“See you later,” he said, and hurried down the steps. “Don’t go too far from the house—”
“Okay. Have a nice ride.”
She watched him stride away. He’d changed into jeans and boots. They suited him. All he needed was a cowboy hat. Why he hated the land, she had no idea. He fit the role of farmer, or cowboy, to perfection.
Dena hurried to her room, grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and slipped it on. About to leave, her cell phone rang. She could let it go to voice mail. She sighed, picked up the phone on the fourth ring, and checked the incoming number.
Ugh. Please, don’t let it be one of Mom’s arguments with Aunt Ruthie.
She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Hi Mom, what’s up?”
“Hi,” her mother said, and giggled. “Ruthie wants to talk to you.”
Ruth’s hoarse smoker’s voice came across the phone loud and clear. “Guess where we are?”
“I’ve no idea,” Dena said, still confused about her mother’s giggle. “How are you, Aunt Ruth?”
“Good. And so is your mother. I’m getting her better—”
“That’s nice. What are you ladies doing?” She kept her fingers crossed that Ruth wasn’t giving her mother alcohol. Her mother never giggled.
“We’re at the House of Blues. I’ll put your Mom back on.”
“What?” Dena frowned. “The House of—?”
“We wanted to go clubbing.”
Dena thought she sounded like a sulky teenager. “Well, that’s…um…good I suppose—”
“We’re having fun,” her mother said, and started to laugh. She hiccupped and laughed again.
“The crowd is a bit young, isn’t it?” Dena asked.
It was Saturday night. She used to be the rep for half of the black-leather crowd that frequented those places. But her mother was sixty-two. Aunt Ruth was sixty-five. They both chose platinum blond hair, and almost always dressed in beige or winter-white, their skinny legs and scrawny necks making them look like a couple of cranes.
“There’s a few old ducks here,” her mother laughed. “There are some cute older gentlemen, too.”
“Don’t drink alcohol,” Dena said firmly, although she figured she was too late on that. “With your medications it could be dangerous. Is Ruthie drinking?”
“You worry too much. A cocktail or two never hurt anyone. You work too hard. If your sister was here—” Her mother’s voice went soft. “Carli would have come with us, and she would have let her hair down.”
Dena grimaced. Always a sore point between them; she was no fun. She braced herself for the next barbs, because when her mother was on a roll—
“But not you my little workaholic,” her mother said. “You’re my serious child. You don’t know how to have fun.”
“That’s not fair,” Dena said sharply. “Of course I do.”
“You’re so much like your father, not that he wasn’t nice to be around in some ways. But serious, boy, you don’t know the half of it.”
Dena frowned and sat on the side of the bed. She didn’t want to get into one of their never-ending arguments. Not now. “We’ve discussed this before, Mom. I just am who I am. I like to work—”
“When are you coming home? Ruthie wants to take us out somewhere really swank.”
Mom had been drinking. She never used words like swank. Darn. She couldn’t accuse her. That would surely start a fight. But she could hear it in her mother’s voice and in her barbs. Mom hadn’t been this talkative or happy-go-lucky in a long, long, time.
Dena sighed. “I’ll leave right away if—”
“No. Don’t worry about us,” her mother said quickly. “Ruthie hired a limo. Our driver’s name is Chuck. He’s a big bruiser of a guy. He’s outside in the stretch.”
A stretch limousine, what was Ruthie up to? At least her aunt had thought about safety. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
“Having a blast, got to go, band will be back in five—”
“Okay. I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but call me anytime.”
“Sure.”
“Are there any interesting try-out bands tonight?” Dena asked. She hoped to end on a friendly note instead of the reverse role they’d just played. She felt like the mother in this scenario.
“Some aren’t too bad.”
Dena thought of the young bands that played the early crowd at House of Blues. Many of the band members were still in high school, so their parents chaperoned. She supposed the two old ladies were safe. And they did have Chuck, the bruiser.
“Good. Have fun with Aunt Ruth, and I’ll check in tomorrow. I love you.”
“You too,” her mother said.
Dena rolled her eyes and tossed the cell phone onto the bed. Fat chance she’d be having