spine stiffened as he heard his older brother give the admonishment. Rafe’s words had always held more bark than bite and it didn’t look like much had changed. The sound of his voice transported him right back to the time and place when everything had changed. He couldn’t even remember why they’d all been in the shop. There had been nothing unusual in it. But the command to get down on the ground had been a first. In less than a minute the “perfect family” had been irrevocably altered.
“Not my fault this time, Rafe. Blame it on la fea!”
Santi stifled a guffaw. Still calling each other “the ugly one,” were they?
“You boys! Stop your bickering and get back to work. I don’t want to be here all night.”
“Don’t worry, Carmelita. We’ll get you back home in time for your favorite soaps.”
“No seas tonto,” Carmelita shot back, appearing at the back doorway as she spoke over her shoulder. “I know how to record things now on my thingamajig. I’m every bit as modern as you boys.” She cracked a small area rug out into the empty space of the alley, a cloud of dust left billowing in the pool of streetlight with barely a chance to settle before she was in and out of the doorway with another one. Her efficiency had seen them through the darkest days of their lives. She may not have been blood—but she was all the family they’d had after that day.
“Carmelita, give me those. I can finish up.”
Santi froze when his little brother appeared alongside their adoptive auntie, then he slowly leaned back on the seat of his bike as if the darkness could envelop him more than it already had.
Carmelita clasped Alejandro’s stubbled chin in one of her chubby hands and gave it a loving shake, then patted his cheek as if he were a toddler. “You’re a good boy, Alejandro, but I’m not an old woman yet. You already work too hard at that hospital of yours. All of you boys do.”
Alejandro clucked away her talking-to and wordlessly took the next mat and gave it a sharp shake.
Santi felt a sting hit him at the back of his throat. His lungs constricted against the strain of trying to swallow back the sour twist of emotion fighting to get out.
Alejandro had changed. Hardly surprising given the last time Santi had seen him he’d been in his midteens. His little brother was a man now. About the same height—six feet with an inch or two more for good measure. He’d been a good-looking kid and the same held true about the man standing not twenty yards away. No thanks to him. He’d bailed when his brother had needed him most. And from the looks of things, he’d done more than all right without him.
Santi swore softly, then swore again when Alejandro turned at the sound.
No. He couldn’t do this. Not tonight. Still too soon.
His body went into automatic pilot, turning the key, kick-starting the bike into a roar of disparate sounds that melded into one. The engine, the quick-fire gear changes and the piercing screech of rubber twisting on tarmac couldn’t drown out his thoughts as he took the sharp turn out of the alley and without a second’s hesitation headed to the bridges so he could hit the Keys and get himself straight again.
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