After lunch, Héctor went back to the plaza to practice music. It wasn't easy for him to immediately leave due to Imelda still up in her bedroom. The songwriter wished more than anything he could comfort her but it was clear that she wanted to be alone. Perhaps if he gave her space to calm down, then maybe she will open up to him. But only when she's ready. At the plaza, Héctor only saw Gustavo and Antonio, who had been waiting for him.

"Well, it's about time you finally came back!" Gustavo barked. "I thought you ditched us!"

The songwriter rolled his eyes at the short man's dramatics. "Is Ernesto here?"

"No," Antonio responded confused. "Wasn't he with you?"

"He was," Héctor nodded. "But then he stormed out of the house after having a private talk with Imelda." He shuddered when he remembered the yelling noises.

"Really?" Gustavo asked. "What for? Did he say where he was going?"

"I don't know where he went," Héctor shrugged. "Just said he was going for a drink!"

The other men slapped their hands on their foreheads.

"Oh no, what are we going to do?" They groaned. "If he is not here, we can't practice! And if we can't practice, we'll lose our prize money!"

The songwriter thought of what would be best for them.

"Then, I guess we'll have to practice without him." He shrugged his shoulders because he was not sure what else to do.

After five hours of playing music, Héctor bade the band goodbye and went looking for Ernesto. He asked people around if they had ever seen his best friend.

Citizens of Pátzcuaro, directed him to a bar where they knew Ernesto would be usually hanging out: the Spirits Bar.

Héctor didn't mind going to bars, as long as it was filled with people who just wanted a drink and socialize. Bonus points, if it has a live band. But the Spirits Bar had a different environment, that was filled with people who like to get drunk. As the songwriter took a couple of steps in, he was approached by a waitress whose low-cut dress showed off her cleavage.

"Hola Guapo! Would you like a drink?" In her platter was a bottle of tequila and a glass.

"No gracias," Héctor smiled, politely. As much as he loved the taste of tequila, he wasn't thirsty. "I am looking for my friend, Ernesto de la Cruz. Have you seen him?"

"What does he look like?"

"A big bulky man with a mustache and a cleft chin."

"Oh, he's by the table over there," the waitress answered, nodding her head to the left. Hector's eyes darted in her direction, where his best friend sat on a stool by the table.

"Gracias, Senorita."

The songwriter made his way to the table and sat on a stool beside Ernesto, who had been twirling his straw in his drink.

Ernesto glanced up at Héctor and then turned back to his drink.

"Oye, Ernesto," the songwriter piped up. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, you didn't come back to rehearsal,

and we became worried." His friend did not respond but only took a big sip from his drink. Héctor swallowed at the uncomfortable silence, before proceeding. "Is something wrong?"

"Geez, what do you think?" The older musician said bitterly as he slammed he drink down on the table. He turned to his friend. "Think, Héctor! Do I look miserable to you?"

"Um...yes?" Héctor shrugged, nervously.

"Good job for figuring it out, Héctor!" Ernesto said sarcastically as he clapped his hands. "Wow, you really are smart!"

Héctor rolled his eyes.

"Stop with the dry humor Ernesto, and tell me what you're pissed about!"

"Oh, I'll tell you what I'm pissed about!" Ernesto grumbled. "It's Imelda!" He signaled a bartender (by snapping his fingers, which annoyed the bartender) to pour him another drink in his glass.

"Your wife?"

"No, the Tsar of Russia," Ernesto drawled, sipping his drink.

"What does the Tsar have to do with-"

Héctor jumped when Ernesto slammed his glass on the table.

"Of course, it's Imelda, you fricking dumbass!"

Ernesto made eye contact with the songwriter. His eyes were so dark that it made Héctor shiver. "You don't know how impossible my wife is, Héctor!" the large man continued. "She is a bruja who is always ruining everything! Her interference with our song will ruin my chance to win at the talent show!"

"Um, how?" The songwriter quizzed. "What's wrong with that?"

"If people find out that she helped you, instead of me, they will laugh at me! It would be a great insult to me! My reputation as a musician is important! You understand, right?"

His words didn't leave an impression on Héctor. Instead of sympathizing with him, the songwriter looked a bit disappointed. "That's...it? That's what got you bellyaching about? Your reputation?"

"It's more than that!" Ernesto ejaculated.

"My stupid wife is always interfering with my music just because I do not practice enough or like to show off! Doesn't she have any faith in me? Doesn't she see the true talent in me? What's wrong with wanting fame? Doesn't she understand that I am meant for greatness? Doesn't she understand how important is my reputation? I am sick and tired of her yelling and nagging! And if Imelda is not belittling my music, she nags at me to help her with chores all because I "never help her at all!' Boohoo hoo! I am a man, not a woman! I shouldn't have to help her with petty housewife work! And, she's the one to talk to! She lays around doing nothing except weeping, and her cooking stinks!" He paused to take another sip from his drink. "You do not know what it is like to live with such an intemperate woman!"

"I have," Héctor said slowly. "Remember Profesora Gómez? It took me forever to score higher than 70% on her math tests, no matter how hard I studied!"

"Oh, the school teacher? No, no, no," Ernesto chuckled and shook his head. "Teachers are supposed to be very strict, so it makes sense for Professora Gómez to act like that. But wives are supposed to be quiet and obedient, not shrewish and disobedient! Their job is to satisfy men and produce sons-and Imelda has utterly failed at that!"

Héctor felt his stomach churning at his friend's repulsive tongue. If only he had the courage to speak up and defend Imelda! Usually, he doesn't take sides, but secretly, Héctor was on Imelda's side. The problem was if he dared to speak up and defend her, Ernesto might get furious. And he didn't want to see Ernesto get angry. More than he already was right now.

"Are you sure what you said is true?"

"Of course, it is true!" the bulky man snapped. "You believe me, don't you?"

The songwriter didn't believe Ernesto. He had recalled him saying ugly things at the door on his first day here. Or how Imelda always looked afraid every time Ernesto pulled her aside for a conversation. Not to mention that Ernesto never acknowledged his wife which lined up with Imelda's early comment on how they were never in love.

"Look," Hector replied, avoiding the question. "Even if your wife edited my song, there is no reason for you to act so sourly. Who cares who helped me with the song? Either way, we'll still win as long as we practice! The crowd won't know who we got help from. I'll just say I wrote it. Would that make you feel better?" All he got was silence from his best friend. He stood up, planning to possess the drink away from the large man. "Hey, let me take you home."

But Ernesto snatched his glass and viciously growled at his friend with gnashing teeth.

"Ah, you know what?" Héctor smiled sheepishly. He backed away with his hands up. "Good talking to you. Stay at the Sol Inn until you are sober. You know how to get home, right?"

Ernesto just continued to growl.

"Great! Lasta vista!" The songwriter dashed out of the bar, as quick as the lightning bolt.

Imelda had dried her eyes after some time of weeping. After crying, she went out shopping and bought more food for dinner. While frying crickets, Imelda's thoughts rested on her guest. She hoped that her guest didn't hear her. If he did, then she'd be forced to spill the beans and he would react the same way that other people had. "Ernesto is right and you're wrong!" the people would always say. "You deserve it!" is another thing they would also add.

Imelda hated that her so-called husband yelled at her for "interfering." Her guest needed help and since Ernesto wasn't around, how could she deny her impulse to assist him?

Perhaps Ernesto didn't care to know but she too loved music. As a little girl, she was a member of a church choir. Some kids used to tease her for being an alto but the choir director, Sister Sara had encouraged her to sing her heart out. When Imelda had complained that there were no solos for alto girls like her, Sister Sarah responded by doing research. When she couldn't find them either, the nun taught Imelda how to write music. The girl was able to produce songs that suited her vocal range.

When she wasn't singing in choir or writing music, Imelda would go out dancing at the plaza with her friends. Too bad, on one of those evenings, she was "stolen" by Ernesto.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Her heart leaped at the sight of her handsome guest.

Héctor walked inside, fidgeting with his fingers. When she asked him what was wrong, he stayed silent. Only continue to fidget. She coaxed him to answer.

The songwriter swallowed and sighed. He informed Imelda that her husband may not be coming home tonight.

"I am not surprised," Imelda sighed, shaking her head. She went back to the kitchen to check on dinner.

"What do you mean?" The songwriter was a bit appalled. He almost dropped his guitar. Good thing, he caught it. He leaned it against the wall so that nobody would trip over it. "How often does this happen?"

"Oh, almost every day," the woman said in a flippant tone. She laid chapulines on two plates and served them at the table. Forks were already laid out so Hector didn't need to retrieve them. They sat down together while Imelda continued talking. "I am relieved that I do not have to see his face but...I feel...lonely."

"Do you go out?" Héctor asked, after swallowing his food. "Do you have any amigas?"

"Yes," Imelda responded. "I go out to the marketplace, almost every day. I have amigas but it's hard for me to see them because they are also married-I am only lucky when they are also at the marketplace."

"What about your family?"

The songwriter's question filled Imelda with sadness. She replied, "No."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

Good question Héctor, Imelda thought. When was the last time she ever saw her family? She missed her old life in which her family was part of it. Sometimes the woman wondered if they missed her too. Her mother surely must have thought of her dearly. Her father might have been angry with her, but she had prayed that he would forgive her. Her eyes turned wistful of her brothers. Have Oscar and Felipe remembered her (and haven't played any pranks on their school teacher)? Her eyes filled with water but she quickly wiped them with a cloth. "What does it matter? They won't see me. They haven't written anything to me-not even a telegram! I have a funny feeling that they don't care about me!" She threw her cloth on the table in frustration.

The woman jumped when Héctor clasped her hand into his big hands and gave it a little squeeze. Imelda noticed how warm and tender his hands were. She relished the comfort of it. When was the last time anyone had held her hand? Her mother and father used to hold her hand for comfort. Her brothers used to hold her hand when crossing the street. Back when she was single and free.

"Don't worry, we'll get through this," Héctor's words felt like a caress. So sweet and gentle.

"How?" She asked hopelessly.

"Maybe I can help you with chores. I can help you do housework, grocery shopping, and anything you need help with!"

"Are you sure?" Imelda slightly frowned. "I feel funny putting my guest to work." And he was already helpful. Setting the table, making his bed, and brewing chocolate drinks. He is the only man that is truly helpful.

"Absolutely!" Hector smiled, like a child wanting to go to the park.

Imelda filled her eyes good-naturally. "All right, I am going shopping tomorrow. If you have time off, you can help me carry groceries."

"Great!" said the songwriter. "I have time off tomorrow so I will come with you!"

For once, Imelda felt that she made a friend.