Whew! So those last couple chapters were a bit of a doozy!

But now we're past that, and it's back to Imelda and her growing worries about her husband.

Chapter 6: Héctor Y La Amante

Imelda spent her morning thinking about her husband, which was still something of a novelty.

She hadn't seen him in days, not since that disastrous evening at the plaza where Héctor had met his 'old friend' who just so happened to be a young, beautiful woman who apparently adored him.

But that wasn't what was on her mind as her family made breakfast before the shop opened for the day. Normally her mind would be on shoe orders, or designs, or thinking of her family in the living world. There was always something to do, something important to worry about. Something she needed to focus on.

Instead, Imelda was trying to remember what Héctor used to drink with breakfast.

It was hardly important, and it would be easy to simply ask him, but it bothered her. She had forgotten, and was increasingly being reminded of just how much she didn't know about him. Her own cup of hot chocolate lay cooling in her hands as she dwelled on it. Did he also drink it? She could almost remember making it for him when they were married, especially following long nights of work as a mariachi. Sometimes he wouldn't come home until dawn when he would stumble into the kitchen, dazed and exhausted, half-watching her as she worked around the kitchen. He would be nearly asleep on their little wooden table, and she'd press a cup to his hands with a stern order to drink it, or a little elote or a tortilla wrapped with soft white cheese and egg, a little something before he slept. And he would smile and thank her, gazing up at her with his large brown eyes, and she would feel strangely protective of her husband in those moments. But the thought was so faded, so old, she wasn't sure if it was a memory or a dream, and they had been married for such a short time… she wasn't sure anymore.

Distantly she noticed the side door opening as Rosita walked in from her morning walk, like usual. Her family's routines hadn't been truly affected by the aftermath of Dia de Los Muertos, and that was something to be grateful for. They needed their routines, some stability in their lives, even as Héctor threatened to upheave that.

"Mamá Imelda?" Victoria said, putting a hand on her shoulder, startling her from her thoughts. "I was going to open the shop now."

"Hmm… oh. Of course." Was it that time already? How long had she sat there? She brought the cup to her lips and found it almost cold, but still carried it with her to the workroom, careful not to spill as she looked over the to-do list for the day.

Even as her eyes looked over the notes and orders, her mind lingered on Héctor, and was irritated at herself for being so distracted. But where was he? Why hadn't he come by? Was he being respectful? Was it out of guilt? Or was he trying to give her space? Although that would be foolish of him, considering the last time they had talked he had thrown himself into that other woman's arms. True, he had said nothing had happened between them. Yet she couldn't shake those lingering doubts that there was something he wasn't telling her.

Fortunately, she had plenty to keep her mind occupied with a busy workday and a family to lead. Yet as the morning went on, things seemed… different.

By mid-morning, she was certain of it. Something was definitely off. It was a feeling more than anything, no hard evidence besides a strange tension whenever she walked into the workshop, a slight hush different from the usual quiet of a family busy at work. Maybe it was the fact that none of them could meet her eyes that made her so suspicious.

That suspicion only grew when she went into the back around noon and found them all huddled together and talking in low voices.

"-can't be true."

"-how similar she sounds to Imelda? If there was anyone—"

"Should we ask him first? I wouldn't want to—"

"What is going on?" Imelda said loudly, putting her hands on her hips as her family leapt up with guilty faces.

"Nothing!" Oscar said, panicked.

"Just taking a quick break," said Felipe.

"But we'll get back to work right now," Julio said with faux cheerfulness as he went to his polishing station.

"What were you all talking about?" Imelda said, squinting at them as they looked away nervously.

"Uh…"

"Shoes?"

Her eyes caught something behind Rosita's back.

"What is that?"

"Oh!" Rosita squeaked, and only held it tighter to her skirt. "Oh this? It's nothing! Just another, uh…"

Imelda strode forward and grabbed the thing: a curled up magazine. The room went deadly quiet as she looked at the front page that brazenly proclaimed:

Héctor Y La Amante

Amante? Imelda thought with a stab of pain. A lover? Héctor had a lover?

There was a crude drawing of two skeletons gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. One was undoubtedly Héctor, and the other a beautiful skeleton with dark curling hair, a blouse slipping low over her shoulder bones, and her hand caressing his cheek. And even though it was just a sketch, her face bore the look of a seductress.

Surely it couldn't be true. It couldn't be…

Her eyes skimmed over the words as her heart sank…

There is a general impression that Héctor Rivera spent his death alone, merely biding his time until his family came to the Land of the Dead, remaining chaste and faithful to his beloved wife.

Dear reader, the truth is far more scandalous!

A century ago, Héctor Rivera was but a young husband when he arrived in Shantytown, supposedly missing his wife for all those years. But it would seem he found another woman to keep him company. During his time living in a hotbed of criminals and vagabonds, our supposed hero met a young woman named Aida. And not just any woman, but a known and shameless whore!

In her life she was a camp follower during the Revolution, and it seems she continued to ply her trade even after death. Not only that- this woman was more than just a lowly puta, but also the owner and madam of a whorehouse in Shantytown. Some even say that Héctor himself was, and still is, a partial owner. Family man indeed! Perhaps he is not so deserving of our pity.

Numerous witnesses attest that the Héctor and this woman were very close, living together for decades, sharing not only a home but even sharing a bed! It is all the more remarkable that Héctor would be with this woman, since Héctor was responsible for the burning and destruction of her original home, soon after meeting her. Although, as penance, he gifted her with a new one- very generous! Perhaps a bit overmuch for a mere puta, but might be some indication of the high esteem he held her. It has been said that they were incredibly open with each other, in words and deeds, and no secrets lay between them. Perhaps nothing else lay between them, either.

So much for being a devoted husband!

Yet, as close as they are, it sounds like she may have been a dangerous woman, and not just for his marriage vows. We have uncovered stories of her as a violent, shrewish woman, physically attacking him, and even attempting to drown him (quite the impossible task, of course). Clearly an unstable sort! This woman even helped him commit crimes, including robbing from other almost-Forgotten, even stealing bones from fellow nearly-departed souls, and living with other undesirable sorts.

Does Héctor's dear wife know what kind of company he has been keeping?

Perhaps she would not be too surprised. Aida has been described as having a fiery temper and being stubborn, intimidating, and hot-headed… all the more apt, considering the same words could describe his wife. Makes you wonder what his type is.Héctor and this woman apparently were quite the musical duo, as he early on taught her how to play guitar and they often played together (in more ways than one, it would seem). Witnesses even suggest that she and Héctor had no qualms about walking around in bare bones- shameless, indeed!

Despite being Forgotten many years ago, it is said that Héctor still keeps mementos of her from their shared, secret life together…

She skimmed the rest and could feel her family watching her, and was careful to school her expression.

"I'm sure none of it is true," she said dismissively, rolling up the magazine and gripping it hard in her fist, squeezing until her bones grated against each other.

"How can you be sure?" Victoria said, with a challenging lift of her eyebrow.

"And it's like you said," her brother noted.

"We don't actually know anything about after he died," Felipe finished.

That was true, but Imelda didn't want to think about it at the moment.

"Until I talk to him, I don't want to hear anything more about these awful rumors. Understood?" she said sternly, daring any of them to argue.

Without another word, without waiting to hear a response, she went back to the front of the shop, still gripping the rolled up magazine, her mind filled with a gray fog that thudded like a heartbeat. The crude, spiteful little article had managed to touch each of her fears about Héctor.

How much of the article was true? Any of it? It seemed damning, and she found her hands were shaking. Perhaps she was finally getting her answer to what he had been doing all that time. Would he really have found another woman to warm his bed? Could he have fallen in love with another? And worse, a whore? A madam of a whorehouse? He wouldn't have been so vulgar, not so openly at least. Right?

No. It had to be fake. Just rumors meant to harm him. At the very least, it was certainly exaggerated. Surely not all of it could be true.

Unable to help herself, she opened it up again to the rough sketch of his supposed infidelity, the half-lidded eyes of each of them. It reminded her of how he had looked at that other woman- Maris. Was it such a stretch that there might be others like her? Of course, he had said there was nothing between them. And she had decided to believe him. At least that was what she had said. But the fears, the anxiety, couldn't be quelled.

Customers came and went, plus two reporters trying to pass themselves off as customers, but whenever her mind had a moment's peace it returned to the gnawing worry… had Héctor been unfaithful? He had promised her that there had never been anyone else, but then she would remember how his face lit up when that young woman had thrown herself into his arms, the way he had smiled and laughed and held her hand.

Occasionally she would make the mistake and skim through the article, trying to itemize all of the things that she would need to ask him, and there was a great deal. She debated on writing out a list for when he arrived, but that was an altogether bad idea. Besides, she couldn't bring herself to write any of them down. Strangely, though, it wasn't the vulgar parts of the article that most bothered her. Surely he wasn't so brazen as to openly share a home and with a whore, she argued to herself. The whorehouse thing was also ludicrous, far too outrageous to be true.

No, the things that twisted her heart were smaller, like a persistent bug bite. She realized it was the music that hurt her the most, like always.

When they had been young, he had taught Imelda how to play guitar. He'd been nothing but a gangly, ragged boy, always hungry and covered in dust from the road, and always beaming whenever their eyes met. He had made her feel like no one else ever could. So often the two of them would be discovered perching on benches and fountain edges as he led her fingers over the strings. It had been one of the things that made her fall in love with him.

Had he really done the same with this other woman? That, more than anything, made her uneasy. She could so readily imagine it: her young husband beside a beautiful, eager woman, looping his arm over her as their fingers intertwined over the strings, twitching together over the frets, sitting so very close. Had he smiled at her with the same proud love in his eyes?

Could he have fallen in love with her? With this other woman?

After all, Imelda had only known him for a few years, would it be such a stretch that he might move on and love another?

The clock on the wall slowly ticked by, and she waited and waited for Héctor to arrive and then, hopefully, hopefully, assure her that the magazine was nothing but lies and cruel rumors.

Surely it couldn't all be true…

Author Notes:

Poor Imelda… this does not look good. Hopefully she can clear things up with Héctor. These tabloids are so much fun! I don't know if I got the tone quite right- to be honest I have very little experience with these kinds of magazines. Probably not too surprising.

Reviews always appreciated!