I know you've been waiting a while for this update. Things were a bit hectic for a while and I didn't get much writing done during my vacation. But I'm back and getting into the swing of things. Let's see how much progress I can make, shall we?
Her legs might be too weak to support her anymore, her eyesight might have faded, and her fingers might have stiffened from arthritis, but Coco would never be too old and frail to hold a baby. The dozing infant rested on her lap with a pillow to help support Coco's arm. She couldn't rock Socorro or lift her very high, but Coco could hold her.
She'd held so many babies over the years. Her children. Her grandchildren. Her great-grandchildren. Coco held so many precious family members when they were tiny and beautiful things, watching them eventually grow up.
It was what she loved to do. More than dancing or anything else. She loved holding the newest members of her growing family.
Coco would always volunteer to watch the children while everyone else worked in the workshop. She would take care of the babies, rocking and humming softly to them when no one else was listening. It was familiar. So familiar that there were moments where she was almost convinced that she was looking down at Victoria or Gloria instead.
"You know that even if that reporter takes all the credit, it'll still blow back on us eventually when everything goes public."
Coco glanced up as Berto's voice drifted in from the neighboring room. But he wasn't talking to her. The rest of the adults of the household were in there, the children either at school or napping like Manny and Benny. Luisa needed a break from caring for her newest child, which was why Coco was holding the little one.
But with everything that was going on, it was only naturally that the topic of Ernesto de la Cruz would come up.
"I know," said Enrique. "We all know. We've already talked about what could happen. But we can't keep quiet about this."
"And maybe we'll have a few people who will react badly to the news and lash out at us." Luisa kept her voice calm and reasonable as she spoke. "But most of it will be focused on the reporter rather than our family. He'll be the one in the spotlight. He'll be the one serving as a target. And our neighbors won't turn against us. Santa Cecilia is a good place filled with good people. And they won't tolerate strangers harassing one of their own."
Elena's voice sharp and uncompromising, she said, "And if anyone dares to say anything against our family or tries to drag us into the whole de la Cruz mess, I'll smack some sense into them. I won't let them speak about Papá Héctor with anything less than respect."
Coco didn't even have to be in the same room to know that Enrique, Berto, and Gloria exchanged looks at that remark and Franco would be shaking his head in bemusement. Elena was a wonderful daughter and always put family first, but it wasn't so long ago that she didn't consider the man as family. But Miguel's reveal about the stolen songs had shifted things. It was amazing to see how far she'd come in such a short span of time. A lifetime of hating him and yet Elena was now ready to defend his reputation.
It brought a smile to Coco's face.
"And anyone who tries to claim our family wants fame or that Ernesto de la Cruz didn't steal Papá Héctor's songs or that my Mamá Coco is a liar," she continued, "will never own a Rivera shoe. We'll never sell so much as a shoelace to them."
Laughing lightly, Gloria said, "A fitting punishment, Mamá."
"No matter what happens when the news comes out, we'll face it together as a family," said Enrique.
If the conversation continued further, Coco didn't notice as a small whimper drew her focus back to her more immediate surroundings. Socorro's face scrunched up, the baby on the verge of waking up and crying. Coco recognized the uneasy expression far too easily.
"Calmate," cooed Coco gently. "You're all right. You don't need to cry."
Coco glanced around before remembering that she didn't need to be sneaky. The music ban was no more. She didn't have to hide what she was doing.
"How about a song, Socorro? I know your brother sings to you," said Coco. "My papá used to sing this one to me."
Socorro gave a pitiful whimper. Coco pulled the baby closer.
"Remember me. Though I have to say goodbye."
Imelda slid off Pepita as she landed in the courtyard, her bones weary and her skull practically buzzing from everything that she'd listened to all day. The trial was tedious and frustrating. Even with a few bright points where Ernesto de la Cruz and the judge clashed, the entire day strained her patience. Keeping her mouth closed and remaining calm took nearly all of her willpower. But no matter how satisfying it would have been to throw a shoe at Ernesto from the witness stand, and Imelda knew her aim was good enough to hit the target at that distance, she knew it would be far better in the long run for him to be locked away. She put up with the entire trial headache because it was necessary.
Julio stumbled off the alebrije, a little more clumsily than she did. He did an amazing job today, even if the entire experience clearly frayed his nerves. Julio was frazzled rather than frustrated like she was. But at least he was done. It took all day, but the judge, lawyers, and jury had heard enough from both of them. The trial may continue, but their role in it was over.
She could focus on more important things than Ernesto de la Cruz. Like her family.
Imelda glanced up at the sky, dark oranges and reds painting the horizon. It was growing late in the day. Everyone in the workshop would be finishing up. They might have made progress on the orders, but Imelda didn't get to work on a single stitch. It made her grit her teeth, knowing they'd worked so hard while she essentially did nothing more than talk.
She would just have to work harder tomorrow.
Taking a moment to scratch at Pepita's head in gratitude, Imelda led Julio into the workshop. The slower activity of everyone cleaning up for the day came to a stop. Her family waved in greetings, but kept their voices down.
"How did it go, Papá?" asked Victoria.
Shrugging, he said, "As well as could be expected. It certainly wasn't fun, but we're finished."
"The trial is over?" asked Rosita.
Imelda shook her head and said, "The trial continues, but without us. I doubt it'll last much longer though."
As she spoke, Imelda's gaze moved across the various family members and the rest of the workshop. She took in each detail carefully. And after a moment or two, her eyes settled on the unexpected addition.
Perched on a stool and leaning back against the structural post in the middle of the workshop, positioned where customers at the front might miss him and yet the family could all see him, Héctor dozed quietly. He wore his old clothes, cleaned and repaired. And while she could tell that his spine wouldn't thank him in the morning for sleeping in that particular pose, he looked completely peaceful and calm. The most movement she could see was the occasional lazy scratch around his fractured leg. She could no more consider disturbing him than she did when she found him sleeping against Pepita on the balcony.
"He managed to hobble his way down here earlier," said Oscar, noticing where her attention was. "He also tried to stay awake—"
"—waiting for you two to get back," Felipe continued. "We told him that you were running some errands. And he tried to stay awake, but—"
"—he was too worn out." Oscar rubbed his arm briefly. "We might want to start bringing Héctor down here in the morning. It'll keep him from being bored out of his skull—"
"—or trying to stumble places on his own. He can be kind of stubborn."
Imelda shook her head ruefully. Her brothers were right. It might be better to keep him close where they could keep an eye on him now that Héctor was getting his strength back. And Héctor was certainly stubborn. Imelda knew that ever since they met. Otherwise he would have never kept trying to gain her affection and they would have never been married.
"We'll discuss it with him," said Imelda. "For now, why don't you head into the house and see about dinner? You've been working hard all day. I'll finish tidying up the workshop."
Imelda tried her best to ignore the looks her brothers exchanged. Rosita's excited giggle was harder. But at least her family wasn't commenting on the fact that she was essentially chasing them out so she would be alone with her husband. Which she was immensely thankful for since she didn't have the patience to deal with that sort of nonsense after the day she'd had.
Ay, the legal system was nightmarishly slow. Even when everyone could clearly see the man's guilt.
The family quietly filed out, undoubtedly planning to turn dinner into another pseudo-date scenario for their matchmaking endeavors. Imelda waited a few minutes just to be safe, straightening up boxes of finished orders and other minor tasks to fill the time. Only after she was certain that no one else intended to disturb her did she turn her attention back to the sleeping figure.
While long experience ensured that she could figure out most people's sizes by sight, a proper measurement was necessary if she wanted to achiever a perfect fit. And with Héctor literally sleeping in the workshop, there would never be a better opportunity. So with the electric lights buzzing quietly overhead and a notepad beside her to scratch down her observations, Imelda knelt beside the stool and studied her husband's dangling feet.
She kept her touches light as she worked. Not so much that she risked tickling him, but still gentle enough that it wouldn't wake him. And she was determined to finish her measurements with as little fuss as possible, quick and efficient. There was no reason to drag things out.
Though it was nice to feel how solid his bones were now. The metatarsals, the cuniform bones, the calcaneus… They lacked the complete fragileness that she remembered from that morning, as if even the slightest contact would shatter the glowing figure to dust. Just like the mending fractures and his returning strength, it was a sign of his slow recovery.
And it reminded her of how she'd barely touched him since he woke up.
Imelda quietly wrote down her notes. Victoria was right about how she'd been avoiding him. Like a coward. She couldn't continue like that. Having Héctor in the workshop would help with that.
Though it would certainly be a new experience, one that she'd never imagined. What would it have been like if Ernesto never poisoned him? Héctor would have returned to them, her fledgling business just beginning. She figured that he'd return to performing in the plaza, though perhaps he would have tried to help with the shoes occasionally. With his income to supplement hers, the early years wouldn't have been so lean. And she could picture Héctor in the middle of everything. Watching over Coco when things were busy, playing songs while she worked to make the time pass, encouraging her to rest when she grew weary…
Just… being part of their lives…
Imelda absently brushed the back of her hand across her cheekbones. The notes that she'd made should suffice. She gathered up her materials and quietly stored them away with the incomplete shoes.
She was making shoes. For Héctor.
Once, that idea would have been laughable. Now it was merely terrifying.
That thought produced a soft and broken chuckle. Imelda River feared nothing. Except the very likely possibility of her husband leaving once more.
She would deserve that. After everything that had happened, he would be well within his rights to leave and never see her again. He could decide to have nothing to do with her ever again. And it would be wrong to be upset if that turned out to be what he wanted.
But part of her hoped…
Maybe.
It was selfish and probably doomed to failure, but part of Imelda hoped that there might be a chance. That maybe, despite everything that had happened, Héctor might choose to stay. With their family. With her.
Part of her hoped that giving him a pair of Rivera shoes would show Héctor how sorry she was, that he belonged with them, and that he could put down roots and stay. Part of her hoped that the shoes would be enough to tell him everything that she needed to say to him. And everything that she should have told him a long time ago.
"I want you. I miss you," she said quietly, her voice lilting slightly almost as if she was singing a song. The words drifted through the workshop like a gentle refrain. "I love you. Please stay."
And with that, Imelda forced herself to return to her earlier chores. Straightening up the rest of the room afterwards went quickly. And when Imelda ran out of tasks to work on, she was left with only one thing to do.
"Héctor," she called, shaking his shoulder gently.
Groaning tiredly in protest, Héctor opened his eyes blearily. He blinked a few times as he straightened up, his spine popping slightly as his vertebrae realigned properly. Then his gaze settled on her.
"You're back?"
The drowsy confusion and delight in his voice sparked a small indulgent smile from her. Imelda kept any further reaction from slipping past though. Teasing him like how she once would have, like how they both used to tease each other, might be a step too far.
"I waited for you," he continued. He stretched a little more, working out the stiffness. "I must have drifted off. Lo siento."
Taking a step back to give him room, Imelda said, "It's fine. Let's get you back to the house."
He nodded, reaching for his cane. Climbing to his feet took a moment or two, but Héctor managed to push himself up. But the effort upset his balance and nearly sent him tumbling to the ground.
And when his hand shot out to catch himself, Imelda grabbed it instinctively.
Héctor's eyes widened in surprise as he steadied himself. His fingers tightened briefly around hers, a soft expression overtaking his features. Then, as if remembering himself, Héctor reluctantly let go.
Part of Imelda wished that she'd held on a little longer. That she'd closed her fingers and kept his hand in her grip.
"Uh," he said awkwardly, the hand not holding his cane wrapping around his wrist, "did your errands go well?"
"Sí. I believe so." Offering her arm for support, Imelda said, "Rosita is probably working on something delicious for dinner. Shall we join them?"
Ducking his head slightly, Héctor smiled and answered shyly, "Sí."
His arm slipped around her elbow, a bashful and grateful expression overtaking his face. Between his cane and her support, he seemed relatively stable as they stepped out the door.
Jobs were scarce for the nearly forgotten.
Some of the people in Shantytown could manage for a while, if they were merely left off the ofrendas and were still rather remembered. And if rumors didn't spread about their inability to cross the marigold bridge. Obvious they didn't have great jobs since they were living down there instead of somewhere nicer, but some could manage. But once their bones began to dull and their facial markings began to fade, the opportunities seemed to disappear.
Part of it was practical. Weakening strength and fragile bones made any type of hard labor dangerous. Both to themselves and others. Any job that required dealing with the public would never work because everyone felt uncomfortable around the nearly forgotten, people like that serving as grim reminders of how limited everyone's time truly. Well-remembered skeletons had a tendency to avoid the nearly forgotten like the living might avoid those who carry plague and disease. Having someone nearly forgotten in a public role would cause fewer customers to approach and the business would suffer. And who would wish to employ someone who could easily not show up one morning without warning, disappearing into golden dust?
There were a few jobs available though. Some were offered by open-minded and charitable people who wanted to help, who kept in mind that it wasn't a fate anyone could escape permanently. Others were unsavory or dangerous jobs that no one else would accept, the pay usually a mere pittance. But a few jobs… Well, people didn't always care who provided the services if they were in the right place and they were good enough.
Like music.
Carlos had been pursuing that particular route a lot recently. He'd been lurking in the various markets, plazas, and around the different fountains scattered through the Land of the Dead. When a musician played for money in public, people paid more attention to the music than the one playing it.
So he'd spent the last few weeks earning funds by playing songs on his unconventional violin. At first, it was exhausting to wander all over the city. Climbing up and down the towers on a regular basis wasn't exactly easy for someone on the verge of being forgotten, even when he snuck rides on some of the trolleys and such.
He wasn't certain how Cousin Héctor managed it, the skeleton wandering all over to help out his friends and doing favors during the majority of the year until Día de Muertos came around again. Cousin Héctor was a great friend and could be depended on completely whenever he wasn't wrapped up in his next bridge-crossing attempt.
Traveling that much was exhausting. But the last few days had seemed easier than before. Carlos figured he must be getting used to it. He'd felt practically spry today.
His efforts were producing a nice tidy profit, but it was still slow-going. And it kept him away more than expected. He wasn't even there when Victoria came by unexpectedly. He didn't get to see her reaction when she received her paper flower.
Carlos smiled as he peered through the windows of tiny cluttered shops, his violin tucked under his arm. Victoria wasn't like anyone else. She looked beautiful, her dark hair smoothed into a neat bun and her glasses framing warm eyes. But it wasn't merely her face. Her calm and controlled demeanor meant that she wouldn't laugh politely at his words when she didn't mean it. Any indulgent smile, quiet chuckle, warm smile, or smart remark from her would always be authentic.
He also appreciated her subtle facial expressions, her confident and dignified posture, and even her body language. Everything about her was attractive, not just her face.
Though, ironically enough, she shared a variety of gestures with Cousin Héctor, even if the man had spent so long in Shantytown rather than with his family.
He liked Victoria. Carlos wasn't afraid to admit it. He liked speaking with her and seeing her when she came to visit. He enjoyed spending time with her. She was beautiful, smart, and quick-witted. And perhaps she wasn't as expressive with her feelings as some women, but those that she shared subtly seemed more honest. He liked her and Carlos planned to show her how much.
Carlos knew that he didn't have much to offer a lovely señorita like her. No matter how surprisingly energetic that he might feel at the moment, Carlos knew that he remained nearly forgotten. Not as far gone as some, but no one was putting him on an ofrenda. Both his resources and time were limited. But she was worth the effort. A handcrafted paper flower might be a small gesture, but it was certainly a start. And he was already working on something better.
He'd checked numerous second-hand stores. They were more likely to have what he was looking for at a price that he could manage and wouldn't have too many people staring at him suspiciously. Since everyone knew that people left off of ofrendas rarely had anything and wouldn't be able to afford much, they tended to be watched closely in nicer stores. Cheaper second-hand stores were more manageable and less concerned that someone would steal their various knickknacks or hand-me-down clothes.
Carlos had found a few possibilities so far, but he was still searching. He wanted it to be perfect. Serenading her with sweet music would be easier, but that wouldn't suit Victoria. Tía Rosita gave him advice when it came to her and a wise man would heed her words.
He paused at a window, something catching his eye. A pale shirt, lightly used and well-kept, hung in plain view with a price tag tied on. The style was simple and not completely dissimilar to the fashions that were around during his life. Past that were a few other outfits. All of them cheap, clean, and in good condition.
Carlos looked down at his own clothes. They weren't complete rags, but they were certainly threadbare in places. They would work for normal daily life. But for what he had in mind, perhaps he needed something a bit nicer. Victoria was worth the effort. Cleaning himself up and dressing a little better would be a good idea. And he did have a little money to spare…
A new shirt and pants would be reasonable. He would simply stash them in his home and not wear them until it was time, ensuring that they stayed clean and in good condition until then. If they didn't fit perfectly, Tía Gabriela and the other would help hem the pants and take in the seams.
But no shoes. Victoria was making him a pair and he wouldn't insult her by wearing lesser quality.
Decision made, Carlos shifted his grip on the violin tucked under his arm and slipped inside. The bell on the door jingled softly and the skeleton behind the counter briefly glanced up. But apparently judging Carlos to be harmless, she quickly returned to her newspaper.
It wasn't a large building, but it was full. A few racks of clothes filled the middle space with a few chosen pieces hanging in the window, but the walls were lined with shelves and cardboard boxes filled with assorted accessories. There didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason why the objects were arranged the way that they were. But everything bore a price tag carefully tied on. On one of the higher shelves rested an old radio. A slight amount of static crackled through the speakers, but it sounded mostly fine.
"The media blackout surrounding the de la Cruz trial remains in place and limits the amount of information shared with the public," announced the reporter politely from the radio, "but we have confirmed that members of the unidentified living child's family were called as witnesses. The living child in question is the one from the events of last Día de Muertos and specifically from the Sunrise Spectacular incident that led to authorities taking Señor Ernesto de la Cruz into custody afterwards. Señor de la Cruz is currently facing the charges of Assault on a Minor, Assault and Attempted Murder of the Living, and Murder in Life Without Conviction. We will keep you updated as more information becomes available."
As a song followed the news report, Carlos shook his head and muttered, "It's men like that who give musicians a bad name."
"I saw the footage from that morning," said the store owner, glancing up from her newspaper as Carlos looked over the available second-hand clothes. "It's strange. He'd always seemed so nice and charming. The kind of celebrity that you could truly look up to. And then he goes and tries to kill some kid? And he might have killed someone in life?" She shook her head. "You just never can tell sometimes."
Carlos made a quiet sound of acknowledgement as he selected a pair of pants to go with the pale shirt. Both looked decent, were in good condition, and were cheap enough for him to manage. From there, he moved to a cardboard box of assorted objects and started digging.
Perhaps he would find something nice for Victoria among the random junk. Treasure could lurk in the most unexpected places.
I will admit it. Carlos has definitely grown on me a bit. I know I've mentioned it before, but he was really not supposed to have this much screen time in my original plan. But I like him and my readers seem to enjoy his presence.
Let's hope things go smoothly for him. But I make no promises…
The musical term "leggierissimo" means to play very lightly and delicately. Kind of how you might, for example, handle a little baby…