The following morning, the Rivera shoemakers were as productive as any cobbler could hope to be. Wrapped up in their own thoughts, everyone was diligent—and silent—as they worked. Music had been pushed from their minds, replaced by the excitement of Imelda's suitor. Or, rather, soon-to-be suitor. For the first time in most of their memories, their dear Mamá Imelda had a gentleman caller!

"No silly jokes today?" Imelda eyed her oddly stoic brothers as she passed the workbench. She stood at the head of the bench, carrying a basket of orders to deliver. "You're being very quiet this morning. What's the matter?" If the twins had flesh, they might have given up the game with nervous sweat. As it was, they managed to shake their heads without so much as cracking a smile.

"Nothing, Imelda."

"Nothing at all."

"Well…." She stared at them a moment longer before turning to the door. "I'll be gone most of the morning, making these deliveries. It might carry over into the afternoon."

"But you'll miss H—" Julio quickly pinched Rosita beneath the table, stopping her breathless exclamation in its tracks. "I-I mean, you'll miss lunch!" she amended quickly.

"So?" Imelda narrowed her eyes, fingers tightening around the handle of her basket. "Is there a reason I should stay?" Rosita opened her mouth, but closed it again when she saw the twins shaking their heads just over Imelda's shoulder.

"Erm… no, Mamá. There isn't."

"Then you can take care of yourselves for one day!" Imelda clicked her tongue in clear disapproval, shaking her head as she left. She practically stomped out of the gate, startling a well-dressed gentleman walking his poodle alebrije. The man shakily tipped his hat to her before peering into the workshop, wondering what on earth might have caused the woman to be so angry, and in such a hurry at that.

"Ugh!" Victoria copied her grandmother's movements, hands on her hips. "Who is she kidding? Just say "I'll be out until Héctor leaves." and keep it at that. She's acting like a coward."

"That's not a nice thing to say about your Mamá Imelda," Julio reproached her gently. "Even if it is true." Victoria stared at him over her spectacles, her expression unrepentant.

"What's the harm in seeing Papá Héctor?" Rosita sighed, not taking either side.

"That's easy." Felipe picked up his hammer, testing its weight in his palm. "If she sees Héctor, she'll give in." Oscar looked at him in surprise, and they both began to laugh.

"I was just thinking the same thing!" Oscar grinned widely at his twin. "Do you remember the time when—?"

"I do!" Felipe laughed even harder. "The look on Mamá's face when she saw the trellis hanging by a stem—"

"And don't forget Papá! Remember how he threw the shoehorn? How it dented the gate?"

"Stop! Oh, stop!" Felipe grabbed his sides as he fell into a fit of hysterics. "I can't take it! I'm going to fall apart!"

"What on earth is wrong with you two?" Victoria put down her needle, eyeing her uncles in shock. They were nearly in a heap of bones on the floor, crying with laughter so that they could not get their feet back underneath them. It took them a few minutes to answer, as they kept bursting into new peals of laughter each time their eyes met.

"When we were young," Oscar finally explained, wiping his eyes, "Imelda was very much the same way she is now. Whenever Héctor tried to call on her, she would find some errand for Mamá, or suddenly come down with a headache, or—"

"Running off to the plaza," Felipe added as he took his seat. "Or to the river. Anything to get away from him. One time, she even climbed out the window when Mamá insisted that Héctor come inside."

"The second floor window, mind you!"

"Whatever did she do that for?" Rosita laughed. The twins glanced at one another, nonexistent brows furrowed in thought.

"We don't know!" they finally admitted with a simultaneous shrug. "After all, it was just silly old Héctor."

"¡Qué payaso!" Felipe mimicked in a high-pitched shriek. "That's what she always said when she saw him coming down the lane. She wasn't wrong, I suppose. Héctor's always been a little strange."

"He still is, if you ask me." Oscar rubbed his mustache. "But he finally wore her down. One night, he climbed up the rose trellis in the back garden and pecked on the window… the wrong window, at first. Isn't that right?" he snorted.

"We had to give him directions," Felipe agreed. "Poor guy."

"What happened next?" Rosita asked, fully immersed in the story. The shoes lay forgotten on the bench, her head propped up by both hands as she listened.

"Erm, well…. We can't tell you everything, of course," Oscar mumbled, fidgeting with his hat.

"Right, we definitely weren't eavesdropping."

"Anyway, there was this enormous crash, and the trellis broke in two."

"When we looked out the window, Héctor had fallen—or maybe Imelda pushed him, who knows—"

"Either way, Héctor was hanging by his trousers a good… hmm…" Oscar took one arm off his torso, lifting it with the other and measuring just how far the poor suitor was from freedom. "About that far from the ground. That's when Papá found him."

"No, Mamá found him," Felipe argued. "She had him on the ground by the time Papá came around the corner."

"I thought Imelda was the one who helped him off. She shoved him from the window, remember? We were holding her by the nightgown."

"I'm telling you, it was Mamá! She grabbed Héctor by the ear and yanked him off the trellis so that she could reach him with her shoe."

"She did not! She told him to make a run for it!"

"That was Imelda!" Felipe huffed. "Are you senile or something? Imelda leaned out of the window and yelled "Hey, payaso, you'd better run!" because Papá had the shoehorn in his hand."

"Wait… you're right!" Oscar scratched his skull. The two of them looked up to see the rest of the family staring at them as though they'd sprouted another pair of heads. "In any case, they were married soon after that."

"I wonder if Héctor remembers that night. Imelda was in a lot of trouble the next morning, wasn't she?"

"I'm surprised he bothered to show his face after that," Victoria muttered. "What with the shoehorn and all." Felipe shook his head.

"No, you don't understand. Papá liked Héctor. He threw the shoehorn because he had to. Daughter's propriety and all. The neighbors might have started gossiping." Seeing Victoria's dubious expression, he let out another bark of laughter. "Do you really think he was foolish enough to chase away the one man brave enough to court Imelda?"

"Crazy enough to court her, more like."

"Un poco loco." Oscar twirled his finger next to his nonexistent ear.

"Well I think it's all very romantic." Rosita let out a happy sigh. "Who knew Mamá Imelda had such taste in husbands? It's such a shame she won't give him a second chance."

Midday passed, and with no signs of Imelda. Victoria's words were coming true, and they all agreed that they would probably not see her until she was sure that Héctor had left for the day.

"Perhaps it's better this way," Julio said as they cleared the table after lunch. "Now we won't have to make up any lies."

Work slowed to a crawl as sunlight began to enter the western window. Everyone fell back into a terse silence, on pins and needles as they awaited the arrival of their newest "customer". The fact that he arrived at the same time every day only made matters worse; if Héctor had been sporadic, they might have rested easier. Now, they could only wait for the clock. Each tick-tock was a tiny hammer against their skulls as they waited, thinking about their unofficial-official patriarch.

Being the ones who'd known Héctor as a living man, Oscar and Felipe had been on the front row seats for his odd courting style. They were also the only ones with memories of the brief marriage that had followed. The twins liked their brother in law just fine; the married years had been happy ones, with Héctor's guitar and Imelda's singing, and their little niece dancing for them all. Music had filled the house from corner to corner, bringing joy and happiness to an otherwise subdued existence.

Such a long time ago, and yet they still remembered how happy their sister had been. Imelda had been radiant, so in love, with a glow that seemed to constantly surround her whenever Héctor was at home. If she ever had reason to complain, in those days, well—it was far easier to take a scolding from her back then. But they also remembered that aura fading, dimming a little more with each day that passed without contact from her absent husband. No letter, no visit, no anything, until one day the light was gone from her eyes entirely. No one could understand why Héctor would just… leave like that. Had they been fooled by his charming smiles and beautiful songs?

Imelda was dry-eyed. She held her grief-stricken daughter, convinced a widowed shoemaker to teach her the craft, and haggled with the grocer and creditors until they could get some money under their belts. A woman like that, in charge of her own household, had no tears to waste over a no-good musician. If they found tearstained leather in the morning's rubbish, if her eyes were bloodshot and her mouth trembling, well… it was easier to pretend not to see. Their sister's pride was at stake, and they wouldn't take that from her.

When she announced that the Riveras were now a family of shoemakers, they remained silent. When she banished music from the household, they weren't surprised.

Standing side by side at the workbench, the same way they had since the first strike of their hammers against a heel, the two eyed one another thoughtfully. They were twins; they did not need lips or skin to read the other's thoughts. They only needed eyes, and their eyes were saying the same thing: Imelda needed music. She needed Héctor. When she sang in front of that crowd, when she smiled at him and was happy once more—for that one fleeting moment, the glow had returned. Not fully, per se, but the spark of a glow. Flint on steel. That spark could ignite again, but only if Imelda's flint struck Héctor's steel. They belonged together.

Rosita had glimpsed that spark, too. She could recite the old story from memory, having heard it time and time again whenever she was scolded for humming in the workshop. Coco had been generous to her papá, painting him as a gentle man who'd simply vanished from the face of the earth. Even as an adult, knowing the ways of adults, she never considered that her father had done anything immoral.

Perhaps, Rosita thought to herself, if Héctor plays again, Imelda will sing and dance for us. She seemed… different, when she was singing. Lighter, somehow.

Julio had been on less curious than Rosita about Imelda's past, but he'd known from the start that music was absolutely forbidden in the household. He had accepted it without a struggle, choosing the love of his beloved Coco over a life of song. And it had been a happy enough life, even without the music. His daughters had never seemed to want what they could not have… not like Miguel, who seemed to have too much of Héctor in his genes.

Perhaps it was that love he held for his wife that gave him such sympathy for Héctor's plight. He loved Coco with all the warmth of an old marriage, no matter how many years they'd been apart. It was clear to him that Héctor loved his wife, too. But whereas Coco was Coco, Mamá Imelda was… well, she was Mamá Imelda. Things would be much harder for him in the long run.

Victoria had less enthusiasm or sympathy for Héctor. Mamá Imelda was a fastidious woman, not one to be swept off her feet… especially by a skinny scarecrow of a man with unpolished bones and overstretched suspenders. He was goofy, poorly dressed, and one misstep away from being thrown into jail for his various schemes; he frequented Shantytown and the lower reaches of the city, he was barefoot— The list went on and on.

And yet…. Those same clumsy fingers had strummed magic from the guitar that night, and when he smiled at Mamá Imelda… well, perhaps he was not quite so ugly then. This man had a power over her grandmother that she'd never seen anyone else wield, either alive or dead. Furthermore, he had the power to make her—Victoria Rivera—love music. With him in the workshop, she could sing as she threaded her needle. She could even dance, if she wanted to. It fulfilled something she'd been denied all her life. It was important.

"Hello, everyone!"

The Riveras jumped in place, too lost in their own thoughts to realize it was time for Héctor's daily appearance. He stepped into the workshop with more confidence, only for it to vanish as he looked around the room to find it missing one person. Clearing his throat, he swallowed back the pain before facing them with his usual grin.

"Mamá Imelda really is out today," Rosita rushed to assure him, ushering him inside and shutting the door firmly behind him. "She's delivering finished orders and probably won't be back until this evening."

"I'm feeling a sense of déjà vu," Héctor muttered, but seemed to lighten up all the same. "Oh, well. That's life, isn't it?" He tossed his hat onto the table like a Frisbee; Rosita picked it up, dusting it off before attempting to fix the worst of the fraying edges.

"I am sorry, Héctor," she sighed, putting a hand to her cheek. "I just don't know how you're going to win Mamá Imelda's heart if she won't let you talk to her."

"She's got her mind set on avoiding you completely," Felipe added, wagging his hammer in Héctor's direction. "And you know how she is once she sets her mind to something."

"Oye, didn't I tell you to leave that to me?" Héctor had that sly look in his eyes again. "If she wants to run, let her. I have more than enough experience with chasing her down."

"Oh, yes," Victoria drawled, arching her brows as she looked him over. "I'm sure you do. We've heard about the shoehorn."

"The—?" A momentary confusion, and then he burst into laughter. "Oh, right!" he wheezed, leaning against the wall for support. "Those were the days, all right! But that wasn't entirely my fault, you know. I tried to find her beforehand, but she was always gone." He waved his hand at the workshop. "Like I said, déjà vu. Nothing changes, eh?"

"Only that we don't have a trellis for you to break."

"Ah, well. I wouldn't worry about that." Héctor took a running leap at the workbench, landing nimbly in the center of the table. Julio barely managed to yank his work out of harm's reach, his stool tipping backwards in the process; Rosita lunged for him, grabbing hold of his mustache and using it as a handle to help him regain his balance. "I'm quite athletic, you see. Especially now that I can't be hurt." He did a little jig along the table, leaping over their tools. Victoria grabbed her scissors before they could be trod on, standing up in order to better intercept him.

"We see, we see," she huffed, snipping threads from the ragged edge of his pants as he passed by. "It seems to me that you're a little too energetic. That's bound to get you into trouble."

"You have no idea!" He turned and made the return trip back up the table, shaking his head. "The things I tried to cross that bridge. Let me tell you about the time when Chicharrón and I—"

Before he could say another word, the door slammed open to reveal a very annoyed Mamá Imelda. Héctor paused mid-kick, a sheepish grin on his face as he carefully lowered his leg. She looked around the room in a state of shock, mouth hanging open, before narrowing in on him like a hawk sizing up its prey.

"Héctor." The man in question looked around at the faces of the family, frozen in expressions of terror, and then back at his wife.

"Imelda!" He threw his arms open wide, as though he expected her to join him amidst the scattered tools and bits of leather. "I—er—I love your dress."

"W-We can explain!" Rosita rushed to take the basket from her arms, hovering just outside of shoe-throwing distance. "Héctor was just—you see, he was—"

"Why was the door shut?" Imelda didn't seem to notice Rosita at all, her arms crossing over her ribcage as she glared at Héctor. "I don't remember saying the shop could close early today."

"We were just… um…." Julio waved his hands in helpless circles, trying to think up a good excuse.

"They were working, of course." Everyone turned to stare at Héctor, whose eyes darted about the shop before landing on Imelda with a surprisingly determined look. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, stepping inside and shutting the door neatly behind her. Everyone shrank back from soft click of the lock. The twins nearly slid beneath the workbench, nervously clutching at one another's arms. When Imelda shut the door, it was only because she didn't want anyone outside hearing what was about to happen.

"Don't you dare lie to me, Héctor," she warned, starting towards the workbench with measured footsteps. He took a few steps back, raising his hands defensively.

"I'm not lying!" he assured her quickly. "They were working on my boots!"

"Do you take me for a fool?" In one easy movement, her left shoe was off her foot and in her hand. Héctor dismounted the workbench on the opposite side, backing away quickly as she stalked towards him. The twins scrambled out of his way, nearly knocking Rosita off her feet as they fled for the landing. Julio hauled his sister to the side as Héctor began another trek around the table, always making sure to stay at least two corners away from Imelda.

"What?" Of course not, honest!" Héctor ducked as the shoe was thrown, missing him by a hair and flying to land with a solid thunk against the far wall. He glanced over his shoulder at it, one eye still watching for any sign of a repeat performance. An idea popped into his head and he smiled fetchingly, leaning against the workbench with his weight on his upper arms. His vertebrae split apart, legs sliding under the table to wobble before her like a lopsided spider.

"Listen, mi amor." Imelda made an audible sound of disgust, eyes locked on his legs as she groped along the bench for something else to hit him with. "I was only taking the time to show our lovely family how much I run and jump around all day," he explained in a sugary tone, his legs leaping about in place. "All day long I'm moving, up and over—" He leapfrogged over the workbench, landing expertly on his lower half before grabbing the startled woman and twirling her into a waltz. "That's why I need a good, stout pair of boots. I can't be running around with blisters on my feet, can I?"

While he had effectively danced her into silence, her anger forgotten in the wake of being spun around like a child, the mention of ill-fitting boots was enough to bring it all back again. She reared back, pushing him so that his arms came loose from their sockets and fell to the ground in a shower of bones.

"You listen to me, Héctor!" she shouted, hands on her hips. "In all my years as a shoemaker, no one—and I mean no one—has ever worn a pair of Rivera boots and complained of blisters!"

"I believe it." He frowned at her, kneeling down to pick up his arm bones before shoving them back onto his shoulders haphazardly. "Of course they wouldn't complain. They'd be too afraid of what you might do to them." The rest of the family watched in utter amazement. Just who was this man? Who was this fool, who tasted Mamá Imelda's wrath and still spoke out of turn?

"Loco," Oscar whispered to Felipe.

"Always was," he whispered back.

"Rivera boots do not have blisters. They fit perfectly, each and every time. That's why we are the best of the best!"

"Okay then: prove it." Imelda held a finger to his face, mouth open, before snapping her jaw shut with an audible crack. She turned to the workbench, jerking the measuring tape from Julio's place and bending to one knee with a scowl.

"I will prove it!" she snapped, measuring his left foot with sharp jerks. "I will make your boots myself, and you will find that they're the best boots to ever grace these big feet." She continued to mutter to herself as she measured, mixed swears and insults. "Tch! Look at these bones," she clucked, thumping his tarsal in disdain. "It's as if you've never worn a pair of shoes in your life."

"Ah, so you do care!" The expression she gave in return would have soured milk, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I care… about my reputation as a shoemaker." She rose to her feet, smacking aside his proffered hand. "Now get out of my shop, Héctor."

"Right now?" Imelda threw the measuring tape onto the workbench, picking up one of the twin's hammers instead. "I see." Héctor inched towards the door, grabbing his hat as he passed Rosita's station. "Is it too much to ask for a goodbye kiss?"

"Get out!" The hammer fell laughingly short of its mark; she clearly had not tried to hit him with it. Still, it spurred him into action; Héctor jammed the hat over his messy hair, throwing the door open and dancing down the front walk. Even a crazy man knew when to call it quits. Or… did he?

"I'll be back!" he called from the gate, blowing her a kiss through the open door. Imelda started out after him and he broke into a run, leaping over the gate and cutting sideways through an alley.

"Payaso." Imelda picked the hammer off the ground, rubbing out a scuff on the floor with the heel of her shoe. Looking around, she realized quickly that she was now the center of attention. "What?!" she spat, waving her hands at them. "What are you looking at? Get back to work!"

"Oh, Mamá Imelda!" Rosita has stars in her eyes, hands clasped below her chin.

"What? What!?" She had no blood left to blush with, but it was clear to anyone who looked at her that Imelda was mortified at the attention.

"That Héctor…."

"What about him!?"

"He's such a sweetheart, no?" Victoria blew out a breath between her teeth, shaking her head as she picked up her needle. Imelda graced Rosita with a cold stare, her mouth set in a thin line.

"No. Now do as I say, and get back to work."