And so we're all in agreement. Someone seriously needs to smack Imelda and Héctor's skulls together before they make a huge mess of things. But we're not doing that right now. We have other things to take care of first.

Two weeks. His two weeks of being grounded were over. Miguel couldn't stop smiling as the school day ended and he actually had the freedom to go somewhere other than home or the biblioteca. And since he no longer had to worry about his family finding out, he could actually go to the plaza. He could go there and actually enjoy the music without fear.

And he wasn't alone this time.

Abel and Rosa didn't look quite as certain as Miguel was as he led them towards their destination, music filling the air and beckoning them closer. But he could see that under their wariness, there was a certain amount of determination in his cousins' faces. They wanted this. They wanted what they could never have before. And Miguel would be the one sharing music with them.

Spreading his arms to indicate the entire plaza and everyone in it, Miguel asked, "Well? Where would you like to start?"

He watched them trying to take in everything. There were musicians scattered all over the plaza, sometimes alone and sometimes in groups. People would occasionally pause to listen to their songs or at least slow down as they walked. Music filled every corner of the plaza. The musicians played different songs on their instruments, but it didn't seem to clash. The notes flowed and faded into each other, almost creating something new and beautiful.

Miguel loved it. He loved how the music seemed to hum and ring through him, like the vibrations reached down to his bones and his heart joined the rhythm. Music always made him feel alive and whole.

Which was ironic since his first real performance was among the dead.

"I don't know," said Abel, his eyes wide. "This… is still pretty new. I still half expect Abuelita to show up."

Rosa nodded stiffly, peering through her glasses as she glanced around at the different people. Miguel could certainly understand their hesitation. They all grew up in the same household. But he also noticed that both of his cousins were shifting back and forth on their feet slightly, subconsciously matching the beat of some of the closest musicians and their current song.

Music was a part of them. A long-denied part, but just as important as making shoes or Mamá Imelda's fire or Tía Rosita's sweetness or Papá Julio's supportiveness. Or Papá Héctor's creativity. Or the love that wove through every member of the family, living and dead.

Looking down at the shorter boy, Abel suggested, "How about you help us decide?"

Banishing the hints of guilt from her face and letting her determination take control, Rosa said, "You're the so-called music expert. What do you suggest?"

Miguel quietly scanned the plaza. The best plan would be to find some musicians who played different instruments. If he could pick a group of them together, that would be even better since his cousins could study several at once. All it would take would be for him to follow his ears. But something caught his eye and Miguel took off running, a smile on his face and his cousins following closely.

"Hola," he called, waving at the familiar mariachi in the blue suit who was currently sitting on one of the benches in the plaza. "Remember me? You had me shine your shoes a few weeks ago?"

The man blinked in surprise as he turned towards them. Then there was a moment of confusion as he looked at Miguel. But as soon as he recognized Miguel, terror flashed across his face. The guitar music stumbled to a halt. His eyes darted around searchingly.

"Ay, muchacho," he yelped. "Are you trying to get me attacked again? She hits hard."

Laughing slightly, Miguel said, "Don't worry. Abuelita knows we're here. She won't come after you with la chancla this time. No more music ban."

It took a moment for the man to believe him. He kept glancing over the children's shoulders, as if he fully expected the older woman to materialize out of nowhere and start threatening him with footwear once more. But as Miguel already knew, the most he would see behind them would be Dante as the dog sniffed around for a snack. Eventually, the man started to relax. His shoulders slumped as a small smile began to form.

"I guess that's good for you, little músico," he said. "Did you seize your moment then?"

Resisting the urge to cringe at the words, Miguel said, "I've played for Mamá Coco and even the rest of my family a few times. And now my cousins are interested too."

"Is that right?" he said, tilting his head to study Abel and Rosa. "Are they fans of Ernesto de la Cruz too?"

"Who?" asked Abel.

"The guy with the statue," Rosa said, gesturing vaguely in the right direction. "Was in a few movies that we never watched and sang some songs?"

"Oh, right. Him."

"I guess that answers that question," muttered the mariachi. Playing a few chords on his guitar, he said, "So the dreaded music ban is finally lifted and your first stop is to visit me? I'm honored."

"Well, Prima Rosa and Primo Abel wanted to learn more about musical instruments. This is the best place to start," Miguel said. Grinning, he added, "If you want to help, I'll give your shoes a free shine next time I'm here."

Chuckling briefly, he said, "Is that right? Then I suppose Eduardo Vegaz is at your service. I needed a break anyway. Just as long as your abuela doesn't come looking for my head." Shifting position slightly, he asked, "So what would you like to know?"

"We want to learn how to play, but my brother and I aren't as interested in the guitar as Miguel is," explained Rosa. "It is nice, but… it isn't us."

"Not every instrument fits every person," Eduardo said with a nod. "Maybe you can learn it anyway. Maybe you can learn to play well. But if it doesn't fit and you don't love it, the music will never sound as good," he said, playing a few notes as a demonstration.

Miguel smiled as the man spoke. For him, there had never been any question. The guitar belonged in his hands the way it belonged in Héctor's. The sound and feel of the instrument spoke to him from the moment that Miguel snuck out and discovered it.

But he couldn't expect them to embrace the exact same things as him. They needed to find the instruments that fit his cousins.

"Let's start with an easy question then. What kind of music do the two of you prefer?" asked Eduardo. "Fast and energetic? Something loud and intense? Or maybe something soft and gentle? Something smooth and romantic, maybe?"

Rosa stared at the man for a moment before remarking dryly, "You really don't seem to grasp the entire music ban concept. We barely know anything about music."

"We've only been allowed to listen to it for about two weeks," Abel added.

"Then we'll work our way around the plaza and see what catches your attention," said Eduardo. "I'll point out some of the better options. I know these guys." Glancing around, he pointed towards another musician and said, "What about the violin? I'm sure one of you will like the violin. My tío, Gustavo, was amazing at the playing that one. He didn't always get along with everyone, but no one could deny his sweet, sweet skills on the violin."

Briefly Miguel wondered if he was talking about the same man that he encountered in the Land of the Dead. The name matched and they both played the violin. Of course, there could be hundreds of violinists with the name. It would probably be too big of a coincidence.

But it could be him.

"And don't think I forgot that you owe me a performance, muchacho," said Eduardo. "After we sort out your cousins and fix their sorely-neglected education, you can finally show me what you've got."

Each time that they came down, it seemed less and less ominous. Rosita doubted that she would ever be completely comfortable in the damp and depressing place, but the people were friendly and the atmosphere could be rather upbeat at times. People would greet each other enthusiastically, as if they honestly thought they would never see each other again and were impossibly happy it wasn't true. And there was almost always music in the air.

Unlike her niece, Rosita didn't grow up without music. She and Julio gave it up to join the family. He gave it up to marry Coco and Rosita gave it up because the Rivera family made her feel like she belonged when her mamá's increasingly-obvious disappointment over her lack of interest in any of the men in Santa Cecilia made Rosita feel like a failure. The siblings gave up music for their new lives, but she still remembered listening to and enjoying songs. It was nice to hear it again.

Not to mention that she enjoyed the subtle softening in Victoria's expression when she heard the first few threads of the violin music weaving through Shantytown.

"Prima Victoria! Tía Rosita!" called Carlos, pausing the bow briefly before switching to something sweeter. "How are two of my favorite señoritas today? You look as lovely as ever."

"Hola, Tío Carlos," Rosita called cheerfully, shifting her grip on the boxes in their hands. "We've brought more of the finished shoes."

Chuckling slightly as she wandered out of her ramshackle house, Gabriela yelled, "Primo Juan! Primo Pablo! Move your lazy bones and help them out. Don't make these two señoritas hold those boxes by themselves after carrying them all the way here. I know you have better manners than that."

Smiling at them with the same enthusiasm that they used for each other, the skeletons scurried out of their various barely-intact buildings until the pair were surrounded by the warm greetings. The ragged clothes and yellowed bones made something in Rosita's chest twist, but the excited remarks as they read the labels tied on the shoes and passed them out helped to sooth some of that unsettled feeling. She watched the various people trying on their new Rivera shoes. Some of them were already wearing pairs from their last visit.

Eventually Mamá Imelda would realize what they were doing. So far, Rosita and Victoria were cover the costs of the new shoes. On the books, there was nothing that would reveal anything unusual about the order. But she would figure it out eventually and probably ask why neither of them said a word. The only explanation that they would have on why they kept quiet about the project was that neither Rosita nor Victoria wanted to give her more to worry about. Not when most of her thoughts were on her long-estranged husband.

As for why they were doing it, that was simpler. It was a small gesture in the grand scheme of things. A pair of sturdy and durable shoes wouldn't fix everything that these people were facing. But it was a small way to help. It was something that they could do for these good and kind-hearted people, even if it was small.

"Would you look at that? Your family certainly earned their reputation when it comes to shoes," said Carlos, leaning over Victoria's shoulder as he continued to serenade everyone with his improvised violin. "I notice that you still haven't brought my shoes yet."

"We're working our way down the list. We merely haven't reached yours yet," Victoria said evenly, not even sparing him a glance.

"Saving the best for last? I'm honored." Sweet music swirled around them as he played. "I look forward to seeing what you create. Tell me, Señorita. What kind of shoes do you think would suit me best?" He grinned at her, bright and curious. "Or perhaps I should ask what types of shoes that you like to make?"

"We make all types," she said. The faintest hint of a smile twitched across her face, though anyone who didn't watch her grow up might have missed it. Her voice not betraying anything, Victoria said slowly, "I do tend to make huaraches. I don't think the style would suit you though."

"You never know."

Rosita had to resist the urge to squeal over the pair. It wasn't exactly direct flirting and they weren't calling each other sweet names, but Rosita wasn't blind. Carlos always seemed to be staring at Victoria when they came down and the subtle moments of approval from her were more than most of the men in Santa Cecilia ever received.

It was a start. A small start, but a start. But sometimes small things were important. Like shoes.

And Rosita would get to watch it develop. She would get to watch their quiet and introverted Victoria with the man who clearly had a crush on her.

"You two are so sweet," said Gabriela, easing up next to her. Pulling back her dress enough to expose her new and sturdy shoes, she said, "And Tío Carlos is right. You weren't exaggerating about the quality. Rivera shoes live up to their reputation."

"Gracias," Rosita said with a giggle. Smiling, she said, "Oh, and we brought some good news. Héctor finally woke up."

That sent off a round of cheers and the occasional grito from the shabby skeletons. She could make out the occasional cry of "Cousin Héctor," but mostly it was wordless joy. The outburst didn't last very long, several of them wearing themselves out and needing to catch their breath. The enthusiasm outlasted their strength though. It wasn't often that they got to hear about someone who escaped the Final Death and they were clearly happy to hear of his recovery.

"Mamá Imelda said he didn't stay awake very long, but he's getting better," Rosita continued. "I'm sure he'll be up and about before we know it." Leaning closer to Gabriela, she whispered, "And maybe the two of them will even work on rekindling their old relationship."

Chuckling slightly, Gabriela said, "I wish that boy the best of luck with it. He deserves some happiness. As does Tío Carlos." Glancing at him and Victoria as the shoes were distributed around, Gabriela asked quietly, "So does he have a chance with Prima Victoria or should I tell him to let it go?"

"That's up to her. But she doesn't seem to mind his music and she spent her entire life and death without it. That's a good sign. But he'll have to find another way to show his interest in her than with his violin," Rosita said slowly. She wanted to see them as an adorable couple, but Rosita also wanted to make sure that Victoria wouldn't have her heart broken in the process. "He'll have face Mamá Imelda eventually too. That won't be easy."

"No, she's a tough one. We don't even have to meet her to know that."

Rosita couldn't disagree with that assessment. She was a force of nature that no one could deny for long. She was protective and would guard her family from all forms of harm, including the heartache of unfaithful love.

Poor Julio had a difficult time when Mamá Imelda first realized his interest in her daughter. She took him on as an apprentice and taught him to make shoes, claiming that she wanted to ensure that he would have a dependable way to provide for his family someday. But they all knew that she was testing him, watching him closely and ensuring that he met her standards. And Rosita had no doubts that if he failed her unspoken tests or the woman doubted his loyalty towards Coco for an instant, Julio would have been chased from the Rivera household with bruises from her boot heel. But once she was certain that he would do anything to be with Coco, Mamá Imelda eased off and extended her protectiveness towards him as well.

If there was one thing that the entire family knew, it was that Mamá Imelda never wanted any of her descendants to go through the heartache and betrayal that shaped her life so thoroughly. When someone married into the Rivera family, it was because they had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would never abandon the people they loved.

Of course, now that they knew the truth about what happened to Héctor, it seemed excessive and overprotective.

Watching Carlos playing his cobbled-together instrument while his eyes never left Victoria, Rosita said quietly, "But if he doesn't mind that she's a bit quiet and doesn't show that many strong emotions, he might stand a chance."

"I think that's almost all of them for this delivery," said Carlos, peering into the box.

"Just one more pair," Victoria said. Reaching in and pulling them out, she read the label and said, "Primo Teodor? Would you like to come and try them on?"

No one moved, the cheerful conversations falling silent. Rosita could feel the very atmosphere darken as all the talking and music halted. None of them would meet the eyes of the Rivera women. Even Carlos looked away from Victoria for the first time since her arrival. Realization settled on the pair like an unnerving chill.

"Oh…," Rosita said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"We'll hold onto those for now, if you don't mind," said Gabriela gently. "There will eventually be someone who could use them. And he wouldn't want them to go to waste."

"Of course," Victoria said. "Though if someone does end up needing them, let us know. It would be better for us to make them their own shoes. We want to ensure everyone here has shoes that fit properly."

Smiling slightly, Carlos said, "And there's the sweet señoritas that we know."

Rosita watched as they shoved down the rest of their regrets about the loss, trying not to focus on it. The mood began to brighten once again. It was sad to realize how often the Final Death must strike the close-knit community if they could shake off the worst of the heartache. They didn't have the time for prolong mourning or reflection. They would grieve for a little while and then try to enjoy what remained of their afterlives as much as they could.

They didn't forget, but they couldn't dwell. They simply tried to find happiness and companionship while they still could.

She moved around the crowd of ragged skeletons. Within a few moments, Rosita managed to work her way over to a specific one.

Leaning close, Rosita whispered, "Victoria doesn't have much experience with music, but she loves to read. Use that information however you like."

Carlos glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. Then he gave Rosita a small nod and brought his bow back up to the instrument. A soft sound wove around them as he drew it across the improvised strings. He coaxed out a new song, but there was a thoughtful expression on his face.

While Día de Muertos was the busiest time of the year for everyone working at the Marigold Grand Central Station, there was still plenty of work to do the rest of the year. Obviously she couldn't work Departures on any other night though. So most of the time, Helena would handle new arrivals. She and a whole department of people.

It wasn't easy; some people handled their demise better than others. There were therapists on site for a reason after all. There was often denial, tears, fear, attempts at bargaining, begging, anger, and explanations on how they couldn't be dead because there was still so much left for them in life. She had seen a wide variety of reactions in the years that she'd dealt with them. And a day filled with new skeletons trying to wrap their minds around the shock of death and her attempts to guide them through their initial paperwork could be stressful. By the time she stepped off the trolley and started climbing the staircase to her apartment, Helena felt worn out.

Pulling off her hat and rubbing her hand against where her vertebrae met her skull, she forced herself to keep walking. She was already imagining the warm bath that she would claim the moment she came through the door. She might not have skin and sore muscles that the warmth would sooth and ease, but it still felt nice to soak her tired bones and relax. After that, she and her husband would have dinner and enjoy a calm evening together. Maybe they would watch television together, curling up on the couch under a soft blanket and occasionally chuckling over the program. Or maybe they would retire to bed early if the mood struck them. Either way, imagining it kept her climbing the stairs on her aching feet.

Next time she decided to show up uninvited and unexpected on the Rivera's doorstep, she might want to consider ordering a pair of their shoes.

As she reached her floor and once again silently cursed the building supervisor (from the turn of the century) for still thinking that repairing the elevator was an unnecessary project, Helena went ahead and slipped off the shoes she was wearing. It wasn't like anyone was standing around to judge her. The only other apartments on the floor contained her husband's relatives. They wouldn't care. Besides, it felt so much better as she watched the phalange and metatarsal bones shifting, the woman wiggling and stretching her toes to work out the stiffness.

Holding her shoes and hat with one hand, Helena opened the door and slipped inside. Waiting on the table was the basket filled with pan de muertos from their visit on Día de Muertos. While she and her husband tried to make the food last as long into the year as possible, the offerings brought back from the Land of the Living not spoiling or growing stale with time like other foods would, Helena thought she deserved a small treat after her long day. Both her cousin and her nephew's wife were amazing when it came to baking, so they bought back quite a bit.

She took a quick bite, smiling at the taste. Just like they wouldn't spoil, offerings from their living relatives always seemed more flavorful and filling. Or when they weren't food, more durable. The popular theory for why was that the love and memories involved gave the offerings left on the ofrendas more… life, for lack of a better description. And there was nothing like pan de muertos baked by your loving family to brighten your day.

"Helena? Mi amada?" called her husband. "Is that you?"

"In here, Diego," she said. Helena took a moment to set her shoes down by the door. "It's been a long day. My feet are killing me. Again."

Chuckling briefly at her old joke, Diego stepped into the kitchen. Tall and broad shouldered, he was just as handsome as he was in life. True, silver streaked through his dark hair now. He outlived her by about fifteen years and Helena couldn't deny the evidence. But Diego looked rather distinguished with the extra years on him. And while Helena's facial markings were bright and sunny, his were dark blue stars and yellow curves that evoked thoughts of crescent moons. She loved lying in bed while he slept and tracing the patterns across his face.

"You got a letter today, mi amada," said Diego, holding up an envelope. "Someone even sprang for same-day delivery. It must be important."

Blinking in confusion, Helena reached over and started opening the envelope. When she unfolded the letter and saw the short note, that confusion cleared up. It only took a moment to read over it and the message sparked a broad grin.

"Something good, Helena?"

Glancing towards him, she said, "Very good. Remember Héctor?"

"That poor soul from the bridge? The one you talked about?" said Diego with a nod. "Were you right about him being involved in that Sunrise Spectacular fiasco? I remember how you reacted that morning."

"Sí," she said with a nod of her own. "I've been worried about him. But the letter is about Héctor. It says he is getting better now. I didn't even expect him to survive Día de Muertos, but he's actually getting better."

Diego stepped over and wrapped his arms around her. She relaxed into the hug, letting the solid embrace comfort her. Her smile grew a bit warmer as her cheekbone settled against his collarbone.

"I'm happy for you, mi amada," said Diego softly, rocking her side to side. "I am happy that your friend is going to be all right."

Helena shook her head slightly. She couldn't call Héctor a friend. She only saw him once a year and only in a professional setting. She didn't know him well enough to be considered a friend. He might not even recognize her away from the Marigold Grand Central Station. But she did care about his well-being.

After a few decades of watching him trying relentlessly to get home, Helena couldn't imagine a Día de Muertos without him.

Hey, look at all the background characters in this chapter. We get the mariachi in the blue outfit from the beginning of the film, our favorite Departures agent, and all the extras from Shantytown. It's always nice to see how things are going for everyone.

"Sul tasto" is an instruction for string instruments, such as a guitar or a violin. It indicates for the player to pluck or draw the bow across the strings over the fingerboard. As the name suggests, the fingerboard is usually where the fingers would press down to change the notes. The result of playing over the fingerboard is that the instrument produces a duller and gentler tone, giving the music a more ethereal sound. And since this is another chapter with the violin being important, I thought this would be a good chapter title.