The Good Mum

“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.”