The Good Mom by Cathryn Parry Page A

again?”
    â€œNo.” She kept her eyes on the box she was taping. “I think that if you want the right to make those decisions, then maybe you should have married her.”
    He paused, his whole body frozen.
    Ashley groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.”
    He gave a dry laugh. “No, I’m interested in what you really think. You think I’m the one who didn’t want to get married?”
    A look flashed across her face, showing him that she was surprised. Wondering if she’d made a mistake, or if he was just arguing with her to pick a fight.
    â€œThe point is, you made an assumption about me,” he said to Ashley.
    â€œWell...yes.” She gathered up the boxes and went into the bedroom. He found himself following her.
    â€œOf course I made that assumption,” she said, plopping a half-assembled box on the floor and then kneeling beside it. She lifted a piece of tape with her fingernail. “I grew up in a house with a mother who was always upset because she wanted our father to marry her.” Viciously, she jerked the tape. “Oh, he came over a few times to visit that I remember, anyway, but that was the extent of his commitment.”
    Aidan leaned against the doorjamb. He hadn’t considered that she would have such a personal stake in the issue.
    â€œThat...must have been hard,” he said.
    She tore more tape and assembled the box. “I spent most of my childhood consoling my mother. The rest of the time, I took care of my sister.”
    And no one had taken care of Ashley, it seemed.
    â€œSo you see, Aidan, in a way, I can relate to your dilemma. You weren’t married to Fleur, so you don’t have the right to settle her estate or even choose which of her things to give away or not. My mother never had any legal rights like that with my father, either. My sister and I might have, if she’d pursued it, but she didn’t.”
    She finished assembling the box, and set it aside. “Shall we start?” She swallowed. “Where...did she keep her things?”
    He walked over to the large set of double doors that led to Fleur’s closet, and he swung them open.
    Inside, it smelled like her. Tears stung his eyes, and he had to blink, hard.
    Nothing brought her back to life like seeing her dresses hanging there. Her cubbyholes with shoes. A mirror.
    How many times had he watched her check herself in that mirror before she rushed out to work or to a meeting or to the airport?
    But Ashley was there with him, too, so he sucked in a breath and got a hold of himself. On the left side of the closet was a rack of drawers. Four of them. He opened the middle drawer. Sweaters, T-shirts, her running stuff. Her gym stuff. She’d been a huge gym rat.
    He stepped back. He knew he had to do this. Knew he had to get this stuff cleaned out so he could sell the condo and finance his move out of the city.
    He glanced at Ashley. It was as if they were speaking telepathically. With a search of his face and a silent nod, Ashley reached into the drawer he opened and gently, reverently and with care moved a stack of sweaters from the drawer to the packing box.
    Then she smoothed the sweaters on top.
    â€œThank you,” he said. He had to choke back his emotion at seeing Ashley’s respect for Fleur’s memory. Once, he had loved this woman.
    â€œWe’ll get you through this, Aidan,” she said quietly.
    And then she started on the bottom drawer. Sinking to her knees on the plush white carpet, she began filling that box with pajamas. Nightgowns.
    He turned away, overcome. This was so hard. It had to be hard for Ashley, too. She must really love her son to go through such a difficult task with him.
    * * *
    A SHLEY BROUGHT HER third packed box out to the pile accumulating near the front door. She rubbed her arms and glanced around her. Normally a place like this would intimidate her. The view