A/N: It took me 25 days to update this?! I'm so sorry. I'll try to do better, but I can't make promises. Sorry.
Imelda doesn't know which is worse: the fact that Victoria's dead and Imelda's on her way to the building to meet her or the fact that she's going by herself. Her mind is filled with dread as images of her granddaughter lying sick on her bed curled into herself and whimpering in pain cloud her vision and make her eyes more visibly watery than she likes. Her nonexistent heart aches when she thinks of how many more years Victoria could've had left if it hadn't been for whatever sickness this is that caused her life to end.
Occasional notes of music, chattering of people and the festive lights and decorations that cover the different skyscraper-like buildings in preperation for Christmas do nothing to stir Imelda out of her daze as much as they usually would. She usually would've given at leat thirty cold stares to the musicians that crowd around the plaza in the afternoon especially for upcoming holidays like this, but her heart just isn't in it this time around.
She walks slower than her normal brisk pace, eyes on the ground, wondering what Victoria could've possibly done to deserve this and wishing her familia were walking beside her to lighten the mood at least a little bit. But they had to stay back and handle the orders that are piling up at the shop for the season, so it's just Imelda alone with her thoughts and the pictures in her mind that make her glad for the cold air so she can have an excuse for shivering.
As another breeze blows by, Imelda wraps her arms around her midsection and lets out a hiss through her clenched teeth. She charges forward and picks up her pace, sending a stern look to a person who speeds their bike in her direction and nearly collides with her. He mutters his apologies as he whizzes past her, almost forgetting to steer for a second and veering sharply to the left, just barely missing a group of people on the other side of the road.
Continuing her walk and trying to push through the sudden gusts of cold wind that threaten to knock her off her feet, Imelda drops her gaze again and uncrosses her arms, trying to find happier memories of Victoria to think of instead of the horrid images of her pale face and demented, teary eyes.
What comes to her mind is a memory of Héctor, staring at her with a similar expression the day before he left, more blankness in his eyes than pain, his stance rigid as he could make it as Imelda's hand swiftly connected with his face and sent him to the floor in a matter of seconds.
Gritting her teeth, Imelda feels herself go tense with the memory as another cold wind blows and loosens the ribbons in her hair. But just as quickly, she steels herself and keeps walking, easily ignoring the pang of an all too familiar feeling in her heart.
There are far more serious things to think about than that. Like how she'll handle seeing Victoria, how she'll react to seeing the face of a women who's only forty-three and shouldn't even be able to see her for at least thirty more years.
After a few more moments of walking (or storming) to her destination, the large building finally comes into view, and Imelda puts her hand out to reach for one of the tall doors, glaring at the security guards so they'll step aside. When they do, Imelda takes a deep breath to compose herself when she realizes she's shaking. Then, after pushing away the horrific pictures of fantasies about Victoria's death out of her mind, she puts her hand on the doorknob and pushes both doors open.
Imelda lets the chaos and noise of the inside fill her thoughts, keeping her gaze downcast once again. For once she doesn't mind hearing the shouting and frazzled conversations around her, or the fact that due to the upcoming holiday she has to shove and work her way around more people than usual.
She's only focused on getting to the office that holds who she's looking for. And all too soon she's staring through the fogged glass, tensing and pulling back her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and pushing open the door as a shiver creeps up her spine in anticipation of what she doesn't want to see.
Victoria is the only one in the room when Imelda enters, the breeze from the open window causing the papers scattered hapazardly on the desk to whip around sharply and hit her back and sides repeatedly.
Victoria's back is to the door, and she doesn't look towards or even register Imelda even as she creeps so close she's within reach of the chair her granddaughter is sitting in. Her thin-framed glasses are on top of a six-inch paper stack. Her posture is hunched over, and her face is in her hands. Her hair is down, knotted and frizzy and sticking out at all ends. Her turquoise blouse is wrinkled and her sleeves are bunched up. Her skirt is twisted around her legs unnaturaly, looking dirty and faded and not the sharp orange color that it usually is.
Once the moaning of the wind dies down a little from outside, Imelda notices something else: the sound of muffled, quiet sobbing. And the way Victoria appears to be shaking as the sound escapes her.
It was enough to hear about Victoria's death over the phone, but actually seeing her here, and her still all black hair, and her thin frame that resembles Héctor way too much, sends another shiver up Imelda's spine.
Imelda barely realizes herself moving or the fact that she, too, has started to shake, but one foot slowly moves in front of the other, closer to the woman that should still be living but isn't thanks to a stupid stroke of bad luck. And before she registers the sensation of her body touching someone else, she leans down, lays her head on Victoria's messy hair, and wraps her arms around Victoria's neck, feeling the figure beneath her stiffen abruptly and hearing the crying suddenly come to a stop.
Her deep breaths are somehow in harmony with Victoria's choppy ones as the two of them sit there, neither person speaking for several moments and the tension still there in Victoria's shoulders as she calms down. Again images of her in bed, clutching the bedsheets around her, expression stricken and stuck in a grimace of pain, plague Imelda's mind as she lands a soft kiss on the top of Victoria's head.
After a few more minutes Imelda ends the embrace, wiping her own tears that have formed in her eyes. Then, after dragging a hand over Victoria's face to stop her cries as well, she steps back and puts her hands on Victoria's shoulders.
"Are you alright?" she asks.
Victoria sniffles and lowers her head, looking away from Imelda and not answering. She grips her right wrist and squeezes it tightly as another breeze, softer and warmer than the others, blows through the rooom and teases a few wayward strands in her hair.
Imelda feels her sadness deepen again as she takes her left hand and slides it under Victoria's chin and pushes her head up so their stares are connected again. She reaches up and runs a hand through Victoria's hair as she raises her eyebrows.
"Victoria?"
Imelda crosses her arms as she waits for an answer, backing up and watching as Victoria sighs and shakes her head slowly, more tears making dark streaks down her cheekbones.
"Sí, Mamá Imelda," she answers, her voice choked and hoarse. "I... I think so." She takes a shaky breath and looks at the floor, not saying anything else.
Imelda feels a sudden wave of protection and love wash over her as she stares at her granddaughter, and it hits her so hard she staggers back and knocks into the desk, toppling the pile of papers behind her and causing them all to flutter to the ground. She's suddenly reminded of Héctor again, of the night before he left, the light from the kitchen reflecting in his eyes, the blank yet firm expression on his face that had shot both rage and desperation through her heart, especially when the tears came to his eyes and broke through his emotionless façade right before she lost her temper and slapped him.
So you want to leave me and Coco alone for two whole months? Just to chase a musical fantasy?
Imelda closes her eyes and shakes her head in disgust pressing her hand to her forehead to chase the memory out of her mind. This isn't about you or him right now. Focus on the task at hand. At the person in front of you who actually deserves your care.
"Mamá Imelda?" Victoria is suddenly at her side, one arm around her, staring at her with widened and concerned eyes, her glasses sliding down her face as she leans forward in Imelda's vision.
Pulling herself back to reality, Imelda stares back at Victoria, momentarily suprised and then sheepish. "How much did I say out loud?" she asks.
Victoria's eyes narrow in confusion as she removes her arm and tilts her head to the side. "I didn't hear anything."
Thank goodness, Imelda thinks.
She brushes it off and pulls Victoria into one last embrace, straightening Victoria's glasses as she does. "Never mind," she says as she puts her chin on Victoria's hair. "I missed you so much." When she lets go, she's struggling to hold back more tears but she feels lighter somehow, even though the image of the bruise on Héctor's cheek from her hit is still very faintly in her mind.
Imelda puts her hands on Victoria's shoulders, looks her directly in her eyes, and attempts her first smile she's shown all day. "I think it's time to go home, don't you?"
Victoria nods and sends a responding grin Imelda's way as she heads to the door.
Imelda stands still for a moment and lets her go ahead, shuddering at phantom images of what Victoria must've looked like before she died and snarling at the memory of her awful argument with Héctor, pushing both away more firmly than before. Once they're gone, she takes a deep breath, makes sure her expression is neutral, and strides out the open office door and the building with her arms crossed against the returning chill.
The streets have emptied almost completely, the temperature a little warmer but still chilled by the clouds blocking the sun. All the lights are on in the surrounding buildings, and the silhouettes of people can be seen in the windows. Other than the occasional chatter or note of music, there's no disturbance whatsoever, which makes a calmness Imelda hasn't felt in years wash over and she and Victoria walk back to the hacienda with their arms around each other's shoulders.
Héctor is nowhere to be found the whole way. Imelda expected to see him playing his guitar across the street, or leaning up against a wall and watching the dreary sky, or staring straight at her with a sort of bleak but terrifed expression, his eyes filled with love behind his fear. But the whole way to the house there's no sign of him, no note of guitar music or sharp laughter to prove his presence.
No matter where she looks, she doesn't see him or even feel his tedious stare on the back of her neck.
And it fills Imelda with so much satisfaction that she nods and has to restrian herself from grinning as she continues walking and pulls Victoria closer.