Max arrived at his mother’s about three that afternoon. She lived in a small bungalow-style home in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles. Max and his brothers and sisters had grown up there. His father had passed away of a heart attack five years ago, so it was just his mother and one of his sisters at the house now. Though it always seemed as though his mother had some sort of family over.
He found his mama in the kitchen still preparing food for the bunch of lazy-asses out on the patio drinking beers and margaritas. He kissed the top of her five-foot head.
“Ah, Maxie, there you are,” she said with a wide smile. “What do you want to drink? Let me get it for you.”
“I’ll get it myself. Uncle Rio here already?”
“Yeah, everyone is here. You’re the last.”
“Oh, Spencer might come later.”
