The Good Mom by Cathryn Parry

don’t mind boxing up a dead woman’s things?” he asked Ashley.
    Her cheeks paled even more, but she shook her head.
    â€œSo that’s it, then? You mediate the family argument, box up Fleur’s belongings, and in return I agree to tutor your son? That’s what you want?”
    She swallowed. “Yes, I very much want you to help Brandon. And I also want to help you and Fleur’s parents.”
    He gazed hard at her. “You’ll do a lot for your son,” he noted.
    â€œHe’s everything to me,” she whispered.
    He thought about that. What must it be like to be everything to someone? He didn’t think he’d ever really experienced that. The boy was lucky, in Aidan’s opinion.
    He pointed the way to the living area. Those low black leather couches he’d bought with his first real paycheck—dusty. The huge windows with no curtains—Fleur had loved them that way—also dusty. A year’s worth of dust settled everywhere while they’d been off having an adventure and he’d been hoping to salvage his relationship.
    Which hadn’t worked. But that was a year ago. Move on , he told himself.
    He followed behind Ashley as she tentatively walked ahead. He didn’t mind following her—such a beautiful woman to watch. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, and her gaze darted about his and Fleur’s old apartment, taking everything in.
    Fleur would never have done such a thing in Ashley’s shoes. Like his family, she would have hired someone to do the job. Easy and neat, without getting too involved.
    He sat on the couch. The action kicked up dust, and he wrinkled his nose. The whole apartment smelled musty from being shut up. They should have gotten a tenant, or at least covered the furniture with sheets, but neither of them had even considered it. They’d been so damned busy...
    Fleur had lived with him off and on for almost ten years. They’d finished their residency together, then had both worked at Wellness Hospital. Busy all the time, they were.
    He pushed his hand through his hair. Really, all that was a lifetime ago now.
    There was a knock on the door. He tensed, but Ashley strode forward and answered it, handling the caller. Bill—his doorman—from downstairs, had arrived with a pile of flattened cardboard boxes.
    Bill seemed to have developed a first-name relationship with Ashley over the course of an elevator ride, and he lingered with her for a moment. Even in the depths of Aidan’s headache and bad attitude, he noticed a twinge of jealousy.
    He frowned. But Ashley closed the door, and then stood before him, setting down the pile of flattened boxes on the bare floor.
    â€œCould you help me assemble these and tape the bottoms?” she asked him. “Bill gave me a roll of packing tape, so why don’t we get started?”
    â€œBill,” Aidan said. “Did you know him before today?”
    â€œNo.” Her cheeks flushed as she bent over to assemble a box. “I had to convince him to let me upstairs, so I showed him my business card.” She smiled at him. “He found it very believable that you needed a haircut.”
    He smiled back at her. He suddenly felt sad. “You shouldn’t have to be here, doing this,” he said. “If it were up to me, I’d have locked the door behind me and then found a real estate agent to handle the whole thing.” He glanced at the boxes. “I’d have sent all the clothes and furnishings to charity. That’s what I would have done.”
    He stood and paced. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sun glittered on the sea of the inner harbor. Far below, white sails flashed. He’d give anything to be leaving with those boats.
    He glanced back at Ashley. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes were downcast, and she wasn’t looking at him.
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou think I’m cruel