Hi, guys! Thanks so much to everyone who has read my last story, The Final Act, and to everyone who reads this story! I honestly love writing for these characters!

The Book of Life, and all Sanchez family members © Jorge Gutierrez

Adelita and Scardelita ran quickly from their room to the living room of the Sanchez Hacienda. No, not the Sanchez home, the old bullfighting ring where cousin Carlos lived, but the old, grand house outside of San Angel where Abuelo and Tía Anita grew up. The hallway, despite its connection to the spacious living room, was dark and the four-year-old twins could not distinguish the sound of their footsteps on the smooth floor tile from the rain pounding down on the clay roof tiles. With courage befitting of a Sanchez the two girls proceeded through the silent, black house, all too aware of the thunder roaring through the night sky.

It was a rare desert monsoon– something the twins had never experienced. They finally reached the division between the living room and the courtyard; the only way to reach their destination was to run through the soaking flagstone space. Adelita took a deep breath and Scardelita gripped her sister's hand tighter than ever. They ran across through the pouring rain, then flung open the door and all but threw themselves in. Adelita slammed the door closed. Both stood soaked and plastered against the door… perhaps the "courage" was an overstatement.

The sound of the door woke Jorge Sanchez. He sat up with a start and looked around the room, his one good eye still trying to adjust to the darkness. He leaned over to the nightstand, struck a match, and lit a solitary candle. Jorge looked around again. With the candle, he could just barely see the pale outlines of his granddaughters, clothes dripping and small frames shivering.

"Adelita! Scardelita!" he said, surprised. He stood up quickly. (Unfortunately he had forgotten the absence of his left leg.) After catching himself on the bedpost, he balanced there and beckoned the two over. When they reached him, he leaned heavily on the bedpost and knelt down to get closer to their eye level.

"What happened?" he asked; Adelita cast her eyes downward and Scardelita suddenly became very interested in wringing out her nightgown. They were apparently afraid of something, but too ashamed to admit it.

"Was it the storm?" he asked gently. Addelita proudly shook her head, but when she saw her sister give in and nod, she did as well. Jorge pulled himself up back onto the bed, the expertly tied his false leg on just below the knee. He stood up and looked over to the clock on the wall: only 3:30. It still poured outside, though the thunder and lightning had faded into the distance.

Jorge picked up Scardelita, who still shivered and sniffed. With his free hand he opened the door. Adelita glanced from Jorge to the open door, then down to her (just dried) feet. Jorge chuckled and knelt back down so he could pick her up as well. He left the master bedroom door open and walked back through the sloppy courtyard. As he walked, Adelita turned her head up to the sky, letting the water fall on her face, while Scardelita buried her face into Jorge's curly mass of white hair. Adelita reached down and pulled the door open when they reached the other side.

After Jorge walked inside, he set the twins down, then went to light the three kerosene lamps in the living room. The twins dripped pathetically, and though he was no drier, he went into the kitchen and found two clean towels and two clean nightgowns, then dried their hair and replaced their clothes.

It didn't take long to put them back to bed, and to convince them that the thunder that had just left was in fact not an angry toro coming to get them. Jorge walked back into the living room and extinguished the lamps. The rain had mostly stopped, but nevertheless, he stayed on the sofa, just in case. He slept through sunrise and by the time he rose, everything had long dried.

Breakfast played out just as usual: Jorge tried (with limited success) to cook three eggs and one pan of cornbread. He had been cooking for a decent amount of time, but he still felt like his cooking wasn't very good… though he had come to the conclusion that his granddaughters either did not notice or did not care, considering how they inhaled it whether he thought it was good or not.

He then went to get dressed for a day in the rig; he also allowed the twins to choose their own clothes and try and dress themselves. (Not that there was much choice, but it made them happy to be given some "power.") With the sun rising in the sky and the air a little fresher than the previous day, the walk into San Angel didn't seem nearly as long as usual. Jorge sung an opera song softly to himself as they walked. The small town bustled after the rainstorm. With Adelita and Scardelita in tow, he knocked on a small door in the side of the bullfighting ring.

Jorge had to look down- further than usual- to the woman who answered the door. She looked up to him, then to the twins behind him.

"Ay, you brought them, mano? Will they watch the match as well?" she asked pointedly. Jorge raised his eyebrows.

"Buenos Dias, 'Nita," he said casually, then walked inside. Adelita and Scardelita followed him in. The four walked into the kitchen to find Luis, his nephew, Luis' wife, and their son Carlos at the table. Anita returned to their place while Jorge leaned against a counter. Adelita and Scardelita stared at their eleven-year-old cousin as his mother whispered something into his ear. Carlos begrudgingly pushed back his chair and trudged over to face the twins. He looked down to his black boots.

"Wouldyouliketocomewatchmetrain? he muttered all in one word, then looked back to his mother. He almost missed both twins nodding happily at him. Jorge turned to Luis.

"I said he could train with us today," Luis said casually, trying to hide his pride, "he's got talent." Jorge nodded. Carlos' head whipped around, eyes wide- an indication that he was told that he would be trained by Jorge and Luis, not with them.

Clearly, the breakfast could not continue after this realization. Carlos dashed up the stairs, was gone less than a minute, then ran back down with two smaller, dull swords. He held them out at arm's length. The twins crowded around them, captivated. Carlos looked down to them proudly.

"Alright, mi'jo," Luis said, "you'll have plenty of time to show off later." Carlos nodded and placed his swords in a sheath which was fastened to his torso. The five walked out of the kitchen and out the back door, Carlos leading the way.

Swords clanged together as Luis and Jorge practiced a fighting style that seemed more like duelling than bullfighting. Carlos, having found out that 'training with them' really meant fencing and talking, he found himself content to have (very) limited conversation with his cousins, and try to have them hold one of his swords and try to copy the moves he explained. (Carlos was entirely convinced that he would train the greatest Sanchez bullfighter ever.) This left Jorge and Luis free to talk, though they had been mostly silent thus far. Jorge disarmed his opponent. Luis shook his hand, then bent down to pick up his sword, looking over at Adelita and Scardelita as he did so.

"How are things, Tío?" he asked. Jorge glanced at the twins, then back to Luis and furrowed his eyebrows.

"It's gone well," he said, and after a pause, finished with, "We're managing." Luis put his sword back up. They spoke as the duelled.

"'Going well' and 'managing' aren't the same thing," Luis replied. He motioned an attack to the chest, and Jorge blocked it with a parry.

"Be more direct," he said. Luis shrugged.

"Have they said anything about their parents?" he paused, then continued, "... about their father?" Jorge shook his head curtly.

"I told them about their mother; I'm not sure if they understand, and I don't even know where their father could have gone… Luis, it's been three years. They probably wouldn't remember him," he replied. The two looked over to the children. Carlos knelt in the dirt next to a nearly-crying Scardelita, with a horrified Adelita standing with Carlos' sword. It seemed as if she had accidently knocked her sister in the head. Another glance showed Jorge and Luis that Carlos was holding a wet piece of cloth over Scardelita's left eye. All she looked to have injured was her pride. Luis turned back to Jorge, and the two kept training.

"You know, mama is younger than you, and she's retired," Luis said, "Why don't you?" Jorge smirked.

"Watch it, mi'jo," he said, "it's only a four years' difference. I have to keep fighting. We need money to live, right?" Luis nodded.

"Is that the only reason?" he asked. Jorge's eyebrows knitted together. He surrendered and planted the tip of his sword in the ground. He really didn't want his nephew to continue that train of thought. Looking over Luis he moved his helmet back slightly.

"Yes," Jorge said. He never would have considered answering further with, "I never wanted to be a bullfighter in the first place," so he let the response die there. Luis balanced his word over his shoulder with one hand and rubbed the end of his mustache with the other, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly, he threw his sword down, planting it tip-first into the arena floor. He looked as if he had just had some awe-inspiring epiphany.

"Listen," Luis said confidently, "Let me take them off you hands! It's a win-win sit-"

"No," Jorge cut him off sharply.

"But Tío! Just- just hear me out… It would be better for everyone if you just let them come live here. You wouldn't have to fight anymore- you could retire. The twins'd be closer, so they could go to the convent to school. You've already done so much. It'd lighten your load. Besides, they could spend more time with Carlos. He's great with them. Then they'd also have me and Elena… they'd have a mother again-"

"They've never had their mother," Jorge said icily, "They're staying; I don't care the cost to me. Unless you're implying that I can't handle the work, Sobrino."

Luis looked down. He realized that he had overstepped his boundaries. He pulled his sword out from the ground. One angled side showed himself, the other Jorge. Luis looked up to his uncle's face.

"I'm sorry, Tío," he said, sounding defeated. Carlos walked up behind the two, completely unaware of what he had just missed. He carried Scardelita with him.

"Papa," he said quietly, tapping Luis, "I think Scardelita wants to go home." He drooped his head and addressing Jorge, said, "I'm sorry… I let her hit her head." Carlos gently held Scardelita out to Jorge, who took her in his good hand. Jorge nodded to Carlos, then gave a stiff nod to Luis.

"I think we'll be going now," he said. Adelita ran over and followed Jorge back to the house. As she passed Carlos, she smiled and gave him his sword back. Carlos looked up, where the sun had crossed to the other side of the sky.

Jorge walked back to the same small door through which he had entered. Adelita and Scardelita smiled and waved to Elena and Anita; Anita uncharacteristically waved back.

"Adios, 'Nita," Jorge said, "I'll see you tomorrow at the match." His sister scoffed.

"Just focus this time, mano," she said as he walked out the door.

Adelita followed Jorge to the market, where they picked up a (substantially better) pan of cornbread, then a chicken from the butcher. He set Scardelita down so he could pay and forgot to pick her back up.

Together the three walked back to the Hacienda, where Jorge tried to cook a better supper than breakfast. The twins sat on the kitchen table, watching him. Somewhere in his dinner preparations he lit the kitchen and dining room lamps. He asked the twins to set the table (as he had taught them how to do properly), then get some water from the fairly new pump outside.

The sun had sunk behind the clouds and threw pink and orange beams of light over the top of the stove, outshining the lamps. Jorge backed away from the stove and leaned against the far wall, watching the sun set. He sung to himself, totally lost. He only reawoke to reality when he smelled something… burning? Jorge's attention snapped back to the kettle of rice and the pan of chicken, of which one was boiling over and the other soldering itself to the pan. Almost tripping over the leg of a chair, Jorge sprung back to the stove, and yanked the lid off the kettle; he then fanned the steam out of the open window and scraped the chicken off of the cast-iron bottom of the pan.

He looked down: well, the food wasn't ruined; the chicken just seemed a little crispier than usual, and the rice got itself back on track when he pulled the lid off of it. Carefully, he pushed the chicken out of the pan and onto three plates, and added three lumps of rice next to the chicken, then sliced some cornbread and placed that between the rice and the chicken. By that time, Adelita and Scardelita had returned with a pitcher of water, served into two glasses. Jorge himself had a glass of wine, poured from a bottle he had been working on for about the past week. The twins talked almost the entire meal about Carlos and what he taught them (or, what he taught them and Scardelita's injury.) Jorge was content just listening to their excited talk, but for some reason, he hoped that they wouldn't follow through with becoming bullfighters. At length, Scardelita asked him a question.

"What were you and Tío Luis talking about?" she asked cocking her head innocently. Jorge looked over to her.

"What did you hear?" he asked. (He thought they had been too far away.)

"Just you saying, 'no,'" she replied with a small shrug of her shoulders. Jorge shook his head.

"Nothing important," he said, "Luis and I just disagreed." Adelita looked over to him, then down to her empty plate.

"It was about Papa and Mama," she ventured a guess. Jorge nodded, almost speechless. "Carlos heard," she finished. Both twins picked up their plates and placed them next to the sink. Jorge picked up all three plates and placed them into the soap-and-water filled sink, leaving them to be washed later. He followed them into the living room, where the twins shared a chair. Jorge sat tiredly on the sofa across from the twins. They seemed to look through him.

"Adelita… Scardelita…" Jorge said, for once not entirely articulate. He paused, even though he had their attention. When he found the right words, he continued, "No matter what happens, no matter who comes and goes in your life, I'll always be there for you," the twins looked up at him. "I promise," he finished. The sisters simultaneously leapt from their chair and ran over to him. They each wrapped an arm around him, and he around them in return, then held them out at arm's length. How tall they were already… he just couldn't imagine…

But still, they both looked exhausted. The sun had sunk behind the horizon by this point: only the kerosene lamps and the faint stars provided light. Adelita swiped the back of her right hand across a yawn.

Wordlessly they changed into their nightgowns and stumbled into their beds. After a quick goodnight, they were fast asleep. Lamps extinguished, so ended another day for the Sanchez Hacienda.

Thanks for reading!

~Flutepiccy