Page 69 of Heating Up (Nugget)
“Let me pay for my half.” Dana reached inside her purse.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Then I get to pick up the check next time.”
He squared up, left a tip, and they went outside into the hot summer night. Pinks and blues streaked the rose-colored sky. Soon it would be replaced by neon greens, reds, and golds from the surrounding casinos.
Inside Aidan’s truck, he turned on the engine and got the air conditioner going. She told him how to get to her parents’ house, taking him through a warren of city streets. As they entered Old Southwest Reno, driving on the leafy tree-lined streets, she saw Aidan begin to take notice of the large historic homes.
“This is where you grew up, huh?”
“Mm-hmm. Take a right there and an immediate right onto the private lane.”
He followed her directions and proceeded up the long and winding road. “Pretty genteel.”
She supposed it could be called that. When they got to her parents’ circular driveway, Aidan did a double take and let out a low hum.
“This is like freaking Beverly Hills. Where should I park?”
“Just pull up in front of the house, near the fountain.” Usually she parked under the porte cochère, but they wouldn’t be here that long. And it wasn’t as if her parents would notice anyway.
Aidan turned off the ignition and continued to stare at the house, which would probably look imposing to anyone. Built in 1906, the Mediterranean mansion had belonged to Dana’s grandfather. When he had gotten ill, her family had moved in to help take care of him. He’d left the house to them when he’d died.
“We going inside?” he asked.
“Of course.”
Again, he came to her side of the truck to help her out, and she unlocked and escorted him through the huge oak entry door, into the marble-floored foyer and through the massive formal living room. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sat on the damask couches or velvet settees. For as long as she could remember, her family had gathered in the den.
She led Aidan in that direction. “Mom, Dad.” Her voice echoed off the walls.
The television blared in the next room. The house was spotless as usual, but the rooms felt airless. Dana would bet Betty hadn’t cranked open a window since the last time she’d visited.
“Mom? Dad?” No one answered, her voice probably muffled by whatever program they were watching.
She wanted to find a spot for Aidan so she could check on her parents and then leave them to their show. Funny, with all the rooms in the house, she couldn’t think of one single solitary place to deposit him that didn’t feel alien. This had been a mistake. She started to make a detour for the kitchen—the back door—when she heard a weedy cry for help coming from the den.
Aidan didn’t wait and rushed in with Dana close behind. Sprawled on the floor was her mother.
“Mrs. Calloway?”
Startled, Betty stared up at Aidan from the Aubusson rug as he loomed over her.
“Are you all right?” Dana bent down, took her mother’s arm, and started to lift her until Aidan stopped her.
“You feel any pain, Mrs. Calloway? We don’t want to move you if you’re hurt.”
Betty looked at Dana, who replied, “This is Aidan. He’s a friend of mine. He’s also a firefighter.” What she was trying to say was that he had emergency training. But it didn’t seem to compute with Betty, who continued to stare at him like he was an intruder. “What happened?”
“I must have fallen asleep and somehow rolled out of the chair.”
Aidan cast an eye over the chair and the side table. He was probably looking for booze, but Dana’s parents didn’t drink.
“I’m fine,” Betty said and scrambled to get up.
Aidan lent her an arm. “Not too fast.”
Once on her feet, Aidan checked her pulse and asked her a few questions. The day, her first and last name, and how many fingers he was holding up. She supposed he was checking for a concussion. Dana didn’t see any cuts, bruises, sprains, or breaks, at least not to the naked eye.
