It's me again! This chapter really shouldn't have been this hard.
Ended up figuring out my problem... I had too much stuff, and had to take out a bunch of middle stuff and keep it focused. Learned it from another fic, and it's been a real handy tool to fix writer's block: when it's starting to feel unwieldy, get rid of the extra stuff and FOCUS.
Chapter 16: Family Time, or Not
The bell over the door chimed as he stepped in to the familiar shop, past signs advertising their Christmas sales and neatly displayed boots, tan and black and shining with fresh polish. Luckily for him, the shop was nearly empty, except for the line skeleton humming behind the counter.
"Bienvenidos! How may I… oh, Héctor!" Rosita said, clapping a hand to her chest at the sight of him.
"Hola," he said cheerfully, his hands behind his back as he bounced on his heels. He glanced towards the door on the opposite wall that lead to the workshop. "Is Imelda in today?"
"Oh… I'm afraid not. She went to lunch with one of our leather suppliers," Rosita said slowly, not looking at him.
"Ah… right." Shoot. His hands tightened upon each other, hidden behind his back.
As much as he had dawdled getting there, despite his reluctance, he badly wished to see Imelda, to touch her, just a little, and know she was still there. Was she still upset with him about that dumb article? Had her mind changed in the night about wanting him around?
Rosita fussed with some papers on the counter as an uncomfortable silence grew between them, before they were saved when a man in a wide-brimmed hat walked in, sweeping it off and gazing thoughtfully at the shoe displays.
Rosita jumped to assist him, back to her good-natured self. Héctor slipped to the side and pretended to study a set of marquez boots in a deep walnut brown with perfect laces, and thought about how Rosita had acted just then. She had never been cold to him before, certainly not the tentative wariness of the others. Did she also thought he had been unfaithful with Aida. Did the whole family think that? Would Imelda have tried to tell them otherwise? An uncomfortable feeling settled within him at that. Should he have expected this?
Glancing again to the inner door, almost hidden in the wall, he could just barely catch the steady undertone of tapping and whirring. Rosita was still engrossed with the customer and so he quietly slipped in, letting the door shut at his back as he stood there, relishing in it.
The workshop still amazed him, wonderfully organized with that usual hint of chaos, and now alive and busy, with the family all working away to the tune of a Singer sewing machine in the corner. Shoes and soles hung from the rafters, and heavy laden racks lined the walls, full of well-labeled bins and boxes.
The zapateria. Imelda's pride, her great accomplishment—besides her family, of course—and now he could finally see it for himself. Before, he wasn't allowed to step on the property, but that hadn't stopped him entirely. Héctor remembered listening to Aida talk about it after her ventures, hanging onto every word and trying to picture it: Imelda's first shop in the Land of the Dead, the store and workroom all together, with just a tiny living space above. It didn't seem all that long ago, really. Back when Imelda couldn't look at him without hatred in her eyes. Wouldn't listen.
But it was in the past, he reminded himself. Things were different now. Slowly things were getting better between him and Imelda. He hoped.
"Héctor? When did you get here?" a man said, and Héctor saw his son-in-law Julio looking at him curiously, which then caught the attention of everyone else.
At least the Singer was still thrumming, he thought as he grinned awkwardly at them all, or else it would have been far too quiet. Huh, must be electric, he dimly thought. That's nice.
"Hola!" he said, waving his fingers. "You know me, just came by to talk with Imelda. See how she was doing…"
"You mean after she found out about you?" Felipe said, glaring at him. A very familiar glare. That was a bad sign.
"And your supposed amante?" Óscar added, standing up and leaning on his chair as if simply stretching, but there was a subtle aggression to it that Héctor couldn't fail to miss.
"Ugh." Héctor hunched over, suddenly very tired and hoping to not to let his frustration seep out too much. "All right, yeah, I wanted to talk to her about that. And Aida certainly wasn't my lover, so let's clear that up right now."
"To be fair, that's what Mamá Imelda told us," Victoria said evenly, looking at him from over her pince-nez glasses, her fingers still moving over the huarache sandal she was lacing up.
"But she didn't tell us much else," Julio was quick to add.
"And I have a feeling…" Felipe said.
"That she didn't entirely believe you," Óscar added.
"Well, yeah," Héctor admitted, knowing he had explained things poorly the previous day. "That's why I wanted to try again."
That got some raised eyebrows.
He was explaining things poorly then and there, too.
"Look, I know what that magazine said, and while some of it was true, Aida and I were just… she was my roommate!" he said, waving his arms as he talked, nearly pacing if the space wasn't so tight. "She was a friend, that was all. And all this magazine nonsense makes it sound like drama, when there is none!"
"Oh?" Victoria said, rummaging through the drawer at her side. "I read something just today saying that you had a family with her."
"What? No, no, I said she was my family. I mean, she was like family!" He grimaced. All considered, he should really be better at words than this.
"Like family, huh?" Óscar muttered, glancing around at the others.
"Yes. She was," Héctor said, feeling more and more on edge.
It had all been a bit annoying before with the articles before, but with his own family repeating these accusations and rumors, it was quickly switching from almost funny to outright infuriating. There were still vague rules about not speaking ill of the dead—dead being relative to all things—and right now it felt like they were stomping over them, and what little remained of Aida's memory.
"Why didn't you mention her before if she was so important?" Felipe said.
That rankled him.
True, there was an equation there that they didn't know all the variables for, divided by pain and multiplied by years, adding and subtracting until they were all broken and taped up pieces of their former selves. There was an equation, true, and Imelda was one of those variables, and the family… but Aida wasn't part of that math, and it was plenty complicated enough without her.
"Knowing this would probably happen? Ah geez, I wonder why."
Luckily—or perhaps not—Rosita chose that moment to burst in through the door, hitting Héctor full on and scattering himself all over the floor of the workshop. When his head stopped skittering, he found himself blinking and blowing away the little bits of fluff that lingered in workplace corners no matter how well one swept.
There was a scraping of chairs and startled cries, but he ignored all of that and quickly set himself to rights, pulling himself all together. However, there was another clatter as his disconnected hand surged back to him, and in the process tipping over a box of little metal eyelets that spilled all over the counter and floor.
"Sorry!" he said, grabbing his head and tossing it between his shoulders, cracking left and right, as Julio righted the box.
"It's fine, it's fine," he said cheerfully to Rosita, who was trying to fuss over him as he slipped on the straps of his suspenders. "Happens all the time!"
"All right, there?" Julio said, coming up beside him, putting a hand under his elbow. "I know she can pack a punch."
Rosita was ready to chide him, when Victoria's voice stopped them all.
"What are these?" she said, pointing to the floor where, to Héctor's dread, the letters in his bag had scattered. She stooped to pick up one of them—one of the formal ones in a crisp gray envelope—and frowned. "Looks important."
Felipe picked up another—one tied with a pretty blue ribbon. "Important, yeah…"
"Ah—those are private!" Héctor yelped, rushing forward and grabbing the letter from his hands, not minding if it was crushed as he shoved it back to the small pouch at his side, quickly grabbing the rest.
"Letters from admirers?" Óscar said coldly.
Héctor groaned, shoving the last one in. "Yeah, maybe, I don't know. They're just letters I picked up at the post office, I haven't even looked at them yet. It's not important."
A tense silence followed, before Rosita cleared her throat. "Not to interrupt, but that was Guille about her order, she says she needed them by tomorrow, not next week…"
"What?" Felipe cried. "But she told us—"
"Oh don't be so surprised," Victoria said, crossing her arms. "She always does this. All right, let's get to work."
Héctor fidgeted, watching them get back to their stations. "Is there anything I can—"
"We're all pretty busy right now," Óscar said, now holding a stack of dyed leather and giving him that same cold look. "Maybe you should come by some other time."
"Right… right."
Somehow, in the excitement and drama of the past days and weeks, he had forgotten that this would happen. It was not just Imelda he had to convince, nor was it just Imelda's life he was trying to rejoin. It was all of them.
He left, walking out onto the street and feeling as shunned as when Imelda would yell him away, telling him to never come back.
He had reacted all wrong back there, he realized far too late. Why hadn't he thrown those letters away at the first chance? Except that they had been private and he had done nothing wrong! This constant suspicion was putting him all on edge, like someone had wrapped cold static around his bones that he couldn't shake off, but he rattled his shoulders for good measure.
"Héctor, wait!"
He turned and watched warily as Rosita hurried towards him.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"What? I… yeah, I'm fine," he said slowly.
"I just caught the end of that," she said, almost apologetic, twisting her hands about. "I thought you were going to wait for Imelda?"
"Plans changed," he said, wondering if this really was the best thing. "Best I keep out of the way."
He had to be careful, he reminded himself. He had to play it safe. But he wasn't always sure what that meant.
"I see," she said, without quite the same warmth, and Héctor felt responsible for that. An cruel little voice whispered that being there was only hurting his family. They would be better off without him…
"I'll um… I'll be by tomorrow, if you could maybe pass on the message," he said, to which Rosita nodded.
She glanced over her shoulder before stepping aside as a couple of shoppers passed close by, talking and paying them no heed. It was unsurprising that the shop would be busy, especially with the holiday season and the steady approach of cooler weather.
"You know," Rosita said in a softer voice. "It was scary when I first joined the family."
It took a moment to decipher that. Right, she was Julio's sister. Once she must have been an outsider to the family as well, same as him. He looked back to where he could see the wooden sign of the zapateria. "Really?"
She gave a small laugh, warm again. "Oh, absolutely! I've never really talked about it, but when our parents died…" She looked down, her smile softening. He hadn't quite appreciated it until then, that she was living with the Rivera's instead of with her parents, her true family. "Mamá Imelda invited me to stay with them. It was the scariest time of my life. But, you see? It just takes some time to get used to it. They'll come around."
"Yeah." He grinned, not feeling quite so alone, or so afraid. "Yeah, I bet you're right. I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully after that rush order is all done."
Feeling more human than before, he tipped his hat in farewell and once more made to leave before Rosita called out to him.
"She'll miss you."
Héctor stopped, almost wondering if he had imagined it.
"Imelda. I'm sure she'll miss having seen you."
He closed his eyes and let out a low breath, before turning and smiling. "Gracias, Rosita. Tell her I missed her, too, okay?"
She'll miss you.
He thought of that all the way back. Thoughts of the past and present, tendrils of bitterness and hope intertwining and twisting about. Had she missed him? Once he hadn't doubted that, and then things changed, and he had changed as well. But, yes, he missed her. He had missed her for a hundred years. Now was the time for him to make things right.
At least it was an uneventful walk home, skirting any signs of reporters or fans, and he made it into Shantytown with only a few passing calls and waves. It wasn't even quite dark when he arrived at his home—Aida's little shack from all those years ago. The fading echoes of twilight, deep blue and purple, snuck into the corners of the room as he opened the uneven door, letting it hang open for a moment. The place was full of shadows.
"I'm back," he said out of habit, pulling the door closed behind and latching it. "Didn't go so well today." The silence sank cold around him. There was the familiar low sound of wind, but it was nothing at all to the warm, bright sound of a family working together.
He rubbed his face, knowing he shouldn't still be talking as if they were there. They were gone. They had been gone for years.
"I'll try again tomorrow," he muttered, holding a hand over his shut eyes, feeling weak. "Tomorrow morning, I'll talk to Imelda. Just… I'll figure something out."
To his surprise, it was Aida who rose to his mind, with her short cropped hair and pitying eyes, remembering how she would step forward and lay a hand on his arm. It was Aida who had been his well-intentioned spy when Imelda arrived, and so many nights they would spend talking and planning. They had grown closer in that time, in a way. But then, they already had been close, hadn't they?
He missed her. Now, he wondered if he was allowed to.
"Sorry, Aida," he murmured, standing alone in the home they had built.
That night he lay in his cot, gazing out through the window at the star-strewn sky and let his mind drift with the clouds, about the past, and the troubled present, and a hopeful future.
In the morning he would go and have a nice, calm chat with Imelda.
Author Notes: Next we go back to the past.
The next two chapters are all written but... might need some heavy revision, so we'll see how long that takes :) Happy social distancing party!
Stay safe y'all 3