"¡Mírate!" Imelda shook her head, turning Victoria for the third time. She dusted her off as best she could, her face full of maternal exasperation. "I can't believe this; we're going to have to wash these as soon as you can get them off… yours too!" she added, waving a hand dismissively at Rosita's skirts, streaked with soot and Shantytown grime. "I just don't understand; what on earth were the two of you doing?! Rolling around in a construction pit?"

"We just went for a walk," Victoria repeated yet again, sounding much like a broken record. She looked over Imelda's shoulder to where Julio stood in the doorway to the workshop, his arms crossed as he watched them. When his mother-in-law had seen the state they were in, she hadn't let them step one toe into the family living area.

"Victoria." Imelda gave up and crossed her arms, frowning suspiciously. "You honestly expect me to believe that you stayed out for hours, lost your tíos, and got covered in dirt… on a walk." She stared steadily at them until they both averted their eyes, mouth pursing as she watched for any sign of deceit. When no one answered, she chose the weaker of the two women for her first prey. "Rosita?" she prompted, tone soft and deadly as only a mother's can be. Rosita stiffened visibly.

"S-S-Sí?" She tried—and failed—to meet her eyes.

"¿Me estás mintiendo?" There was a short pause before Rosita shook her head quickly, her gaze focused on the floorboards between her shoes.

"No, Mamá Imelda. We really were taking a walk." Imelda tilted her head forward, pulling out her most lethal 'Mamá gaze'. Rosita began to tremble, but again shook her head. "That's the truth."

"Victoria?" Julio stepped into the workshop, a rare look of disappointment on his face. He crossed his arms, mimicking Imelda's stance. "Mija, are you telling the truth? You know better than to lie to your Mamá Imelda." Unlike her aunt, Victoria held her head high, chin out and shoulders back in a confident pose.

"No, Papá. I'm not lying." Imelda looked astonished, sharing a quick glance with Julio. It was clear that neither of them believed they were being told the full truth, but there was also no reason to think them capable of falsehood. Neither of them had been dishonest, at least not since Victoria's childhood attempts to pin misbehavior on Elena. Imelda, at least, had fully been expecting Rosita to crack under the pressure; she was the one with the strongest moral compass, after all.

What she couldn't have known is that, if a shred of truth could be found in the lie, Rosita was fully capable of carrying it without a hitch. She was fine with half-truths, and it was true that they'd gone on a walk. As long as Imelda didn't ask, no one had to tell her that the walk had taken them all the way to Shantytown, and Héctor. If she was none the wiser, Rosita could dance around the lie while clinging to the echoes of truth within.

"¡Hola! We're home!" Imelda was distracted from her interrogation by the arrival of the twins, dusting their shoes off at the front door with matching grins. Rosita breathed a sigh of relief, her bones visibly separating as she slumped. Oscar and Felipe took one look at her, then at Victoria's defensive stance, Julio's confusion, and their hermana's twisted scowl. The smiles faded; Felipe's eyes darted about the room, seeing a certain someone's absence and quickly drawing conclusions. He looked to Victoria, who gave a short shake of the head when Imelda turned to face them.

"And just where have you two been!?" They shrank back in the doorway, clearing their throats guiltily. Unlike the women, Imelda read them far too easily to be led astray by any excuse they could come up with. Still, they did try.

"Er… well, you see—"

"Um…. We were…."

"I don't know how many times I've told you not to go off on your own!" Imelda scolded them sharply. Even though she had to look up at them, it felt as though they were six-years-old again, being reprimanded for wandering out of her sight. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when Rosita and Victoria came back without you? What was so important, that you had to get yourselves lost chasing it?"

"Perdóname," they said in unison, evading the question.

"But," Oscar added, trying to inject some lightheartedness into his voice, "We have a surprise!"

"A—what?" Imelda's face grew dark. "If you've brought home yet another piece of junk that's just going to collect dust in that workshop of yours, I—"

"No, no!" Felipe raised his hands. "It's not a what, it's a who."

"You'll never guess who we ran into today!" Oscar sang. "Someone special!" He winked at the women over Imelda's head.

"What?" Imelda rose on her tiptoes, trying to see over their shoulders. "Who?" Before they could answer, they were shoved to either side as a tall skeleton elbowed her way between them. Her green shawl caught on Felipe's elbow, nearly dragging him to the ground as she picked her way over their tangled legs.

"Ay! What a—dumb thing!" She tore the shawl from the head, her braid catching the setting sun in shades both white as cotton and deep as the silvery midnight moon. She paused, her nearly-black eyes looking over the room before settling on the woman in front of her. She grinned, the green swirls and yellow dots on her cheeks scrunching with the effort.

"IMELDA!" she squealed, in tones more suited for a teenager than a grown, elderly woman. Julio leapt where he stood, the sound startling him. "MI AMIGA! ¿Como estás?" She didn't wait for an answer, brushing into the room with gale force and sweeping the shorter woman off her feet. She hugged her, grunting with the effort as Imelda's boots swayed a good few inches off the floor.

"Oh!" Imelda managed to choke.

"¡Ay, hace mucho, mucho tiempo que no hablamos!" she declared, squeezing so tightly that Imelda's bones protested with snaps and pops. "That's no good, you know! I had to rely on these blockheads," she continued in the same breath, dropping Imelda and pointing to the twins, "to tell me how you were! And so, of course, I just ended up coming down myself." Imelda, once she had put herself to rights, stared up at her blankly. "Well?"

"¡Ay, Lucía!" Her face crumpled as much as her skull would allow, throwing out her arms for another hug that was gladly accepted, Lucía bending down this time to rest her chin on Imelda's shoulder. "Oh, how I missed you!" Lucía clucked in mock sympathy, patting the smooth hair above Imelda's coiled braids.

"Mi Imelda, you sound like you've had a rough time of things!"

"You wouldn't believe the half of it!" Imelda let her go, wiping at her sockets. "Oh, what a year it's been!"

"The boys were telling me of your little Día de Los Muertos escapade. I'm surprised at you, you know! An opening act for the Sunrise Spectacular, and you didn't even try to get us tickets!"

"Oh, don't even talk about that." Imelda rubbed her forehead.

"Ah…" Lucía gave her wig one last pat before looking over her shoulder. "Oh!? Is this little Victoria? It can't be!" She threw out her hands, sliding around Imelda in one quick movement and catching Victoria up before she could move. "Oh, oh, oh! Look at you! All grown up now, and so beautiful! Just like your grandmother; oh, what a lovely miji-ti-ti-tita you turned out to be!"

"Hola, Doña Lucía," Victoria managed to grunt, taking an involuntary breath when she was sat down, her glasses askew.

"I bet you don't even remember me, do you?"

"I remember the hug," she said, with very little fondness. "It's as… tight as ever."

"Oh, what a little jokester!" She pinched her cheek before turning to Rosita, snapping her fingers. "And you're… Rosa—no, Rosita! You're Socorro's cuñada, no?"

"Sí. It's nice to see you again, Doña."

"I remember those boots you made me—ah, I wish Fernando had thought to bury me in them, you know? I miss them so much. Never gave a single blister, no matter how long I wore them." She smiled down at Julio. "And how are you, Julito?"

"Very well, thank you. And you?"

"I'm dead, I guess! What else can be said of it?" She laughed loudly. "Do you know? When I look at you, all I can think about is that skinny little boy who nearly killed himself with a roll of leather." Julio's skull sank into his collar with embarrassment, falling even further when Rosita laughed along with Imelda and her friend.

"I was a little foolish back then," he admitted shyly. "It was my first day on the job. I wanted to do well."

"You wanted to impress Coco!" Rosita corrected.

"If you'd wanted to do well, you'd have let someone help you," Imelda quipped, the affection in her tone lessening the jab.

"It's true." Julio chuckled as well. "I guess… I guess I was just being too macho for my own good. I knew very well that I'd have a tough time lifting it, but I didn't think something so heavy could roll off a truck so fast!"

"In any case, it was pointless, no?" Lucía shook her head, grinning. "Coco was already so much in love with you. Her little Julito could do no wrong! I bet it drove you crazy, eh Imelda?" She winked over her shoulder. "I know I was beside myself when my Verónica came home with that fool of a carpenter's son."

"On the contrary." Imelda sniffed, looking at her son-in-law before smiling warmly. "My daughter showed more sense in her pick of a husband than I did." The room grew tense, but neither she nor Lucía seemed to notice the change.

"And," Imelda continued, "I'm very proud to say that every Rivera daughter after her had kept up that tradition. Sons, too," she added wistfully, rubbing her chin. "Remind me to show you the newest photos of Elena's nueras."

"Oh yes! I love to see the family, it's been so long since you've brought any newer pictures. Oscar and Felipe were telling me that little Miguelito has gotten so big now! Speaking of which—Imelda, I heard—well, it seems that I missed a little too much."

"Yes…." Imelda's shoulders slumped, growing tired just thinking about that hectic night. "You know what? Let's go to the garden. I have to fill you in on everything."

"Please do! You know I love a good story, and Fernando—well, he'll listen if the TV isn't on."

"Rosita? Victoria? You go and soak those dresses before the dirt sets! No sense in letting your Sunday best go to waste because you were careless with your clothing. Now, no one bother Lucía and I while we're in the garden." She gave them a look that expected no backtalk or excuses.

"Yes, Mamá." They waited until the two women had disappeared out the back door before convening around the workbench, their heads bent in a huddle. "So, she's going to help, right?" Victoria asked quickly, keeping her voice low.

"Well—"

"What?" Oscar looked at Felipe.

"It's hard to say." He winced when she glared at them. "Look, you don't just ask Lucía to help and expect it to be done the way you want. She's got to decide on her own to do it, or you're just out of luck. That's how she is."

"Kind of like Imelda, but worse," his brother offered helpfully.

"But she came!"

"Yes… to make up her mind," Felipe answered simply. "She couldn't do it without seeing Imelda, I think."

"Also, because we asked her to," Oscar pointed out. "It's more of a favor, really, but she won't do anything if she doesn't feel it's right."

"What are we supposed to do, then? Wait around?" The twins looked at each other, nodded, and turned back.

"Yes." Victoria stared at them before taking off her glasses, wiping them on her dress and groaning under her breath when the lenses came back covered in dirt. "Patience," Oscar said softly. "If she does decide to help, we're in the clear. If she doesn't… well, we can't say we didn't try."

"I'm sure you did your best," Julio assured them. "And besides, Mamá Imelda will be in a good mood after visiting with her friend. That counts for something." He turned to his sister. "But… Rosita, where's Héctor? I meant to ask earlier, but Mamá beat me to the punch."

"Yes, we were thinking—"

"—the same thing. Could you not find him?"

"Oh, we found him." Rosita fingered the edge of her wraps. "In Shantytown."

"Shan—!" Julio clapped a hand over his mouth as Victoria shushed him. "What was he doing there?" he finished in a whisper.

"Oh, you know. Drinking, feeling sorry for himself, playing the guitar." She shook he head. "The usual, I would guess."

"Victoria, that's mean."

"It's also the truth."

"Anyway," Rosita cut her off, "He wouldn't come with us."

"What?!"

"He said that Mamá Imelda would come to him, when she's ready."

"What?!" Julio slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning. "¡Qué tonto! What kind of logic is that?"

"Sounds like Héctor logic, actually," Felipe said, nudging his brother. Oscar nodded and shrugged.

"He wants us to trust him." Rosita looked around the huddle. "But should we?" They looked to the twins, the only ones who had firsthand experience with such a man. Oscar twisted his mustache, thinking.

"He's always known Imelda's moods… surely he hasn't forgotten them."

"That's not an answer."

"I'd say… let's see what happens with Lucía first. No empezar la casa por el tejado, after all."

The garden was quiet, for a change. The only things stirring were the two women on the bench, beneath the motionless yellow pine. Even the sounds from the street didn't seem to cross over the walls, Imelda's narrative creating a bubble of kinetic, ever-shifting energy that encompassed the courtyard.

"We looked all night for him, Lucía! I couldn't even get to the ofrenda because he had my picture!"

"No!" Lucía scoffed. "He took your picture off the ofrenda!?"

"Yes! That boy…." Imelda shook her head. "He was already starting to become a skeleton. You could see the bones though his skin!"

"¡Dios mío!" She looked nauseous. "What a sight that must have been."

"And when we finally found him, do you know what he did? That boy had the nerve to run away from me! He left me in an alley!"

"I can't believe it! And after Elena put all her blood and sweat into raising those niños properly…."

"And do you know where he was when I found him? A cenote, Lucía, a cenote!"

"My goodness!" She crossed herself. "I don't want to think about what might have happened to him, if you had been too late!"

"And even worse: do you know who he was with?!"

"Tell me!"

"Héctor." She gasped, hands over her mouth.

"No," she whispered through her fingers. "Oh, Imelda—what did you do?"

"Well, I got them out of course! And can you guess who put them there in the first place?!"

"Who, Imelda?! Who?!"

"Ernesto de la Cruz!"

"Of course he did!" Imelda jumped when her friend slapped her knees, the bones clattering together with a sharp whack too loud to be muffled by her clothing. "¡Que cabrón! I told youhe was no good from the beginning! A thief and a… and a…" she made an undefinable motion with her hands, a mixture of squashing and ripping. "Ooh," she swore, clenching her jaw. "What I wouldn't do to get my hands on that rat! But Imelda, what happened next?"

"The next thing I know, I'm dressed like Frida Kahlo."

"Frida?"

"And then I turn the corner, and there's Ernesto! So, I hit him with my boot!"

"There you go!"

"And then? I'm standing onstage! And these big bodyguards are chasing me all over the place, and I have to sing to distract everyone and I don't know what do to and—ay, Lucía, they were trying to grab me—"

"What?!"

"And chasing me—"

"No!"

"And Ernesto de la Cruz holds me hostage and makes me dance with him!"

"Augh! What a pervert—jerk—augh!"

"He takes the photo of Héctor—"

"Oh no! Imelda!"

"—so I stomped his foot! Like this!" Imelda jumped to her feet, lifting her skirts and showing the way she ground her heel into his pristine shoes, his grito of pain in her ear.

"It's what the bastard deserved!" Imelda paused, clearing her throat and skipping over how she threw herself into her husband's arms.

"He—er, he grabs Miguel before I can give him my blessing, and… he throws him! Over the ledge!"

"A living boy?! No!"

"Yes! Everyone saw him do it, on camera!" Lucía's face fell.

"A living boy," she repeated softly, to herself. "Ernesto was never like that. I mean, he was a jerk, you know, but—What happened to him?"

"Ay, who knows! But he threw my great-great-grandson over a drop like a… like a piece of paper! Just—oof!" She heaved an invisible Miguel over the bench.

"That's so heartless! What… what would possess him to do such a thing? That guy! He gives all of us a bad name!"

"Music did it to him, Lucía! It made him crazy! I know it, because… you see, it turns out—"

"What?"

"He—" Imelda stopped, her voice catching in her throat. "He—Ernesto, he—"

"Out with it, Imelda! What is it?"

"He poisoned Héctor." She swallowed thickly, the words heavy and bitter in her mouth. Lucía nodded slowly.

"The twins… they did say…."

"He murdered my husband, Lucía." She swayed on the spot, her hands clenching into shaking fists. "That sorry excuse for a man—he killed him and dumped his body and—oh, Lucía!" She was too angry to cry, her expression anguished. "What if he was in pain?!" she said in a hushed voice. "What if he was hurting, and he still—he left him like a dog—"

"Imelda—shh, cálmese ." She drew her back down to sit on the bench, patting her spine between the shoulder blades. "Take a deep breath, okay?"

"He left him to die… my Héctor, he left him to die." As she said it aloud, for the first time she felt the implication behind the words. Ernesto had abandoned his friend, her husband, knowing full well that he would die. The pain of it fell down to her chest, beating an agonizing pulse where her heart should have been.

"I don't even know what to say." Lucía continued to rub her back soothingly, shaking her head. "But if you say it's true, I can't help but believe it. It does make more sense this way, and—shh, Imelda, shh—I'm sure he didn't hurt for long. You know how it feels to die; it doesn't hurt forever." She took her hand, squeezing it as she moved from her back to her hair. "I know you're angry but try to stay calm. Lucía will take care of it for you, okay? You know I will. Don't worry," she murmured as Imelda tried to control herself.

"But what good would it do?" Imelda tore herself from the comforting caresses. "We can't kill him again! We can't poison him or—I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, one right after the other! But it still wouldn't do anything… it wouldn't be worth it."

"You're right, you're right. I'm only saying not to waste your time on that cabrón. He's not worth anyone's notice; the sooner he's forgotten, the better, I say." They were silent. "I'm just a little angry that I didn't get to see you onstage, amiga." Imelda didn't reply. "We always talked about it when we were young, you know? Dancing together with your brothers in the bar, once Mamá had made all the drunkards leave for the day… we were going to be famous. Or so we imagined."

"Not me." Imelda laughed sadly. "I couldn't have gotten onstage in front of anyone when I was alive. It was hard enough being dead. I'd never been so scared."

"You didn't like it?"

"All those eyes, staring at me? And those bright lights? And the loud music and the—no, I didn't like it at all! If it hadn't been for Hé—for my family backstage…." She paused. "I would not do it again, even if they paid me to."

"But the singing?"

"I did like the singing," she confessed. "For a moment, I felt young again. I hadn't sung in so long that I… I forgot what it felt like. I forgot how much I loved it." She sighed. "But it's better to leave it all in the past, I think. Old women don't sing."

"Uff! I'm three years older than you and I sing all the time! Who're you calling old?!" She shoved Imelda's shoulder playfully. "Sing, amiga. Sing with all your heart. It's good for you, feeling young. And when you sing, I will dance; we will be just like we were in St. Cecelia."

"That sounds nice in theory, but—" Imelda nodded to the house. "I have a business to run. Music… is not part of that. It can't be part of that."

"Why not?" Lucía looked around the garden. "And where is that boy Héctor anyway? He hasn't come to say hello or anything! I ought to smack him around a little, the way I used to whenever he called me Cici. You remember that? I always threatened to smash the guitar over his head!" she laughed, trying her best to lighten the mood. Imelda looked at her sharply, and then turned away.

"He's not here," she replied shortly. "He's not welcome here."

"What?" Lucía tilted her head, the yellow pinpricks on her cheekbones catching the fading rays of the sun. "You dance onstage for his photo but he's not to come home afterwards?"

"This isn't his home. And I only did that because he was being Forgotten. I didn't want him to face the Final Death, so—that's it. Nothing more. Don't read into it." She turned her nose in the air, squaring her shoulders.

"Uh huh." Lucía looked skeptical, flipping the end of her long braid. "I see."

"Lucía," Imelda warned. "Don't take that tone. I don't want to see him anymore. I'm sticking by the decision I made when I died. He's dea—" She choked on the word, clearing her throat to hide it. "He has no reason to show his ugly face around here anymore."

"Ha! It's been a long time since you called him ugly!" Lucía's face turned thoughtful and she looked at the house, the sun glinting off the upper story windows. "But… I can't say that I blame you. Or, at least, I understand why you don't love him anymore, you know."

"That—well—" She stammered just enough to pique interest.

"Oh?" Lucía eyed her closely, leaning over the bench to stare into her eyes. "You don't love him anymore, do you, Imelda?" No answer. Imelda averted her gaze, tugging at her sleeves. "Am I wrong?"

"I—that is—"

"Imelda." Her eyes narrowed. "¡Mírame a los ojos!" From one mother to another, the order was still maternal enough that Imelda obeyed. "Tell me do you not love him. Right now."

"I—I don't—I don't love—" She sighed, dropping her head. "I don't know."

"Why not?"

"I don't know!" She closed her eyes, hands fisting in her dress. "I just don't know." Neither of them spoke for a long time; Lucía leaned back to give her space, Imelda keeping her eyes closed and head bowed.

"Do you remember… Imelda?" Imelda opened her eyes, looking up to see Lucía staring up at the sky through the leaves. "My wedding. Do you remember?"

"Of course." She still had the photo taken by Lucía's request, to immortalize their friendship. Two sepia women in front of a church, side-by-side and solemn-faced. One tall and slender, her black hair and blacker eyes shining like splotches of ink against the brilliant white patterns of a beaded wedding dress; the other shorter and several months with child, her round face both stern and lively as she stood with her arm around the slender one's waist. "The photo hangs in the upstairs hallway, with the others. It's such a nice one; I couldn't help but take a copy from your ofrenda."

"The photo is nice," Lucía agreed. "I have a copy, too. But… even as nice as it is, it doesn't show my true feelings."

"Yes, it was always such a pain that we couldn't smile. I was so glad when they fixed that sort of thing. It's much better to be able to look normalin a photo." She thought of the young dancer who had snapped a photo before she could finish getting ready. It was instantaneous nowadays, where as before they had to stand so long under the sun, sweat dripping down their backs as Coco kicked against her ribs in protest.

"You're mistaken." Lucía drew her braid over her shoulder, her fingerbones running loops over the soft rope of hair. "I wouldn't have smiled, to show my true feelings."

"What?"

"I was…" she chuckled sadly. "I was so terrified, Imelda. I don't know how I kept from shaking like a leaf during the ceremony, you know."

"You!?" Imelda gaped, forgetting herself in her shock. "You?!" She repeated dumbly. "But Lucía, I can't believe that! You've never been afraid of anything!"

"Almost anything. But I was afraid to be married."

"Explain how. I don't understand." Lucía smiled fondly, rolling one shoulder in a shrug.

"You know? For six generations, it was always us women. No men allowed, my mother used to joke. Sometimes they died… other times they just left," she said bluntly. "My own father left the day I was born. He told my mother that he'd wanted a son, and he wasn't planning on hanging around to try again."

"I know. You've told me before."

"If my marriage was like hers… Fernando would only stay a few years. If that."

"Yes."

"My children, too, would grow up without a father."

"You know?" Imelda said suddenly, quoting her friend's go-to phrase. "I couldn't have imagined, at the time, what it would be like for Coco to grow up without a father," she admitted. "I was so close to Papá; you remember how I cried when he died. Like a baby instead of a grown woman." She sighed. "I wanted Coco to have someone to be close to, too. Even if it wasn't me." She shrugged one shoulder. "It was hard, raising Coco by myself. But you would have managed a lot better than I ever did. I know it."

"Oh, I wasn't worried about that." Lucía shook her head. "My children would have been fine. After all, I never knew my father. I didn't want to know him; Mamá was enough for me. I never had to worry about them; that's not what I was afraid of."

"Then what on earth were you so afraid for? Was it…" She lowered her voice. "Your wedding night?" Lucía rolled her eyes at her. "Okay then, what?"

"I was afraid for myself, Imelda."

"…What?"

"I loved Fernando." She thought. "I still love him, the old goat. And I had given him my heart—I'd never done such a thing before, to anyone else. If he left…." She faltered, an old, haunted expression on her face. "I didn't even want to think of it. I knew I wouldn't be able to take it, not like Mamá. She told me herself that she never loved him, not really. He was just… there. But I loved Fernando. I loved him so much that I was afraid to marry him."

"You never told me!" Imelda said, flabbergasted. "Why did you not say something?"

"Oh, you know me." Lucía shrugged. "I was too proud back then. Strong Lucía, independent Lucía. Idiot Lucía, more like. I couldn't stop thinking about it, and when I was pregnant with Verónica I managed to convince myself that he would leave."

"That sounds like a foolish thing to do."

"Well…. So what? I was young. Anyway, I started preparing myself for it. I pushed him away. I thought "You know, if he wants to go, let him. I'll be okay, as long as I don't talk to him from now on." It was a stupid idea, but I was full of stupid ideas back in those days."

"Lucía…."

"Fernando had every right to leave, with the way I treated him." She curled in on herself, blinking rapidly. "It hurts to think about it now, how cruel I was. And no one outside of the house knew about it, of course. I don't know now, but at the time I thought they were all thinking the same thing I did. I was too blind to see how wrong I was." She began to laugh, the sound croaking and near tears.

"What?"

"You know? The night she was born, he came to the door of the bedroom and looked at me. I was awake, and by the time I thought about pretending to be asleep it was too late. He looked at me, and I looked at him, and I said to myself "Well Lucía, this is it!" And…"

"And?"

"And… I knew then that no matter how hard I pushed, it was going to tear me apart to hear him say he'd wanted a son. That we weren't enough for him now."

"He wouldn't."

"Oh, of course he wouldn't! But I was an idiot!" Lucía tsked, busying herself with her hair again. "He looked me in the eyes and said, "Well I dunno if you want me gone or not," she quoted, her voice going deep and raspy, "but I aim to stick around whether you like me or not! So, get used to it!""

"…Well, that sounds like something Fernando would say," Imelda admitted, thinking of the blunt young man her friend had married. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing, until after I had finished crying. He came in and held me, the big softie. He even let me get a good punch in, not that I was in any shape to hit him." She looked mildly embarrassed. "And after that, I just knew he'd stay. We never talked about it again. And I realized that I had made my own fears come true, just because I assumed he would act like my father. I learned to trust him, the way he ought to have been trusted from the beginning." She shifted her weight, resting her elbow on her knee to prop up her chin. "In the end, it's a good thing that I died first. I don't know if I could have been as strong as he was."

"I never knew any of that about you, Lucía. You surprise me." Imelda looked at her a long moment, wondering how she could have went her whole life without knowing everything about her closest friend. "And it's a lovely story, but… why did you bring it up?"

"I told you because I wanted to let you know that I was afraid, once. And if Lucía was afraid, it's okay for Imelda to be afraid." She smiled sadly. "It's not easy, giving your heart over to someone." It took a minute for her meaning to sink in.

"I am not afraid of Héctor!" Imelda protested, standing up and moving away from the bench in anger. "And even if I was, don't you think he's given me every right to be? Why should I trust him at all?! He left me!"

"I never said he didn't." Lucía stared at her intently. "You're not even a little afraid of him?"

"Not one little bit!" Imelda began to pace before the bench. "He left and never came back. Fernando stayed with you, so you have no idea what it's like to—and furthermore, he did break my heart! Fernando never meant to break yours!"

"Why, Imelda!" Lucía looked surprised. "I never knew that Héctor meant to be murdered!"

"He didn't—augh, you know what I mean!" She pointed a threatening finger. "Stop being the Devil's Advocate!" Lucía shook her head fondly, patting the bench.

"Imelda, sit down. I'm not saying you're wrong, you firecracker. You have every right to feel that way."

"Of course I do." Imelda sat on the edge of the bench, tapping her foot impatiently. "So don't think anything more about it."

"Okay. I won't." They sat. "Do you think he loves you?"

"Do I—what?" Her foot stopped as she turned. "What?"

"Héctor: does he still love you, you think?" Her irritation faded to shock, then contemplation, before settling into confusion.

"I… I don't know. I never asked." She looked away, suddenly shy. "I would assume so."

"Assume so? You don't know, eh?" Lucía sighed before clapping her hands briskly. "Okay then! Whatever you say, amiga."

"What—?"

"That's all there is to it, you know?" She smoothed her skirts. "You said it yourself: you don't' want to see him anymore. If you've made that decision, then Lucía's happy for you. That's it. That's the end of it."

"Well… y-yes, you're right." Imelda nodded hesitantly. "That's it exactly. I'm glad you, at least, understand." She shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "The rest of them," she said, nodding to the house, "they can see him if they want to. I can't deny them anymore. It wasn't right of me. But… in my case, that's the end of it. As far as I'm concerned."

"Mmhmm." Lucía stretched before cracking her neck, vertebrae shifting visibly as they popped into place. "That's good! You're the bigger woman, as far as I can see it. The family needs to make their own choices sometimes. I'm proud of you, Imelda."

"Hmph."

"And it's a big city, you know? You'll never have to see him again if you don't want to."

"That's right."

"But, you know? I'd like to clap eyes on that boy again someday. I want to hear about his travels. What the big world outside of St. Cecelia is like." She laughed. "I'd ask your brothers, but I'd hate to hurt their feelings, no matter how cute they get when they're angry."

"Leave them alone." Imelda scowled. "I wish I had been alive. I could have stopped that from ever happening. What a mess! Why did they ever want to leave? What was so great about that railroad, that people kept wanting to get on a train and go somewhere else?"

"Don't ask me. I barely left the neighborhood after the children were grown."

"I was so shocked to get that phone call. I would have never thought them to be so reckless."

"Oh yes. Taking a trip to Mexico City certainly is reckless, alright."

"And then they had them in separate rooms! The twins, who had never been apart before! It nearly broke them, waking up thinking that they were alone for the first time—it broke my heart, to see them so upset. They were nearly in hysterics before I could tell them the mistake."

"Oh, don't dwell on it. It's all fine now."

"Yes… and they promised to never do something like that again, so—you're right. I shouldn't dwell on it." They sat together, hip to hip as they watched the fountain bubbling in the soft twilight. "Lucía?"

"Hmm?"

"Just why did you think I was afraid?"

"I thought we'd changed the subject, Imelda."

"Well, I'm changing it back. Tell me why." Lucía turned to her.

"Oh, Imelda." She reached up to trace the line of dots beneath her left eye socket, stopping when she reached the purple pattern on her upper forehead. "I know you. He hurt you once; you'd be afraid of it happening again." Imelda pushed her hand away.

"Well, I'm not. Afraid."

"Aren't you?"

"No." She took a deep breath. "It's just that this is the best choice. For the both of us."

"It is?" Lucía put her hands in her lap, her expression disbelieving. "How so?" Imelda reached over to pluck a leaf from one of the herbs climbing the base of the tree trunk, shredding it in her hands as she thought. "Am I going to get an answer?"

"It's just that—I couldn't hold him back in the living world." She let the green confetti fall to the ground, her finger bones stained a faint green. She reached automatically for another leaf. "It wouldn't be worth the effort, trying to hold him back here too."

"Holding him—Imelda." Lucía stopped herself, taking a deep breath and speaking when she could reach a level of calm. "Do you mean to tell me that after all these years, you still think you let him go without a proper fight? I'm surprised at you, you know!" she scolded. "Do you honestly think there was something more you could have done? Something that you didn't already try?"

"I don't know." Her face fell. "I do wonder, sometimes."

"Ay, Imelda. So stubborn, even a century later. I should have guessed."

"Oh, shut up." Imelda crossed and uncrossed her arms, trying to find a comfortable position and failing. "It doesn't matter—nothing's the same now. You can't judge me now based on what I did back then. I… I have a family to protect!" she insisted.

"Imelda Rivera!" Lucía frowned, raising her voice until there was no choice but to listen to what she had to say. "You sat here not ten minutes ago and told me that your family was free to see him! The only person you're trying to protect is yourself."

"I—no! That's not—I—you see—" Faced with Lucía's scrutiny, she floundered and fell silent.

"Maybe," Lucía whispered, keeping her voice as gentle as she could, "maybe you're just a little afraid. Just a little." Her jaw trembled, a tear pooling in the mostly-empty socket and sliding down her cheek. "Imelda…"

"Oh, Lucía…." She broke down quietly, covering her face with her hands and turning in shame. "I don't know if I can do this again!" she sobbed. "I just can't!"

"Of course you can, if you want to! You're so strong—"

"You don't understand!" She tried weakly to push her away, even as she let herself be gathered up like a child. She buried her head in the gap between Lucía's spine and shoulder blade, a hand over her mouth to muffle her stilted gasps.

"Then tell me, amiga. Make me understand." She pulled her closer, and for a jealous moment Imelda wished that it was not her friend, but her mother. Still, she soaked up the warm affection pouring from Lucía in droves.

"It's just—I'm old! And he—I thought he left me for good, Lucía. I thought he'd forgotten all about me, and he'd found another woman, or—I never, ever thought, not for a moment—why did I think that first?! What kind of—why—"

"Shh, there now. Don't cry so, Imelda. It's going to be alright." But the words she'd kept inside of her for months were pouring out, a dam that had cracked and was now spilling water under heavy pressure. She couldn't' stop the flow, unable to control her blathering mouth as she wailed into the crook of her friend's neck.

"He tried to find me when I died! He begged me to listen, to let him explain, and I just turned him away! So many times, and I never—he must have thought I was—there was no way for him to know that Ernesto never told me!"

"Imelda, it's okay!" But she was in full hysterics, and there was no choice but to let her ride it out.

"I can't help but think… what he must have—what I—how could I have been so horrid?! What came over me? I don't know—I thought—I mean—"

"How could you have known? Calm down, it's okay! Here, let me see if I have a handkerchief—"

"I wrote him once, Ernesto—I just thought that if I knew he was alright, I could move on—but no one answered! I thought that maybe he hadn't seen it, maybe he'd mistaken it for fan mail or—oh, Lucía!" She wiped futilely at her eyes, tears, spilling off her cheekbones and onto her ribs. Lucía didn't reply, still fishing for a handkerchief and shoving the tearstained part of her dress off her shoulder. "If he read it, he never answered me! What if he ignored me on purpose?! Why?!"

"Because he's a criminal, of course!" Lucía shook her head, pockets coming up empty. Imelda, would you listen to reason?" she sighed, turning from the sympathetic companion to the no-nonsense best friend in effort to help rein in her emotions. "You couldn't have known. How could you? There was no way, you know."

"I hurt him, Lucía… I hurt him, I know I did. I turned him away, and all these years he's been in pain for something I did. He was being Forgotten because of what I did! You didn't see him; he was so weak, I—"

"Would you hush that?" Lucía helped her wipe her tears, shaking her head. "You can't be blamed for something you didn't know. How on earth do you even come about with these ridiculous ideas, Imelda?" she huffed, finally using the apron itself to dry her eyes. "You listen to me now, okay? Imelda Rivera is not to blame for things she couldn't help."

"But I let him go with Ernesto! And I wouldn't listen—" She was cut off by a quick slap, two more in fast succession forcing her to draw in a sharp breath. She fell quiet, breathing haggard and sniffling as she let her wipe down her skull.

"Imelda Rivera is not to blame for things she couldn't help. You listen to me. If you had made him stay, it would have been no better. I know it. Believe me."

"But—"

"Do you know what would have happened? He would have spent the rest of his life wondering about what might have been, and you would have felt guilty for keeping him back. Who knows; even if it had worked out, you might have resented each other for it. Sometimes, things have to be because they have to be. And no matter what the circumstances, it does no good to dwell on it. Like I said before, you know?"

"I…."

"See? You know I'm right. Now stop that crying. You told me that things are different now, right? Here, take this and dry your sternum; it looks like you've been caught in the rain."

"Lucía… do you think…." Imelda looked down, taking the edge of her apron and patting her breastbone until it was dry. "Do you think I should give him another chance?" she whispered, not looking up.

"The only one who knows the answer to that is you, I think." She smoothed her apron back over the embroidered flowers on her skirt.

"But what if I don't know?"

"Then… I don't know either, to be honest." Lucía patted her roughly on the back. "But you always were the brightest, between the two of us. When the time comes, I think you'll know the answer."

Afterword: Héctor and Imelda will FINALLY get some time in the next chapter, I promise! :D Also, sorry for this coming in a day late behind the other platforms; something was going on with the site's uploading system last night and I couldn't get it to go up properly. It seems to be fixed now, though!