El Viaje de Coquita
El Capítulo Seis
Miguel sat down at the table with the rest of his family, taking a spot next to Mamá Coco. As soon as he was settled in his chair, his abuelita began filling his plate with food.
Right away, the family could tell something was off about the boy. Usually, the boy would be chatting up a storm to Mamá Coco. But he was stuffing his face without saying a word to anyone.
He did notice Coco's weak cries of "Papá is home! Papá is home!", and he looked quizzically at his abuelita.
"I don't know what's gotten into that poor woman, mijo."
Imelda arrived at the Rivera hacienda with her brothers flanking her from either side and a small gray cat leading the way. She was immediately greeted by the rest of her dead relatives.
"Buenas noches, mi familia."
"Buenas noches, Abuelita."
"What's this about my foto being 'back' on the ofrenda?"
Julio laughed nervously. "Well, you see, Miguel... uh..."
Rosita picked up for her brother. "He tore off the part of your foto with - - "
"WHAT?!" The matriarch stormed into the ofrenda room.
What she saw nearly loosened her jaw from her face.
"What did he do?!"
Victoria offered an idea. "Check the attic. There's a hole in the wall behind the sign."
Imelda marched right up to the roof and, with the cat to push the sign aside, managed to squeeze through the hole.
She heard a familiar voice gasp. "Who's there?"
The cat meowed as she pulled herself inside.
"Oh, it's just a cat."
Imelda navigated toward where the voice had come from, the cat seeming to lead the way.
As she drew closer, she could hear someone playing a guitar.
She found him sitting on his knees in front of an ofrenda made of candles, tamales, and the half of her photo that had Héctor and his guitar, complete with his face. Surrounding it was every letter that she received from him after he left, piled atop a homemade guitar made of discarded materials. He was playing a ghost copy of the guitar and had a pile of tamales in his lap.
"Wha... I... I thought I threw them all away! How did - - "
The music came to an abrupt stop as his eyes met hers. "Imelda?"
Her gaze hardened like epoxy. "Héctor."
He smiled nervously. "You look good."
"Just what do you think you're doing in my family's home?"
"My foto is finally on an ofrenda after all these years!" Héctor gestured to the ofrenda with his foto. "I've been trying to cross that flower bridge for 96 years so I could see Coco again!"
"So, why are you up here when Coco is downstairs?"
"She was my first stop when I got here. I could tell she saw me."
She raised an eyebrow ridge.
"She was reaching out to me and calling out for her papá. And she passed down my stories to her great-grandson, and he made an ofrenda for me."
Imelda walked up to him, leaning in so close that if they still had noses, they'd be pushing against each other. "Hear this now. I don't care who in this family makes an ofrenda for you; you have no business being part of a family you left for your stupid musical fantasies. And if I ever catch you here again, you'll hear from my boot!"
Héctor stood up, collecting all of his tamales and using the guitar as a plate for them, and made his way out of the attic. "Just don't expect to have such an easy time with Coco when she crosses over."