom, right?”

Aidan brought her in and showed her the second bedroom first, which still had his old office stuff and a folded-up cot, which he'd been sleeping in. Then they went to the master bedroom. He'd had Bill come up and haul out the bed, so there was nothing in the room but a clean rectangle on the dusty hardwood flooring.

Gin frowned and opened Fleur's closet. Nothing was left but empty hangers.

Then she walked to the bathroom. Aidan had emptied that out himself. All the drawers with makeup, the shelves with shampoo. He'd felt proud of himself.

Gin stood there frowning.

“What?” he asked her.

“This bathroom is at least twenty years out of date.”

He shrugged. “That's how old the building is.”

Gin sighed. “Come out to the kitchen with me.”

He shrugged again and followed her. She put her papers down, then pulled up a chair at the breakfast bar. He followed suit.

“Look at this counter. It's chipped and worn-out. People want granite these days.” Gin frowned. “Your appliances are old. There's no stainless steel. And the flooring...it's in rough shape. Not to mention the paint situation.”

“Okay.” He'd been a busy doctor.

Gin clicked open her pen and showed him some numbers. “This is what your unit is worth now, as is. But I'm telling you, it's not necessarily a quick sale. People who buy here want turnkey—they're busy professionals, and they want to move in to a renovated unit with all the latest amenities.”

“Maybe a fixer-upper type will want it.”

“Sure. You'll get some lowball offers from property flippers. I emphasize
lowball
.” She scribbled another set of numbers and turned her yellow legal pad toward him. “For this much in renovation cost—and that's just your kitchen, bathroom and flooring, plus a paint job, you'll get this much return.” She pointed with her pen.

It was a substantial difference. “Are you sure?” he asked, skeptical.

She pulled out a computer tablet from her purse and proceeded to show him some comps from the building.

“Wow,” he said, understanding what she was getting at.

Gin tapped her finger on the screen. “I hired the team for the kitchen/bathroom renovation in this unit one floor below yours. The team is fast, they're mostly on budget and they report to me.”

“Sounds like I can't lose,” he muttered.

“Not likely. This is a primo unit. You're facing the harbor, and you're on the top floor. This unit will go fast.”

He thought it would, too, once the renovations were done. “How long will the construction take?” he asked her.

“I'll talk to the team, see what they have scheduled. But once they start, it's fast. Maybe a month. Maybe less.”

He liked that. He liked it a lot. “Let's do it.”

While he completed some paperwork with Gin and exchanged phone numbers, he couldn't help wondering what Ashley's motivation in all this had been.

They'd spent last night practically snuggling on her couch. And she needed him to help Brandon catch up with his math studies. So why was she doing this? Was it a hint to leave? Was she embarrassed about what she'd told him last night?

No sooner had he shut the door on Gin than he took out his smartphone and pressed Ashley's phone number with his thumb.

She didn't pick up right away. He frowned. Just before his call would go to voice mail, though, she picked up. “Yes, Dr. Lowe?”

Brandon must be with her. He hoped. “I got a visit from your real estate agent.”

“Was she good?” she asked. “She didn't hit on you, I hope.”

“I don't get it. Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I...can't really talk right now,” she said softly.

He heard what sounded like Brandon's voice in the background. “Is everything okay?” Aidan asked cautiously.

“Not really. Brandon's frustrated because he's figured out that he can't type his essay paper on a keyboard the way he used to, not with two hands, anyway.”

“Ah. Well, it just so happens I have a solution.”

“Really?” She was interested. “What do orthopedic surgeons recommend?”

“I have to show you in person. Can I come now?”

She laughed. “I see how you did that.”

“I'll catch a ride from the car service and be there in fifteen.”

* * *

A
SHLEY
FINISHED
PUTTING
away the breakfast dishes and then straightened her back. She'd hoped to get outside for a walk around the park. The rain had stopped, and it was turning into a nice day outside and she needed to think. Specifically, about what had happened last night. And what was going to happen with the man who was on his way over to her apartment.

She passed Brandon, staring slack-jawed at his laptop. But he had no Wi-Fi, so he had to be focused on his assignments.

With her son occupied, she ducked into the one tiny bathroom. Taking a critical look at herself in the mirror, she plugged in her flatiron, dabbed on some quick mascara and pale lip gloss, and then managed to get a few swipes with the comb and flatiron combination.

“Mom!” Brandon called from the kitchen. “Somebody is at the door!”

She stuck her head out. “It's Dr. Lowe. Let him in.”

Brandon's face perked up. He trotted off to open the door.

She stared at herself in the mirror. “What are you doing, Ashley?” she asked aloud. She had a feeling that his rejection was going to come hard and fast.

She had so many strikes against her. She was a mom, Brandon's mom. She'd made enough mistakes for one lifetime. She struggled with an alcohol problem. She kept her son's father secret.

But she had told everything to Aidan. He knew all her shameful secrets. And he was still here. He hadn't left, not yet, anyway. Even so, she'd all but handed him the opportunity on a golden platter—doing the legwork, phoning Bill and getting a good real estate agent contact for him. He was free to leave her.

All that was left was for it to happen.

Rubbing her arms, she shut off the bathroom light and went to the kitchen to find Aidan standing beside her son, opening a box of some sort, and Brandon eagerly helping him, his new black cast notwithstanding.

“Um, what's happening here?”

“Dr. Lowe brought me a voice-typing program.”

“Speech-recognition software.” Aidan held aloft a CD. Her son was already trying on a headset that apparently plugged into his school laptop.

Ashley swallowed. Aidan looked...well, her attraction for him hadn't abated. Since that first day in her salon, it had only grown.

His eyes sparked when he looked at her. He seemed to have taken more care in his dress than he usually did. For once, he'd actually run a comb through his hair. Put on a clean, pressed shirt. A pair of jeans that fit him really well.

He was looking her up and down, too. It made her want to shiver. And squirm.

“Mom, look at this program!”

She licked her lips and reluctantly glanced at her son. He'd uploaded the CD and was eagerly reading the instructions. “I've heard of this kind of software. I speak, and it types what I speak. I won't need to type with a cast anymore!”

“That's...great.” It really was. She should be more enthused.

She glanced back at Aidan, and he was smiling at her shyly.

“What?” she mouthed to him.

“Tell you later,” he mouthed back.

Indeed, he did the perfectly reasonable and decent thing—he sat down beside her son and helped him with his homework. All of it. Not just the math tutoring, which he wasn't scheduled for, because it was Sunday.

“Would you two mind if I took a quick walk in the park?” she asked.

“No problem,” Aidan said, not looking up from the screen where he worked with Brandon.

She went outside. Enjoyed a long walk, stretching her legs as she circuited the park. “Now what?” she kept asking herself. What happened if Brandon had gotten attached to Aidan? She hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd only been trying to get him through his first semester at St. Bartholomew's. Aidan was doing all that and more. But for how long? And to what end?

By the time she made it back to their building, she still had no answers to her fears. She picked up some bottled water and fruit from the small convenience store on the first floor, and then headed back to the apartment.

They'd moved on to math homework, obviously. Brandon was laughing. Evidently, he directed Aidan which numbers and symbols to write, and Aidan obliged, completely stone-faced as he did so, which Brandon thought hilarious.

She set her grocery bag on the counter. “Would anyone like some, um, fruits or nuts?” she asked.

Brandon just continued laughing.

“Ha-ha, funny boy,” she said, glad that he was happy. It had been a while since he'd been anything but tense and worried about failing.

“Dr. Lowe said he'd be my hands for me during my math test. You'll ask the headmaster about that, right?”

She swallowed. She just kept getting in deeper and deeper where Aidan was concerned. But she had to keep a calm, professional front for her son. “Yes, I'll walk over to see him Monday morning.” She glanced again at Aidan. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Because she really was thankful for his help with her son.

He nodded. “It's the least I can do.” He stood. “Well, I've got to get going. Are you all set now?” he asked Brandon.

“Yeah. Thanks. My homework is done.” He glanced at his mother. “I'm kind of tired, so I'm just going to read for a while. I've got to finish
Tom Sawyer
by next week.”

“Okay.”

Aidan glanced at her. “Will you walk me out?” he murmured.

She kept her gaze pinned to his chest, the broad muscles covered by cotton. Dully, she nodded. Last night, she'd rested her cheek there, but the mood had been ruined by her crying. She'd had a tissue clutched in her hand for most of the night. He must have been appalled with her.