Hector and Imelda continued doing the same daily routine for the next few weeks.
"He's been so kind to me!" Imelda gushed to her friends, one day. The woman had gone out to Señora Montoya's to buy some clothes, which only happened once a month. It gave Imelda a good excuse to converse with Abril, Alana, and Amalia. When they asked her about her guest, Imelda immediately told them about him. The girls were astonished at how their introverted friend talked so animatedly.
"He plays his guitar so well-his music is like magic! Anything he plays makes my heart sing! I could get lost in his voice for hours! He likes my cooking and is always willing to help me with errands. I very much enjoyed writing songs with him!"
"You wrote a song with him!?" Alana asked, shocked. "Imelda, you have not written music in the last two years!"
"That's new," Amalia acknowledged.
"I know, I didn't realize how much I missed writing music!" Imelda beamed.
"And did you know he gave me a kitten for a pet? That's so sweet!"
Pepita had been nuzzling against her mistress' ankles, as the cat walked around.
"He's so wonderful!" the woman sighed, happily. "Oh, I wish he can stay with me forever!" She started to get lost in her sweet images of the sweet man. As she thought of his eyes and ears, her friends turned toward one another to share their reactions to her tales.
"Héctor, Héctor, Héctor. That is all she ever talks about!" Abril whispered to the girls, gesturing to their dreamy friend.
"Why wouldn't she?" Amalia whispered back. "He is her paramour!"
"Oh sí!" Alana interpolated, unable to suppress a giggle. "Her lover!"
"Oye!" Imelda came back to reality. She thought she heard some giggling. With one hand on her hip, she enquired, "What are you girls whispering about?"
Amalia and Alana quickly shook their heads, still giggling, till their cheeks turned pink.
"Is there something going between you and Héctor, Imelda," Abril said a bit firmly.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I know you two are being affable with one another and always spend time together. But people are beginning to-Imelda, you have to be careful! People are beginning to talk."
"What? About what?"
"People suspect that he is your um...well..you know...,"
"What?"
Abril sighed, not wishing to say it. She wished that her friend would not be so dense to figure it out, but decided against her better judgment to voice it. "Your paramour?"
There was a flash of surprise in Imelda's eyes, and her face turned pink in embarrassment. "Que-Qué!?" She sputtered. "O-Oh, don't be ridiculous! What in the world gave you that idea? Héctor is my guest. Of course, I'm with him all the time! Someone has to entertain him. If not my husband, then it may as well be me!"
"We are not saying you are doing anything wrong Imeldita," Abril assured her. "But we caution you to stop this affair or else your reputation will be damaged!"
"My reputation was already ruined the moment I married Ernesto for my late baby!" the woman snapped. "Has I known it would die, I would have never be trapped with Ernesto! Marrying him was the biggest mistake I ever made! When Héctor came along, for the first time ever, I finally found a friend, someone who's actually kind and supportive! Someone who actually has what Ernesto could never give me." Her heart fluttered at those words.
"You girls also have bad husbands too, so you would know what it was like to be in my shoes!"
"None of us would dare to have an affair with someone behind our husbands' backs, like you!" Abril accused.
"I am not having an affair with Héctor!" Imelda ejaculated. Turning right on her heel, she paid for her brand new dress and headed toward the door, but not before telling her friends: "And if I were you, I'd stop listening to gossip! Come on Pepita, vadamos." The cat meowed and followed her. Then she swung the door wide open. "This conversation is over. Buenos Tardes!" She slammed the door so hard that it made her friends wince.
—
When she came home, Imelda was still riled up from her unpleasant conversation with her friends. She put her stuff down and sat down on the couch.
"Oh, those dumb girls! I'm not that type of woman!" She grumbled. "Who do they think I am? A puta!? Honestly, what Héctor and I have is very platonic!" The woman didn't know who she was really angry with her friends or the townspeople? "Well, either way, they had no right to jump to conclusions! They are just jealous because I got a great friend and they don't!"
Pepita felt sorry for her mistress and nuzzled her head against her arm.
Imelda stroked the cat's fur.
"Thanks, Pepita for listening to me."
She stored her dress away in her dresser and went into the kitchen to cook dinner.
First, she gave the cat a bowl of fish for her. Pepita chowed down her food, loving the sweet taste of tuna.
Then, the woman began preparing dinner. The meal had to be special since Ernesto would be home, for once, and would bring his band with him, in addition to Héctor.
—-
"Ay Caramba! There is a rainstorm coming!" Antonio shouted. The clouds were rolling by and turning gray. There was also a booming sound that alerted the townspeople to get inside! As soon as raindrops began pouring down, the men ended rehearsal immediately. They made no hesitation to run over to Ernesto's house.
"I hope we reach your house before it gets worse, Ernesto!" Héctor spoke while looking up at the sky. The clouds were in such a dark shade of gray that almost alarmed him.
Eyes still at the sky while running, Héctor yelped when he felt his foot slipped into something wet and squishy.
Splash!
Looking down, the songwriter's face scrunched up in disgust at his shoes caked in mud.
"Que pasa Héctor?" Antonio asked, stopping his run.
"Oh ho ho, that's a doozy!" Gustavo teased him, upon seeing his feet. "You better watch where you're going!"
"You better take your shoes off when we get inside or I'll kick your butt!" Ernesto snapped.
"Okay, okay, Ernesto," Héctor said, half-annoyed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Geez, what a grouch!" He mumbled to himself, as he slowly stepped out of the mud.
As the men continued running, Héctor avoided other mud puddles as much as he could. But even the wet soil made his shoes dirtier than usual.
When the men arrived at the house, they all agreed that they should go in one at a time, for the door was narrow. Ernesto was the first to storm into the house. He swung the door wide open, not seeing that he accidentally squished Pepita by doing that. Ernesto did not take his own shoes off. He found it unnecessary to do it. Even when Imelda told him otherwise.
"Will you please take your shoes off?" She demanded.
"Cállate woman, this is my house and I can do whatever I want!" Ernesto barked at his wife. He ignored her growling and slammed the door shut. If he saw a squished cat sinking down to the floor, he did not care. He looked around the house, trying to find three extra chairs from the kitchen.
Pepita puffed air back into her lungs. Just as she attempted to take one step away from the door, it opened and smashed her into the wall again!
Antonio and Gustavo stepped in after Ernesto and took their shoes off. Not wanting to put dirt on the floor, the two men decided to place their shoes at the back door.
After that, they were escorted by Ernesto to their seats at the dining table.
"What are you cooking?" the musician bellowed at his wife.
"Chorizos."
"Put a lot of spices in them! Don't make them bland like last time!" He turned to his friends who looked concerned. "Oh, you know my wife!" He laughed in a mocking manner. "She's such a bad cook! One time I brought Indio Espinoza-the trumpet player-over, and she served him chorizo that was so bland that he never came over again! He said that his daughter could cook better than her!"
The other men laughed at their boss' tale.
Back in the kitchen, Imelda gritted her teeth and wondered where she could buy an anvil so she could drop it on top of his head. "He wants it spicy? Fine, I"ll make them spicy!" She grumbled to herself, dousing as many spices as she could.
Finally, Héctor walked inside. He had taken his muddy shoes off, not wanting to put one single piece of dirt on the floor. He used his barefoot to close the door. He was a bit startled to see the squished cat. "Pepita, esta bien?"
The cat puffed air back into her lungs and silently thanked the tall man before she ran off into the living room.
"Imelda!" Héctor called. "Where should I put my shoes?"
"Put them on your head!" Imelda jeered while adding the last of the spices to her food. When she carried a bowl of Chorizos to the table, Imelda was dumbfounded to find the strangest sight she'd ever seen.
"Héctor, what are on earth are you doing?"
"You said put them on your head," the songwriter smiled, sheepishly. He held them over his cabeza, no matter how tired his arms were. And ignoring Antonio and Gustavo who were laughing at him. Ernesto held a finger to the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Amigo, why must you take everything so literally?"
"Héctor, put your shoes down, you're going to hurt yourself!" Imelda chastised.
"I'll be fine," Héctor shrugged, casually. "Besides, I am saving your floor from getting dirty!" While walking to the table, and sitting down, his hostess let out a sigh and hit her forehead with her hand.
"Dios mío!" Imelda muttered underneath her breath. Could this day get any weirder?
After the chorizos were served around the table, the tall lanky man let go of one hand to serve himself one. His other hand held onto the shoes.
The songwriter took a big bite of his chorizo. As a Mexican, his tongue was accustomed to spicy dishes. Liking the taste so much, he started to eat the meat rapidly.
Until the spices began to hit him.
"Héctor?" Imelda asked, concerned. "Are you okay?
The man could not answer because all he could think of was how hot his sausage was. Swiftly, he picked up his glass of water and drank it as fast as he could. It wasn't enough to dissipate the pain but he kept on drinking. However, some of the water went down the wrong pipe. The next thing Héctor knew, he was coughing.
"Dios mío!" the hostess shrieked. "He's dying!"
"He is not dying, you stupid woman!" Ernesto barked. "He's just being overdramatic!" He turned his annoyed countenance to his suffocating guest. "Stop your coughing, Héctor!" Ernesto said, annoyed. "Act like a man!"
Héctor stood up and made an attempt to run to the well for more water, but his foot tripped over the leg of a table, and he fell down flat on his face. And he was still coughing.
"Héctor!" Imelda gasped and stood up from her chair, knocking it down. The woman ran to her fallen guest as if her life depended on it. She noticed that his coughing had ceased a little bit. Either way, he was still weak and moaning in pain.
"Geez!" Gustavo whispered to Antonio. "Did he choke on a chorizo or something?" His friend shrugged in response.
Imelda swiftly turned her angry countenance to the other men. "Don't you just sit there, you idiotas!" She commanded. "Ernesto call for a doctor! You two, fetch some water from the well!"
The men did as they were told.
After the woman picked the songwriter up, she slowly walked him to the couch and gently laid him there.
"Héctor, are you all right?"
The lanky man was about to protest that he was okay only to cough for the last time, and wince at the lingering spices in his mouth. "Aqua," he moaned. "I need water."
Imelda sighed, hopelessly. She understood the pain but Antonio and Gustavo hadn't come back with water yet. Looking around, it was apparent that they weren't back yet. So she grabbed something by her plate. "Here, drink my water instead."
Héctor sat up a bit and took Imelda's glass. He put it to his lips, savoring the cool and refreshing taste. The more he could drink the water, the better his tongue will feel.
The tension left her shoulders and was replaced with relief.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to put too much spice in your food. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. I really am a bad cook!"
"Imelda, no, don't say that! I'm okay! I'm sure it was an accident."
The two smiled sweetly at each other. Imelda rubbed his forehead.
"I am just glad that you are still alive," she spoke softly. "I'd never forgiven myself if anything happened to you." Her eyes began to water at the thought of what could have happened. "I didn't mean for this to happen! I didn't mean to hurt you-"
"Hey now," Héctor softly shushed her. "Está bien." He lifted his hand up and cupped her cheek. "Está bien, I am all right. Just a cough. Yes, I fell but only because of my clumsiness."
Imelda leaned into his hand, savoring his warmth. She turned her head toward his palm and planted a kiss there.
Héctor blushed and closed his eyes at the delightful feeling of her warm lips against his palm. 'Could she feel how fast my pulse is going?' He wondered. For some reason, it didn't bother him. When Antonio and Gustavo returned with a bucket of water (which was not easy. The two were completely drenched from the rain), he quickly withdrew his hand (much to Imelda's disappointment).
Ernesto showed up with Dr. Olvera right after the boys came back with water.
"Gracias amigos," the songwriter smiled as he sat up. He scooped Imelda's glass into the bucket. After filling it up, he jugged it down.
Imelda blushed to know that was her glass that Hector was putting his mouth on.
"Is he going to be okay, Doctor?" The hostess asked, nervously.
"He is going to be fine," the doctor appeased her. "Despite his trip, there are no bruises."
Everybody sighed in relief. Pepita, who had hopped on top of the couch, also looked relieved.
"My only suggestion is that Héctor must lay off anything spicy for a very long time. Because he ate very highly spiced chorizo, his tongue may have trouble handling hot foods."
"But Doctor!" Ernesto protested. "This is Mexico, everything is spicy here! My amigo can handle any hot food here! It was my wife's poor cooking that ruined his tastebuds!"
"Well, whether this is Mexico or America, the health and diet of my patient is my top priority," the doctor said firmly.
"How long must he stay from spicy foods?" Imelda inquired.
"A few years?" Doctor Olvera suggested. "Just until he feels ready to go back to eating spicy foods." After Ernesto paid him for his service, the doctor left.
Ernesto turned to Imelda, miffed.
"You stupid woman! When I said 'make it spicy,' I didn't mean-"
"Ernesto!" The songwriter spoke very sternly. "Don't yell at her."
The cat hissed at the bulky man that always made Imelda sad.
Ernesto fumed, looking like he wanted to argue. Seeing his friend's hardened face, and the angry feline, he huffed and stomped upstairs to his bedroom, and slammed the door.
"We have to go, too!" Antonio and Gustavo both spoke. "See you tomorrow!" The storm had stopped thus they had a good excuse to leave.
"Imelda, how long do I have to stay away from spicy foods?" Héctor asked.
"A few years."
"A few years!?" The songwriter whined, plopping his head back on the couch. "But I am fine! Besides, chorizo is my favorite food! What am I supposed to eat that is mild for the next 'few years?'"
(Pepita meowed, shrugging its shoulders. Perhaps fish?)
His face turned red when Imelda put her hand tenderly on top of his own.
"Don't worry," she whispered to him. "I'll make you something sweet."
Héctor smiled, stroking Imelda's hand with his other one.
Little did they know that Ernesto had been watching them from upstairs. He had stepped out of his room to get some water when his eyes landed on his wife talking softly to his childhood friend. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what was going on.
'Hmmm...they looked very friendly here,' He thought. But after observing the scene, he came to a conclusion.
'Oh, Imelda was just comforting my friend. Besides, it is not like Héctor would steal her away from me, right?'