Héctor was dying. Around them the sky was lightening with the soft blue and pink and yellow of sunrise. The auditorium had emptied, security guards came and went, and it was just them alone on the platform in the quiet hush on the sunrise after Dias de las Muertos. He shuddered again, the light flicking through him and Imelda felt another tug deep in her throat where there was nothing to be pulling. It was surreal, she thought, as she stroked his tired dark hair from the greying bone of his forehead, that it should end this way. The whirlwind of a night. So much changing all at once. And then this. It didn't seem like it should be happening. But death was like that. Once it got started it didn't stop, not for anyone, no matter how unfair it seemed.

"Imelda," he whispered, as if even speaking was difficult. He met her eyes and she held his gaze, even if it made the sorrow deeper. Even his eyes were dull. Whatever light had been in them fading as they seemed to sink slowly into the darkness. He reached up for her, wincing, barely having the strength. She took it in both of hers, bone against bone. His mouth moved, but no sound came out, and with some great effort, he tried again: "Tell- Tell, Coco…"

"Yes… I will tell her…" She took a breath to steady her own voice and it still came out as a murmur. "I will tell her everything. You won't be forgotten here."

He smiled.

Closed his eyes.

Sighed.

She braced herself, anchoring herself in the present. The sky. Her familia watching, hats in their laps and looking down-wards, not wanting to see. She didn't either. If she could look away, she would. But to face whatever came was her pride and they expected that of her. So she watched him. Imelda hadn't seen it happen but she had heard, they all had at one point, how the golden light consumed the forgotten and carried them away to- some mysterious unknown. Somewhere far away and unreachable.

Héctor shuddered, bones rattling their last tired beat against each other, the hard floor…

Then his eyes shot open, making her jump, something manic in them. Was he seeing something terrible?

"Héctor…?" she whispered. He looked at her and said something, but no sound came out. She touched his jaw, caressed it, wondering if he was in pain.

"She…" he said, voice raspy. "She…She… remembers!"

"What?" Imelda said. What was- He shuddered again and then threw back his head and laughed, the rich sound bringing a smile of her own even as something uncertain zinged through her bones.

"She remembers! Mi Coco. Mija! Yipa~!" In an electric movement he bounced to his feet arms spread wide, belting out a grito that seemed to spread to the whole city, dancing in place.

"Ahh! Thank you, gordito." He put a hand to his chest. "Mijo…"

She watched him, jaw hanging open, frozen in place and uncertainty for the first time she could ever remember. He turned to them, arms still spread, grin wide.

"What do you think, hey? Looks like I'm going to be around for a while after all!"

They stared at him. His grin started to droop.

"Coco?" Julio said, clutching the brim of his hat. "She remembers you?"

"Sí!" Héctor shuddered a third time, nearly losing a tibia in the process. "Oh, that was a big one!"

She was on her feet before she knew it, something like a heart surging in her, through her. Without thinking she threw herself at him. He caught her in solid arms, swinging her around and laughing and she clung tight, not knowing whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

"You idioto!" She said when they'd finally stopped, whacking a closed fist against his collarbone. "Don't scare me like that! I really thought you were going to die!"

"I know. Me too. Seems like not yet."

"You had me scared, too," Oscar said, wrapping an arm around Héctor's shoulders.

"Terrified," Filipe echoed, wrapping an arm around his other shoulder.

"Petrified."

"Horrified."

Héctor laughed.

"You two haven't changed a bit."

Imelda fought the urge to push her brothers off. This was her time. She wasn't done wanting to hug him until his ribs creaked. The thought startled her and she stepped back, let go, Héctor seemed to reach for her but then was crowded by the twins who were busy congratulating him and Rosita who came nearer to wiggle her fingers in a nervous hello, giggling a little. Victoria stood nearby, frowning, hugging her arm, uncertain. Julio was still looking down at his hat, fingers working, sniffling a little though there was nothing to sniff. No tears either, but not for lack of wanting them. She put a hand on his shoulder, wondering if he was missing Coco more than ever right now- this could mean she might live a little longer after all. But when he looked up at her he was beaming under his mustache and warmth spread through her. What a good husband Julio was. Had been. Would be.

"Ah! I feel like dancing! We should have a fiesta, muchachos! Drinks are on me!" Héctor said.

"You have money?" Oscar said.

"He never has money," Filipe pointed out.

"Not a peso," Héctor said and Imelda watched him throw his arms around the twins shoulders and start to lead them back through the curtain. "Buut not to worry, Primo Héctor's got this."

Imelda folded her arms and shook her head. She didn't believe a word of that. Not if he was still the Héctor that she knew. Rosita waited for Julio to catch up and then followed along beside her brother, excited. Victoria watched them pass her then turned her gaze to Imelda, one hand to her collarbone, uncertain, looking for guidance. Imelda hardly knew what to do herself.

She brushed off her skirts and lifted her head, approaching Victoria and holding out her arm for her granddaughter to take. Victoria did, seeming to relax and opened her mouth but Imelda shook her head, putting a finger to her own. Not now. Whatever it was could wait. They pushed through the curtain onto the stage. The moment the curtain whispered shut behind the, the chords of Poco Loco began to ripple fast and energetic through the air. Imelda froze, eyes pinned to Héctor who was playing it, fingers flying in blurs of white, eyes closed and grin wide, caught in the flurry and passion of the moment. Those riche tones falling around her and humming through her made a shiver go through her and she straightened.

The others were looking at her, she realized; frozen in place as well except for their eyes which bounced back between her and Héctor as if asking what they should do- how to react to this. Imelda opened her mouth, heard a persistent tap and noticed Julio was tapping his foot. He seemed to notice too in an instant and crammed his hat on, ducking behind Rosita who looked anxious.

Héctor opened his eyes and his grin faded into something sheepish. He stopped playing, pressing his hand flat against the strings to kill the sound.

"Aheh heh. My mistake. Got caught in the moment."

The eyes of her familia were on her again, waiting for a response. Héctor's too as he slowly put the guitar back, but since he wasn't paying attention, setting it so it slid out off the rack and onto the floor with a resonant crash. He winced. She was glad Victoria was on her arm or she would have gone forward to pick it up and didn't trust herself to be that near him somehow. But what now? As the silence stretched, she could see Héctor retreating a bit, joy fading, shoulders hunched as he rubbed his lower arm.

"So ah…" he said, saving her. "Drinks? Or…" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, as if asking if he should go ahead alone.

"Drinks, sí," Imelda said, grateful that he had interfered and also somewhat annoyed that he'd had to- and then annoyed at herself. She took those feelings and pushed them to the side. She would worry about that later. "We'll go to El Cerdo Feliz."

"Great idea," he said with an awkward laugh, pointing at her in a sweeping gesture. "With a name like that, who couldn't have fun, eh?"

Silence again. They were waiting for her, she realized, to lead the way. She did, trying not to notice how Héctor's eyes followed her, uncertain. The others began to follow her and Héctor at her side, walking in jerky motions that she tried not to worry about.

They left the stage in silence.

o.o.o.o.o.o

The sign above El Cerdo Feliz was a skeletal pig resting happily in mud, and more the men's haunt than hers, with Rosita tagging along on occasion. Still she knew the place well and they knew her. It was a middle class establishment, and the owner and her husband had a passion for shoes so were happy to give the Riveras quite an extensive tab. It was also dead silent. Imelda nodded to Señor García who lifted a hand in greeting, and sat at one of their customary booths, her familia crowding in around her. With the six of them they filled it up. A problem which didn't occur to her until Héctor was left standing awkwardly at the head of the table.

"I'll just pull up a chair," he said with that same sheepish grin, dragging one closer so the legs screeched across the tile. Señor García glowered and Imelda tried very hard not to wince as he sat, shoulders hunched and drummed his fingers against the table. Silence fell around them, thick and oppressive. Héctor cleared his throat.

"Lively place, isn't it?"

"You should see it on poker night," Julio said. And then helpfully. "Every Thursday."

"Oh, sí?" Héctor replied with the same wincing grin.

"Papá," Victoria said, as if scolding him softly. Imelda patted her arm reassuringly, even if she herself wasn't reassured in the slightest. Someone cleared their throat and Imelda looked up to see one of the barmaids, watching them anxiously as if she felt the awkward atmosphere.

"The usual, please," she said to the barmaid who left gratefully. Silence again. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea. Now that the excitement of the night was fading… thoughts began to drift across her mind. Thoughts like, what was she doing? And, she shouldn't let the happiness and relief of the moment blind her to what she'd been doing for so long. What had worked for so long.

She glanced at Héctor and nearly jolted when she met his eyes on her. She looked away and cleared her own throat, folding her hands in her lap, fingertips resting against the opening of her leather apron; a solid reminder of what she had made herself.

"So…" Rosita said. "…You're the musician…"

"Ah… sí that'd be me…" Héctor replied, waving.

"I pictured you differently," she said.

"Yeah…?" Héctor said though Imelda had the feeling he honestly didn't want the answer to that question. Neither did she. She watched Rosita, trying to mentally command her to change the topic of conversation, or at least not embarrass them.

"Sí! Someone tall…, broad shouldered…"

"I'm tall and broad shouldered!" Héctor said.

"With a good voice certainly!" Rosita went on gustily as if she hadn't heard. "Maybe mustachiod! You know!" She flapped her hand. "Someone a bit like Er…" She stopped, gave a sheepish grin, drew her hand back. "…Er… no one important."

Imelda stared straight ahead, trying not to imagine what the woman must have imagined.

"Oh, nice," Héctor said, folding his arms and one leg over the other. "He's not even that good looking, you know. Even alive. You can't even call that chin crater of his attractive. It looked more like a pit."

It would be easier to not imagine it if Héctor would stop talking about it. Still, she supposed, it was his due. She would let him go on and it would be easier once the drinks arrived.

"Anyway, good looks are overrated. What you really want in this world is charm." He leaned his elbow on the table and wiggled his eyebrows at Rosita who giggled. Imelda shot him a look and he leaned back, looking chastened. Clearing his throat he fanned himself with his hat.

"Those drinks are taking a while, hey?"

"How did you two meet?" Rosita asked. "I bet it was romantic."

Héctor stopped mid fan, staring at Imelda.

"Uh…"

She held up a hand.

"No. We are not going to talk about that," she said sternly. There was nothing in her that wanted to revisit the past. "We're living in the present and that's where we should focus." Because look back too much and you started to wonder… That was why she didn't…. Why she never allowed herself to look back, and never would.

"Ooh, sí," Rosita said, leaning forward. "Your voice is beautiful, Mamá Imelda!"

Well perhaps the present was a bit of a minefield as well, Imelda thought, remembering the terror and the joy of it. From the corner of her eye she saw Héctor's expression change to something warm, a small smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. She twisted her fingers together under the table and lifted her chin.

"Does that mean music is okay now?" Rosita asked. Multiple gasps filled the air. Even the barmaid gasped, nearly dropping the tray and saving it just in time. Ay, why did she have to ask that? Why? She wanted to say no, of course not. How could it be? How could it ever be? Even if Héctor had had good intentions- after all was said and done. Even if she'd loved it being up there on the stage, watching him play for her just like old times, smiling encouragingly, looking handsome and wonderful.

But should a moment's joy be worth more than everything she'd worked so hard for?

"We've gotten along this far without it, Tiá Rosita," Victoria said, folding her arms. "I don't think it should change."

"I don't see why not," Rosita said with a frown. "Since we have a musician back in the family."

The musician who snatched the mug of beer as soon it was set down and began to chug it, looking around nervously, like he was getting prepared to bolt at any moment. He would bolt too, she thought bitterly, then pushed that thought to the side. Now wasn't the time. Anyway, there were other things to consider. Miguel would be joining them eventually and she knew he wouldn't stop singing. He'd take after Héctor, without a doubt. But would the rest of them?

"It has been a while, Mamá," Filipe said, spreading his hands.

"I think we should keep going as we are," Oscar replied, hands gripping his mug of beer and looking into it, then sitting up straighter and looking determined. Another gasp all around. The twins rarely disagreed, at least in public.

"Well what do you think, Julio?" Rosita asked her brother. Julio shrugged, looking miserable and awkward as he turned his hat round and round by the brim. She nudged him with her elbow. "Come on! Speak up!"

"I don't have an opinion," he said, jamming his hat on his head and hiding under it.

"Oh, you coward!" she said, with a sigh. Then caught Imelda's look and flapped a hand, squishing her own hat on her head. "I- I mean we don't need music. Who needs music?"

"Exactly," Victoria said.

"But, oh, it was beautiful…" Rosita continued.

"Let it go," said Oscar. She huffed at him, her hands on her hips. The bickering continued and Imelda watched as her small familia seeming to come apart stitch by stitch. Small ones, a thread here, a thread there but if it went on, nothing would be able to keep the shoe together. This is what music did to them. As much as she loved it. Adored it. Missed it. This always came from it. It had killed Héctor, too, this mad passion. And nearly killed Miguel because of his own stubborn need to have it his way or no way.

Though he had given it up for the sake of his family. For the sake of Héctor. She looked over, half expecting to see him gone. Instead he was staring into his empty glass, frowning, hair falling over his eyes.

"I think," he said, quietly, and yet somehow drawing everyone's attention to him. He set the mug on the table before looking up at them, his eyes glassy and sad. She hated that look. More than anything. "I think that music isn't worth it. Isn't worth this…" He gestured. "What's a song? A chord? A guitar? You guys got each other!"

"And you! The musician," Rosita said, as if making a point. Then startled and flicked a glance to Imelda. "R…right?"

Everyone's eyes were on Imelda once again. This time it was different, somehow even more important than the music. Everyone seemed tense, waiting on baited breath. Would Héctor be joining them? What did that mean if he did? She couldn't imagine now having him underfoot, seeing him every day, remembering every day the million reasons why she'd made her life this way- the million sacrifices she had to make.

What were they all worth in the end? Could she so easily let them go? Take that risk?

That and music… big decisions which she could not and would not make in a public bar at not even seven in the morning. She sighed and opened her mouth.

"Ah, you don't want me around," said Héctor before she could even get a word out. "I'm just a no account flojo. Couldn't make a shoe to save my life."

Imelda glowered at him. She was trying to say something. Trying to make a decision.

"Héctor…"

"So, thanks for the beer, but, I tell ya..." He gave a huge fake yawn.

"Héctor," she tried again as he got up. He had better not. He had really better not.

"I'm beat. I'll see you guys later, eh?" he said. He was. Just leaving. Just like that.

"Héctor!" she snapped and he blinked at her. She clenched one hand into a fist under the table in an effort to keep her voice calm. "Wait for me by the door, por favor."

"But I was-" he started.

"Just wait for me," she said.

"Look maybe it's better for-"

"Héctor…"

"- me to just-"

"I am asking for you to wait for me," she snapped, the beer mugs rattling as she slammed her fist against the table. "Can't you try to follow one simple direction without ruining everything? For once?"

He flinched as if she'd him him and too late she realized what she'd said. Well, she couldn't take it back. He put on his straw hat slowly, as if he was being forgotten all over again, looking away from her.

"Sí, Imelda. I'll wait."

She watched him limp toward the door, feeling an aggravating sympathy for that poor broken man. He always managed to do that. When he was sad, he was sadder than everyone in the room. When happy, happier. His emotions were a beacon and made it impossible to keep her own thoughts straight. It made her want to strangle him sometimes.

The table was silent. The bar was silent. She felt everyone was watching Héctor's sad struggle toward the door before looking at her. She was tired of being looked at. Tired of being judged. Tired of having to make every decision. Just tired. Madre mia, this day needed to end. She wanted to go back home and go over the accounts, or catch up on the backlog the holiday created, or even just read in the relative quiet of the hacienda. But she faced her problems head on always, quiet and sad and broken though they were.

"Go ahead of me," she said, standing and brushing off her skirt. "I'll come home on Pepita."

"Yes, Mamá," came the soft ragged chorus. She started for the door, something inside her lurching as she saw no sign of Héctor. If he'd left…. If he'd just…She lifted her chin, bracing herself, anchoring herself to the thought of her familia not a few steps behind her, and pushed open the door to a sunny day, giving everything a wan washed out look.

Héctor was leaning against the wall, one foot braced against it, hands in his pockets, looking down. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to have anything to do with him or the complications he had brought into her afterlife. Yet, there they were and they had to be dealt with. He met her gaze and hitched one shoulder in a shrug and gave her a little half smile.

"Lo siento, Imelda…"

"You're always lo siento," she said, starting to walk, hoping he would come with her, glad when he pushed off the wall and did; hands in his pockets.

"I have a lot to be lo siento for…"

"You do." He said nothing to that, but she almost wished he would. She almost wanted a fight. Preferred a fight. But there had been too much fighting and now it was time for something else. What, she didn't know. As they walked, she couldn't help but watch him out of the corner of her eye. He looked tired for someone just remembered, worn down still, falling apart, clothes torn and no shoes.

Sometimes she wondered if he was still the same Héctor that she'd married. She'd almost convinced herself once or twice that she'd made a mistake. That there were two Hectors and the one that had left her was still alive in the world somewhere, while this one was a poor shadow. Héctor in life had been brash and bold, unrepentant and charming. He could weasel his way into and out of anything. He could also stand toe to toe with her, unflinching in the heat of battle or… other things. And oh, when he'd played for her, his eyes just for her, wearing a soft smile- she had lost all sense of time and place. It had only been them in that room, wrapped up in music which seemed to flow endlessly.

But that had been a fantasy, she told herself firmly. And all fantasies had to come to an end. She could see the proof of it right beside her. So much for seeing the world. So much for a lot of things. She found herself thinking of what might have been and ruthlessly tore those thoughts away from herself, flinging them mentally into the road like so much refuse. Here and now was all that mattered- and here and now he was a ragged man when he didn't have to be.

"Ay what troubles you bring me," she said, not really thinking and not really meaning it. He smiled ruefully.

"Trouble is my middle name…" It was a joke and a weak one at that so she chose to ignore it. Instead she glanced around and spotted a small stone bench in a little park, shaded by the buildings above and some overhanging fake trees.

"Here," she said. "Sit." He sat and she beside him.

"Give me your chaqueta." She held out her hand, then gestured insistently as he stared at her. Finally he grinned, shrugging out of one torn sleeve.

"Anything to get me naked, eh?"

She shoved his arm and fought to keep from smiling.

"I don't care for bony men," she said as straight faced as she could, digging a needle and thread from her apron pocket. The habit was more out of being a mother than a shoemaker. You never knew when something needed darning.

"No?" Héctor said, grinning wider. "That's not what you said-" She jabbed the needle in his direction warningly and he held up his hands. "Okay, okay."

If she was amused by this it was only because it had been a long time since she'd had any banter of this kind. It had been a long time since she'd handled any men's clothes, too, she thought, spreading the chaqueta on her lap and getting to work. It seemed big on her lap, too big, draping down carelessly over her knees. She knew from experience how the fabric would feel against her fingers, soft and worn. She also knew, that despite the difference between Héctor then and now, that if she could smell as well as she used to, she'd be in a far more dangerous place. As a boy he'd been awful, as most boys were, but when suddenly he'd become a man- She shook her head of those thoughts quickly before they could take root.

"Imelda," Héctor murmured beside him and she hated that warm tenor as it was completely unfair to anyone. "You don't have to change your music rule just because of me." He looked at his hands, linked at the fingers, on his lap. "Last night aside, I haven't played music since…" He winced, then shrugged. "In a very long time."

"It's not about you," she said. Though it was and it wasn't. "It's about Miguel."

"Oh, I see."

She wondered, though, when he had stopped playing. He certainly was when she'd first seen him again. She frowned when thinking about it. She hadn't been in the Land of the Dead for very long at all, maybe a couple of weeks. It had been an odd time, a lonely time. She had thrown so much work into preparing for her family she'd run herself near to exhaustion, which she hadn't thought would be possible if you were dead.

So when she heard the familiar tunes of La Cigarra coming from a nearby plaza, she'd gravitated toward it almost without thinking. It had felt like an oasis in the desert, that beautiful music floating through the air. Oh, she had known then she was going against her principles. That if her familia saw her they would be shocked, and maybe even a little resentful. But they hadn't been there and she'd been so lonely and she'd thought, what harm could come from just coming nearer.

The harm, of course, had been Héctor, sitting there singing, playing a ramshackle guitar, people surrounding him. She hadn't really recognized him at first. Or, she had and she hadn't. Her heart hoped while her mind dismissed. He'd been rough around the edges even then and hadn't looked like the polished musician that had left her door. But then he'd looked up as the song came to a close, and his face lit up and she knew; even before he joyfully called her name.

If she'd left before then maybe none of this would have happened. If she hadn't followed it at all. If he hadn't spoken. If he hadn't recognized her in an instant and come toward her through the crowd as if she was the only one that existed. She remembered the flash of happiness, the thrill of fear, and then as he stepped in arms length, a fury gripped her like none had ever before. She'd slapped him, hard, open palmed, and was surprised none of her fingers had splintered though it had nearly knocked his skull off. And she'd screamed at him, so loud probably the Land of the Living had heard. How dare he greet her like that after he'd abandoned her so carelessly. How dare he sit in the Land of the Dead and play like it had meant nothing to him. How dare he even say her name. She had never in her life felt the urge to kill someone as strongly as she had that day.

Of course that was before she'd known the truth. That he'd tried to come back to her. For so long she'd thought he'd just forgotten them. Left her standing day after day with Coco asking her when more letters from Papá would come. Then crying about it. Then quiet about it as she realized there would be no more letters. That Papá hadn't cared enough to even put pen to paper to tell them how he was.

She'd imagined him in a million different scenarios- That he'd found his way on some stage or another, far away from them. That he was working with Ernesto behind the scenes and hadn't bothered to inform them. After all Ernesto had had his guitar, that she had given him of all things!, and his songs and Héctor would have never let that just pass by. Even sometimes she imagined he'd found another familia. A better one or one who would let him go wherever he liked without shouting him down. She had never, not once, imagined he might have been murdered. Let alone by Ernesto. She hadn't even imagined him dead. Héctor being dead had always been an impossibility. It was still difficult to wrap her head around.

"He's a good kid, though," Héctor said, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Hmm?" she said, realizing that she'd finished darning and had just been sitting there, the chaqueta in her hands. She hastily handed it back.

"Miguelito. He's a good kid. And a great talent. I don't know how he managed to learn Poco Loco so well, but he'd have been some stiff competition."

"Well, some of it does come from his familia, you know," Imelda said, and then trying to tease added: "And you, too."

He chuckled softly, pulling the chaqueta back on. "Thanks, Imelda."

Then he watched her, hands on his knees, and she watched him. It was a bad idea and she knew it. It was easy to dismiss him when all she saw were bones. He wasn't the Héctor she remembered. No nose, no ears, no thick lashes or warm skin. No heartbeat. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw him. When she looked into his eyes, she wanted to drown. Such a trouble maker this one was. He shifted closer, leaning in, she found herself listing to meet him-

But then she leaned back, shaking herself out of it. No. No no. She wasn't ready for this and didn't think she ever would be. She would not start down that road again. Not here. Not now. She stood and held out her hand, palm flat, when he started to stand too. He slowly sat back on the bench.

"Here's how it will go," she said, shifting to kneel on the ground in front of him, taking his foot into her lap. "First, you need shoes."

"Imelda, you don't-"

"You need shoes," she told him sternly, giving him a glare. "They are our pride and joy and do you want Coco to come in seeing you looking like a disaster? No."

"No…" he agreed, sitting back. "Well then… I… I'll pay you…"

She didn't believe he ever would nor could so let that pass by.

"Second," she let out a breath, shifting to dig her ruler from her apron pocket. "You're welcome to the hacienda at any time."

"R-really?" he seemed startled. She nodded. It was going to be nerve wracking for her but it was important.

"I want you to get to know the familia and them to know you. More importantly for them to tell you about Coco. I want her to know without a shadow of a doubt that her Papá cares for her and understands her."

He nodded, which she could see out of the corner of her eye because she was measuring his foot and didn't dare look up to see his full expression.

"Third…." She didn't want to say it. She didn't want to do it. She didn't want to let it back into her life. And yet here it was. And yet here it would be. And Coco had lived a long time in silence. "… I won't make you, but I'll ask you…" Her voice was rough and she took a breath to steady her nerves. "…for her sake…"

"Don't worry," Héctor said, gently. "I don't plan to-"

"Madre mio, let me finish!" she snapped, looking up at him, feeling her eyes smart though there would never be anything to show for it. She rested a hand on his shin, trying to draw his attention to only her. He looked afraid though she couldn't understand why. "Play for her, Héctor. Sing to her. Remind her…" Another breath. "Remind her of music…"

He dropped his foot from her lap and held out his hand.

"You, too…"

She watched his hand. She wanted to. She wanted to take it and curl next to him with her head on his shoulder. She wanted to give in and sing with him and experience that thrill again and again. But she did not trust the ground to stay under her feet. She stood instead, straightening her apron, looking down at him.

"Don't mistake me, Héctor, I still haven't forgiven you." Only she had without even knowing it. "But Coco deserves to be happy and for my hija there is little I wouldn't do."

"Yeah…" he said, looking downcast. "Okay…"

How infuriating. Here she was giving him all this freedom and he was still a shambles of a man. He seemed to sense her anger because he looked up and gave her a weak grin.

"I'll definitely do my best for her, Imelda," he said, giving her a thumbs up. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, grateful to him even then because it allowed her to walk away with back straight and head high. She thought to go back to the bar, then changed her mind and decided the hacienda instead. She was about to whistle for Pepita when she saw her precious alibrije sunbathing on the flat top of a nearby roof. Pepita spotted her in a moment and jumped down to meet her, bumping her huge head against Imelda's and purring softly.

"Ah, mi alma, did I do the right thing?"

Pepita only purred and nudged her with her nose. Imelda knew the answer in any case-which was wait and see. And hope. There was a happy bark and Imelda watched as Miguel's strange alibrije dog came fluttering from the roof to land face first in the street. The dog shook itself off and scratched behind an ear then went trotting after Héctor, nails clicking on stone. Imelda shook her head. What a creature. She turned to Pepita and the giant cat lowered her head so Imelda could clamber onto her wide neck.

"Let's go home," she said, patting the alibrije behind the ear. Pepita growled a response and launched herself into the air with a powerful leap. She caught sight of Héctor walking through the alleys for a brief moment and felt a bitter sweet surge of emotion that she quickly pushed down. There was so much to do and so much to recover from and prepare for. Who had time to feel anything?