"Make sure she has a good lunch and don't give her any candy before dinner. I don't want you spoiling her appetite." Her brothers frowned and stuffed their hands in their pockets where she knew they kept a stash of treats for their favorite niece. "And whatever you do, don't take her to the Plaza. I don't want her around any of those musicians." She spat out the word like it was a filthy insult.

The last thing she wanted was for Coco to go anywhere near Mariachi Plaza. They had to pass every so often to go to the market and she dreaded it every time. It held painful memories for the both of them. It was the place Imelda met Hector and it was where she took Coco to watch Papa and Tio Ernesto play. Now, Coco was too easily upset by that place. She'd spot a thin man with a guitar in his hands, run up to him, and burst into tears when she saw that it was not her Papa. Imelda started taking long detours which swung wide of the Plaza just to avoid Coco getting her heart broken all over again.

But today, she had no choice. She had urgent business to attend to in the Plaza. After a little over a year on the road, Ernesto De la Cruz made his triumphant return. He was Santa Cecilia's new golden son. He'd gone out into the world to achieve his dream and he landed a deal with a big time music producer in Mexico City. He came back for one last concert in his hometown before leaving for good. The whole town was planning to attend, including Imelda. Not to hear his music. She'd closed her ears to the stuff months ago. No, she wanted answers.

The Plaza was colorfully decorated and packed with people, waiting to hear Ernesto's rumored brilliant songs. They were all ready to cheer their hometown hero into celebrity. Imelda was the only one not excitedly looking for a spot with a good view of the gazebo. She scanned the Plaza looking for him. Her eyes landed on a tent set off to the side, guarded by two barrel-chested men.

Imelda marched right up to the tent, staring down the guards all the while. The guards gave her odd looks, like they were expecting her to stop any moment and couldn't understand why she didn't. They shot warning glares at her and she glared back. She could have sworn the man on the left began to sweat. She marched right past them, one shaking in his boots and the other staring in utter bewilderment. She heard a weak, "uh ma'am?" but paid it no mind.

She opened the flap to see Ernesto beginning to take a guitar out of its case. "Imelda!" he exclaimed, snapping the case shut again. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" she snapped. "I've been in Santa Cecilia raising my daughter for that last fourteen months while you traipsed around Mexico with my husband. I can't help but notice Hector's name isn't anywhere on this concert of yours. Where is he?"

His face went white for a moment. He took a quick breath and melted into sorrow. "Oh Imelda," he moaned as he dropped down into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "I'm so, so sorry. I should have told you sooner."

Imelda was unmoved. "Then you should have answered my letters."

"I know, I know. This is just not the sort of thing you want to tell through the mail." He took a moment to collect himself before getting up again. "Hector and I have parted ways," he said straightening his tie.

"That much is obvious," she scolded. "Now where is he?"

"I'm afraid our Hector is not the man we thought he was. Or at least, he isn't anymore. You see, the road changed him. Things were fine for the first couple of weeks. We'd go to town, we'd play, and we'd go to the local cantina afterward to get some buzz going. You remember how charming he could be, right? How he loved to meet new people? I thought he'd be our key to schmoozing a music producer. Unfortunately, he was more interested in schmoozing someone else.

One night, he spent the whole evening flirting with a beautiful young woman. I thought he was just making a new friend like in every town, but this time, he left with her. When he returned to our hotel the next morning, he was beside himself with regret. I hoped it'd only be a one-time thing, but I was wrong. It happened again and again, in town after town. Finally, I sat him down and I said 'Hector, this needs to stop. You have a wife and daughter to think about.' He confided in me that he was lonely. That he did not feel you supported his dream. He started to wonder if he rushed into marriage. I told him, 'You need to figure it out, mi hermano. What you are doing is unfair to Imelda and to Coco.' I think he thought it over for a few days but, one morning, I woke up and he was gone. He left you a letter and a note for me asking that I mail it to you. He said he was too cowardly to do it himself. Sadly, I could not bring myself to do it either."

She felt her heart grow colder and colder as Ernesto told his story. Hector, her Hector, a womanizing cheat? She couldn't believe it. She remembered the day she met him. He was just a gangly 16 year old back then. He and Ernesto were playing in a talent competition in Mariachi Plaza. One might have expected him to wilt next to his conventionally handsome best friend, but no. He had a smile that could light up the night and a personality to match. He didn't put on the macho act which seemed so popular among other boys their age. Instead, he relied on cleverness, charm, and good humor. He was well aware that he wasn't anywhere near as suave as he acted and played it up as a joke. That was what attracted her to him more than his smile, or his wit, or even his music. He knew who he was. And she thought she knew him too.

That snake. That pig. That heartless, worthless piece of trash. How could he leave her and Coco just to chase a few skirts? Did they really mean so little to him? Did he really think he could replace them with a life of debauchery? He'd see soon enough how empty that was. And if he ever came crawling back to her… And for Ernesto, to leave them in the dark so long… She could have wasted less time worrying about him. "Where is this letter?" she demanded, finally finding words through her rage.

Ernesto put on a sheepish grin and nervously tapped his fingers together. "I'm afraid some things get lost in travel."

She slapped him solidly across the face. "You men are cowards, the both of you."

"He did leave one more thing." He opened the guitar case again and lifted out Hector's prized instrument.

Imelda slowly took it in her hands and gazed at her reflection in the shiny, white surface. "This…this was my wedding gift to Hector." The guitar was just plain white when she bought it. She decorated it herself. He nearly cried when she gave it to him and he laughed when he spotted the golden tooth on the skull. Ah, muy guapo, eh? But not even half as beautiful as you, mi amore. He said he'd treasure it forever. He promised. But what good was that? He promised to come back. He promised to love her and be faithful to her. He promised her a great many things. Promises…promises are worthless.

"Take it," Ernesto insisted. "You should have it." His smile was gentle but there was an impatient, greedy glint in his eye. He looked at the guitar the way he used to sometimes look at Hector. That look used to worry her before she knew who the real scoundrel was.

"To hell with it!" she shouted, shoving the guitar back into his hands. "To hell with you! And to hell with Hector! You all deserve to burn!"

"I'm so sorry Imelda." He set the guitar aside and covered Imelda's hand with his. "His behavior was deplorable. It was as much a shock to me as it was to you. If there's anything I can do…"

She ripped her hand away and gave him a deadly scowl. "You have done more than enough," she spat. Without another word, she turned on her heels and stormed out.

Imelda walked back to her brothers' house surrounded by a cloud of fury. Crowds seemed to part in fear as she passed. No one got in her way. No one dared. Her brothers easily picked up her mood when she arrived. She told them that she would explain later and that was the end of the conversation. When Coco ran out to greet her, she forced her anger down. She did not want Coco to see her this way. But Coco could still tell something was wrong as they walked home together. Imelda told her that she had a headache.

When they finally made it home, Imelda told Coco that she needed to lay down and went to her room. Finally, alone, she was able to let it out. She grabbed a pillow off the bed, buried her face into it, and screamed every curse, every insult, every foul, venomous word she had for him. It wasn't enough.

She threw the pillow aside and went for the closet. Inside, she found an old mariachi suit Hector left behind. It didn't fit him anymore, but he insisted on keeping it. He was wearing it the night they met and he once cared for it like a sacred relic. The sentiment made her smile at the time. Now she knew it was a lie. Just another performance.

She took the suit out of the closet and began tearing it apart. She ripped open the seams, threw off the buttons, mangled the embroidery, and only imagined what she'd do if Hector himself were here before her. When the suit was nothing but a pile of scraps, she set it aside. Her furious energy was almost depleted now, but there was still one more thing she needed to do.

About a month ago, she took the family photo off of the mantel. It hurt to look at and she was tired of hurting, but she couldn't get rid of it at the time. Some small part of her that still hoped that Hector might return made her keep it. She'd stuffed in the bottom of the trunk at the end of her bed, leaving open the possibility of putting it up again. That hope was dead now. She rummaged through her trunk for it and pulled it out. She broke the frame in her rush to get at the photo, but it didn't matter now. She'd get it a new one. All that mattered was the photo.

She looked at his face. He wasn't wearing one of his famous grins. It was his calmer, gentler smile. It was the one he wore when he rocked baby Coco to sleep or when she caught him just gazing at her. It brought forth a memory of a night when she woke up and found he wasn't in bed. She got up to look for him and found him in Coco's room. Apparently, she'd had a nightmare. Hector sat on Coco's bed and hugged her to his chest. With his soft smile, he explained that if there were monsters in the closet, it was because they enjoyed licking the bottoms of shoes. "Have you ever noticed that you shoes get worn down in some spots? That is from the monsters. It tastes like candy to them. They are too shy to ask for shoes, though. So, they sneak in at night to have a snack. Don't worry, they won't bother you and are very considerate. They never steal the shoes; only lick them." His odd sort of logic seemed to sooth her, but she still asked him to stay with her. Imelda found them again the next morning, Coco still tucked in her father's arms and Hector content despite having barely slept.

How could this have left them? How could a few months away change him so much? How he have fooled her for so long? Was it all a lie? Was it always a lie? His love? His devotion? His smile? She ripped his face from the photo and tossed it aside as carelessly as he tossed them aside. She was about to rip off the guitar too, but she stopped herself. It was as much her guitar as it was his. It was her handiwork which made it so distinct. She'd always been good with her hands. She'd use them to build a new life for her and Coco. But no more guitars, she thought, folding the photo so that the instrument was out of view. No more music.

She saw now how much time she wasted worrying and waiting. She saw that he wasn't worth waiting for. And she saw what she must do to provide for her daughter. But she didn't see Coco watching her though a crack in the door. And she didn't see later, after she went to start dinner, that Coco snuck into her room and stole the ripped of photo of her father's face.