Impact (Suncoast Society #32)(51)

He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed when he approached their house and spotted two cars parked in the driveway. He was tempted to keep driving past, then found himself pulling up to the curb and parking in front of their house.

I’d rather take another gut-punch from Ross than do this.

He’d had no contact with his aunt and uncle, other than exchanging ugly glares with them at the hospital when he went to visit his father, since moving out of their house. He didn’t consider it being ungrateful when he could still remember the sound and feel of his uncle’s fists landing on his body this many years later.

One of the reasons Cris had signed up for karate in college and had worked his ass off, even continuing his studies when he moved to Florida, becoming a black belt.

The warm air hit him when he stepped out. He noticed he spent a lot less time outdoors when he was back here versus home in Florida. The climate was similar to Florida in some ways, drastically different in others.

The nearby Pacific was no match for the sweet Gulf air that constantly blew through and around Sarasota. Here, with the valley to hold it, smog tinged the sky a brownish hue that you rarely saw in Florida, unless there was a nearby brush fire. Even those were rarely a bad thing in Florida, without the vicious Santa Ana winds to drive them down hillsides into canyons filled with homes.

They had no canyons in Florida. And Florida hills were barely California speed bumps.

Catching himself daydreaming as a way to avoid doing this, he mentally shook himself and aimed his feet up the front walk. The day he’d moved out, he’d silently sworn he’d never darken their door again.

Ever.

If it wasn’t for feeling responsible for Fi, he wouldn’t be here now.

Taking a deep breath, he punched the doorbell and waited. Somewhere inside, a yappy little dog went batshit, soon followed by a second.

That was unexpected. His uncle had been against having pets when he was living here.

He saw a shadow moving through the small, high window set in the door, then heard the sound of a deadbolt unlocking. Through the bars of the screened security door, his gaze fell onto his aunt for the first time in more than fifteen years.

Her bold auburn hair spoke to her still active coloring regimen and did nothing to hide the deep lines and wrinkles in her face. She had to be in her seventies, but she looked nearly ninety.

She looked confused. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Aunt Julieta, it’s me. Cristo. Marcos and Mariana’s son.”

Her drawn-on eyebrows lifted in shock and surprise. “Cristo? Oh, my word, I haven’t see you in—”

“A long time. I need to speak with you.”

“Who is it?” a weak man’s voice called from within the darkened house.

If that was his uncle Gonzalo, perhaps the old adage about living well being the best revenge was true after all.

“It’s Cristo,” she said as she unlocked the security door and opened it for him.

“Who?”

“Cristo!” She locked the security door behind him, closing the front door before grabbing his arm and leading him into the depths of the house.

His uncle sat in a recliner in front of the TV. In his lap, two small dogs, Chihuahua mixes, if Cris had to guess. His uncle also wore an oxygen cannula. The tube snaked down to the floor and across the room to where an oxygen concentrator sat plugged in against the wall.

The man’s rheumy eyes narrowed behind his glasses. The last time Cris had seen his uncle, he’d had a full head of mostly black hair, and had been strong for his age.

This man looked like that man’s frail great-grandfather.

“What do you want?” he asked Cris.

“Stop being rude, Gonz,” his aunt chastised as she steered Cris toward the couch. “He’s here to visit. Forgive your uncle. He’s had three heart attacks, and he gets grumpy now that he can’t get out like he used to.”

Cris sat, remaining perched at the edge of the couch. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

Julieta gasped. “Is it your mother? I haven’t talked to her this week. Oh, I knew I should have called her!”

“No, Aunt Julieta, it’s not Mom.”

She frowned. “Then what is it?”

There wasn’t any good way to say it, to soften the sting of the blow. “Sofia contacted me last week. She ended up back in jail because her probation was revoked for a violation. She…died in the jail this morning. I don’t know all the details yet.”

His aunt looked stunned.

Cris wasn’t honestly sure, at first, if his uncle had even understood what he’d said, until the man finally let out a disgusted snort.

“Bound to happen sooner or later.”

Julieta gasped. “Gonzalo!”

“We lost our daughter years ago,” he spat back. “The only time we’ve seen her in the past, what, fifteen years was if she needed money or was in trouble. What was that last visit? Six months ago? Claimed she was pregnant and in legal trouble and needed money. Threw her out. Not paying for any bastard abortions, or her legal fees. Probably all a lie, anyway. Would have gone to drugs.”

Well, it was strangely comforting, in a sick and twisted way, to see some things hadn’t changed. That went a long way to alleviating his guilt. “She didn’t have an abortion. She had a baby. Almost three weeks ago.”