1956

Elena squirmed in her seat, nervous energy bubbling through her body. She'd been waiting for her mama and sister for over an hour- how long could a doctor's appointment take? A while, she thought bitterly. Then again, the four Rivera women had come a long way to see the specialist that Dr. _recommended to them.

"Quit fussing, mija," her abuelita scolded her softly, eyes focused on the newspaper she brought for the trip.

The pre-teen flinched. "Sorry, Mamá Imelda," she murmured and hung her head low.

Her grandmother noticed the behavior. "Victoria will be fine. She's strong," she reassured her youngest granddaughter.

"I know- I just," Elena sighed. "I want to know what's going on."

"That's why we're here."

"But I want to know now, I want to be in there with her! Why do I have to wait outside?" she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

Imelda shook her head at the child's antics. "This isn't a regular exam. Only your Mamá can be with her right now."

The youngest Rivera opened her mouth, ready to argue with her grandmother, when the door leading into the rest of the hospital creaked loudly. Her head swung up to see her sister and mamá being led into the waiting room by a nurse in a clean, white uniform. She spoke to them for a moment before turning down the hall and walking out of sight.

Elena ran to Victoria, and asked, "So? Are you better now? Are we going home?"

It was then that she noticed her sister's puffy eyes and sad features. Concern bubbled up in Elena's chest.

When her eldest daughter didn't reply, Mamá Coco answered, "Yes, we're going home now." Her voice was tired, and she held onto Victoria's shoulders in a comforting gesture.

"What happened?" Mamá Imelda asked as she approached her family.

"We'll talk about it later," Coco said, avoiding her mamá's eyes. She tried to lead Victoria to the door, but was stopped when Imelda stepped into their path.

"No," the matriarch said, her tone wavering between pleading and demanding. "What did the doctor say? Please, Coco."

Coco only child bit her lip, staring down at her mamá. She remained silent, unsure of whether now was the best time or place to tell her the gravity of the situation.

The decision was made for her. "I'm wrong," said Victoria numbly, meeting Mamá Imelda's eyes. The younger Rivera's expression contorted with shame and guilt. "I'm- my body's wrong."

"What do you mean, mija?" asked Imelda, reaching to place her hand on her granddaughter's shoulder.

Victoria's eyes began to water. "The doctor said I have something called pseudohermaphroditism."

"Pseudo- what?"

"He said it's genetic," she added despairingly, the slight bitterness in her tone betraying her true feelings about the discovery.

Imelda shook her head in shock, the news settling poisonously in her mind. "But- but what does it do? Is it permanent?"

Victoria sighed, exhausted from the physical journey and emotional trip. "It's permanent. Abuelita, I- I can't have children."

Imelda's eyes widened. "No," she shook her head in denial.

"I was made wrong," Victoria repeated.

"That's impossible," Imelda raised her voice. "You- your Mamá and Papá- they're healthy, they're fine."

"The doctor said it could be from further back in the family," Coco supplied. "Is that possible, Mamá? Can you remember if we had any family like Victoria?"

"No! No one that I can think of . . . ." Mamá Imelda trailed off, a distant memory resurfacing. Her face twisted into a sour expression as the realization came to her. "The músico."

Coco's eyes widened at the rare mention of her father. "Was he- did he have the same illness, Mamá?" she asked unsurely, doubtful her mother would humor any of her questions. However, the answer affected Victoria. It affected their entire family. If she could inherit the defect from her grandfather, who knows if Elena had it too- or even Elena's children, when (or if) she had any. To Coco, that made the question worth answering.

Mamá Imelda paused for a moment, anger bubbling through her body at her deadbeat husband. "No- I don't know, he looked normal to me."

Then again, Héctor was the only man she had ever seen in an intimate setting. Perhaps he was made wrong and Imelda simply couldn't tell. Or maybe he was healthy and inherited the defect from his parents. After all, she and Héctor were able to have Coco, so he couldn't have been exactly like Victoria, right? Imelda could never know for sure, except-

"I remember he had a tía who was different," she said, the memory returning then. "She had a beard."

Victoria let out a sob of shock and fear, the hard day she'd had crashing into her all at once. There was so much burdening her mind- too much for her to take. Tears began to run down her pretty cheeks.

"Oh, mija, I didn't mean to scare you," Imelda wrapped her arms around her eldest grandchild. "That won't happen to you."

"You can't know that, you can't know that," Victoria cried into her abuela's shoulder.

Elena stared at the scene before her. The unusual show of emotions from her older sister frightened her. Victoria was so serious, so tough, and now she was crying in Mamá Imelda's arms. Her sister was just told she couldn't have children, that she was born wrong. What else could she do but cry?

Coco and Elena soon joined the hug, comforting Victoria as best they could with quiet Rivera women were strong. They could get through this challenge together, as a family. No matter what happened, they always had each other.

. . .

Rivera- Familia de Zapateros

The sign above the workshop was certainly a surprise. He'd heard, of course, that the Rivera's in Santa Cecilia made shoes, but he hadn't expected the business to be so flourishing. The building had a fresh coat of paint, and the sound of hammers against nails could be heard from the street where he stood. They were busy, they were making money. He felt a little more at ease knowing the family was doing alright.

With some hesitance, the old man walked up to the store window and rang a little bell he found on the counter.

Almost immediately, a man's voice called, "I'll be right there!"

His heart skipped a beat, thinking that perhaps the voice answering him was the person he had come so far to see. Instead, a short, stout man rounded the corner and approached the counter, making his spirits fall slightly.

"How can I help you, Señor?" the man asked, surprising the supposed customer as he suddenly leaned over the counter to get a look at the stranger's shoes. "Size ten?"

"Uh, sí, but I'm not here to for shoes," the elder man said, licking his dry lips nervously. "Is Héctor Rivera home?"

The other man quirked a brow. "Sorry Señor, I don't know of a Héctor Rivera."

"You- what?" the stranger stumbled. "But- that's impossible. You're the Rivera's."

"We are," the man agreed. "But there's no one named Héctor in our family. Maybe I can help you find who you're looking for?" he offered generously, thinking the stranger was only a confused old man.

"Sí," the man said after a moment. "My name is Ricardo Rivera. I'm looking for my son."

The younger man appeared surprised, but if he recognized his name, he didn't show it. The stranger, Ricardo, continued, "My wife and son live in Santa Cecilia. María and Héctor Rivera? They live with her sister- Carmen de Santiago."

Seeing no recollection in the shoemaker's face, he continued, "The bearded lady?"

"Was that her name?" the short man said. "I'm sorry Señor Rivera, but she passed away years ago. The fever took a lot of people from this town."
Ricardo's eyes widened. Certainly, María would have written him about her sister's death? Albeit, she hadn't written him in decades, but he used to get the occasional spiteful letter.

"What about her family? Do they- do they still live here?" Ricardo asked.

The man frowned, "I didn't know she had any family. If she did, I don't think they're around anymore."

Ricardo's spirits fell significantly at the news. María was making it too difficult to find her. He was an old man now, and he didn't have the energy to search all of Mexico for her. But, he would if he had to- Ricardo had to see his estranged wife before it was too late. The older he became, the closer he was to death's doorstep. He needed to see his family one last time.

Noticing the stranger's discouraged expression, the shoemaker asked, "Do you have anyone else you know in town?"

Ricardo shook his head. The only people he knew were the Gomez's, his wife's employer, but he doubted they would be hospitable to him, if María's old letters were true.

"Then how about you stay for dinner?" the man offered kindly. "My tios might be able to answer your questions."

Ricardo blinked at the unexpected offer, and was quick to decline, "I couldn't- please, Señor I'm couldn't take food from your family."

"Nonsense- we're glad to have you," the shoemaker dispelled the stranger's reservations, and then motioned for Ricardo to follow him. "Come inside- it's too hot in the sun. It's a slow business day anyways, and honestly? I think your company will be a nice break from work."

The older man nodded, silently accepting the offer as he trailed behind the shoemaker. "Are you a Rivera too?" he asked, knowing that the workshop was owned and operated by Rivera's, and the fact that this man worked here probably meant he was part of the family.

"Sí," the short man confirmed, and then turned to shake Ricardo's hand properly. "Julio Rivera."

"The man of the house?" Ricardo asked.

"Ha! Ay, no, the one you're thinking of would be Mamá Imelda," Julio answered, leading Ricardo into the workshop. "She's the boss around here. And these," he gestured to the two lanky men bent over a workbench. "Are her brothers."

At the return of their nephew-in-law, the brothers- twins, Ricardo noticed immediately- looked up from their unfinished projects. The two were so identical that for a moment, all Ricardo could do was stare. He managed to greet them with a nod.

Julio introduced the stranger cheerily, "Felipe, Oscar, this is Señor Ricardo Rivera. I was wondering if you two could help him with something?"

Felipe- or maybe Oscar, Ricardo didn't know which brother was which- stood to greet him and quickly shook his hand, "Hola, Señor." His hands were slender and calloused, craftsman's hands.

"How can we help you today?" Oscar- Felipe?- asked, rising to stand next to his brother. The twins took a moment to examine the stranger's shoes. "Size ten?"

Ricardo chuckled at the repeated comment. "Sí, but unfortunately I'm not here for shoes," he said. "I'm trying to find my family. I wondering if you know them?"

"Of course, Señor," said Felipe.

"We know most of everyone in Santa Cecilia," Oscar finished.

"That's good," Ricardo grinned then, wrinkles stretching across his leathery face as he asked, "Do you know of María Rivera?"

The twins' faces fell, and so did Ricardo's hope. They glanced off to the side, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

"Ay, sí, Señora Rivera," Felipe managed finally, gesturing dismissively. "She, uh, she passed away several years ago from the fever."

Ricardo's heart fell into the pit of his stomach, and despair washed over his body at the news. The thought had crossed his mind before, that perhaps the reason María stopped sending letters was because something terrible had happened, but he hoped it wouldn't be the case. However, his hope dwindled as the years went by with no response. When he was younger, Ricardo completely disregarded the stop of the letters. After all, María left him. Who's to say she didn't find someone else to raise their son with? The idea infuriated him then, and he bitterly ignored her. In the end, she was no longer around to ignore.

The news was unfortunate, but Ricardo did not cry. He knew that María may have died during their separation, but he thought the cause would have been old age. Even then, he thought her death would have been recent. He never expected her to have died decades ago.

The revelation left him with one remaining question. "What about her son? Héctor- does he still live around here?"

The twins visibly cringed at the mention of the missing man. "No, he left a long time ago," Oscar said, a look of distaste creeping over his face.

"Do you know where he went?" Ricardo asked, put off by the twin's strange reaction to the mention of his son.

"No one does," Felipe answered, and then turned to Julio. "May we speak with you for a moment, por favor?"

Julio nodded, confused at the sudden change in atmosphere as his in-laws led him into the courtyard, leaving Ricardo alone in the workshop. The second they left the room, the older man could hear the twins whispering angrily to Julio. They bickered for a minute longer, and then fell silent. The three Rivera's quietly reentered the workshop. The young man who greeted Ricardo so kindly before now regarded the stranger with an uncertain unsteadiness.

"Are you certain you have no other family in town, Señor Rivera?" Julio asked timidly. "Or maybe your family isn't in Santa Cecilia anymore?"

"All I have is Héctor and María, and I know they were here," said Ricardo. "Please, Senores, I just- I'm not getting any younger," he gestured to his aged body, "All I want is to see my son again."

The shoemakers seemed to flinch at Ricardo's plea. Oddly, Julio looked almost guilty, refusing to meet the stranger's eyes.

Ricardo narrowed his brow, suspicion seeping into his mind. "You- there's something you're not telling me."

The three men shared a look. "We've told you everything we know, Señor Rivera," said Julio.

"No, you haven't," said Ricardo, glaring at the shomemakers. "What were you all talking about outside?"

"Nothing! Just- ah, a new shoe order?" Julio tried, obviously lying. Simultaneously, the twins pinched the bridges of their noses in exasperation with their nephew-in-law's lack of subtlety.

Ricardo's face darkened. "I don't believe you," he said, frustration building in his voice. "I know the Rivera name is new to Santa Cecilia. The only Rivera's that were here forty years ago were my wife and son."

Julio licked his lips nervously, "We- uh, my mother-in-law, she's from out of town too? She- ah, that is-"

"The jig's up, Julio," Felipe cut in, disliking the idea of lying to the old man any further, lying badly, at that.

"It's no use avoiding it," Oscar agreed, and then addressed Ricardo with an apologetic tone, "Señor, we Rivera's- we are related to your son."

"I knew that," Ricardo grumbled. "But what happened to him?"

Felipe sighed, "We were telling the truth, Señor. Héctor left to play music over thirty years ago- we haven't heard from him since."

The old man didn't know what to think. Despair flitted around his head, as did shame and anger for his missing son. Finding him would be near impossible, if the limited information his son's own family could give him was credible. He might never see him again.

Ricardo collapsed into a nearby chair, his head hung low and his eyes wide as the truth settled into his soul. One way or another, Héctor was gone. He was too late.

Seeing the old man's state, Julio approached him gently, "I'm sorry you had to hear about your son like this, Señor Rivera."

"His name is Héctor," he said.

"Héctor, right," the shorter man repeated sheepishly.

"You don't even know his name?" Ricardo despaired.

Julio shook his head. "Lo siento, but Mamá Imelda- she never talks about him."

Ricardo raised his head at the second mention of the woman of the house. "Who exactly is this 'Imelda'?"

. . .

It was dark when the Imelda, Coco, Elena and Victoria returned home from the train station. They were tired from the emotionally exhausting day, but more than that, they were hungry. However, they didn't expect to come home to a hot meal. As attentive and loving as the Rivera men were, they were shoddy cooks. That's why the four women were so surprised to smell something absolutely mouth-watering wafting from the kitchen.

Imelda's eyes narrowed, suspicious of the amazing smell promising a great dinner. Her brothers couldn't cook to save their lives, and Julio- suffice to say, he could try his best. The poor man was so sheepish, he was too nervous around fire to work the stove properly. So who was making food?

Enticed by the smell, her granddaughters and their aunt hurried into their home. Imelda heard them greet their great uncles near the door before disappearing inside. For the moment, she and Coco were alone.

Imelda turned to face her daughter. She stood still and stared at the threshold her children ran through. Her rigid posture reflected a sort of disturbed nervousness that felt out of place on Coco's frame.

Gently, Imelda pulled her daughter into her arms, letting her rest her chin on her shoulder. "It's okay, mija," she said, knowing what must have been going through her head. "Victoria will be fine."

"I know, Mamá, I just-" Coco let out a shuddering sigh. "She's so young. She shouldn't have to cope with something like this."

Imelda nodded and rubbed comforting circles into Coco's back. "You're right, Coco, you're absolutely right," she said, and then scowled. "Damn músico, corrupting our family like this-"

"He couldn't have known," Coco frowned. "None of us could have known this would happen. It's no one's fault."

Imelda opened her mouth, prepared to argue otherwise, when her brothers peeked into the courtyard.

"Imelda, you're home!" Felipe greeted over-excitedly, refusing to make eye contact with his sister. "And good timing to, we're almost done making dinner."

Imelda's brow narrowed in suspicion as she sniffed the air once more, enjoying the unusually delicious smell coming from her home.

"Did you two cook?" she asked, secretly hoping that the twins had made some breakthrough and finally, after nearly 50 years, figured out how to cook.

"Ay, no," Oscar answered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

"We have a guest- he offered to make dinner, and well," Felipe sniffed the air for emphasis, "How could we refuse?"

"You let a guest make dinner for all of us?" Imelda fumed, waving her finger into her brothers' faces. "Where's your common sense? You don't make your guest cook the food- that's your job!"

Oscar cowered behind Felipe, and then Felipe hid behind Oscar, leaving him in the open again.

"We started to cook, but he insisted!" Oscar tried to defend himself, his palms raised in submission. Felipe offered, "He said he didn't like what we were making- trying to make, anyways."

"We burnt it," said Oscar.

"Badly," Felipe added.

Imelda sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. "One of these days, I'm going to use my shoe on you two," she muttered under her breath. "Fine. Fine! We'll make it up to him somehow."

She began towards the house, her brothers and daughter following on her heels. "Who is this guest anyways?"

"He's a old man-"

"From out of town."

Imelda crossed the threshold and hurried into the kitchen. Standing in front of her stove was a tall, old man with wild white hair. A burly arm stirred a pan of ground beef, popping and sizzling and smelling absolutely amazing. The table beside him was lined with plates filled with corn husks and masa dough, waiting for when the beef was ready. The stranger turned when he heard the clicking of Imelda's heels on the tile floor of the kitchen.

"Señora Rivera," he assumed, sending her a gentle smile. "Your brothers said you prefer beef tamales?"

Imelda nodded silently, her eyes glancing up and down her guest. His features were strangely familiar, especially his strong, hooked nose.

He grinned. "I'm glad. I hope you like them," he said, using the wooden spoon he was stirring with to carefully push the beef onto the tamales.

"You didn't need to cook for all of us, Señor," she said, almost chastising the old man.

He shook his head and dismissed, "Please, it's the least I can do. Your family has been very kind to have me."

"Have you?" she asked, and then realized that her brothers and son-in-law must have invited him to stay the night. "Of course, we're glad to let you stay."

Imelda sent an angry glance to Oscar and Felipe, who nervously took a step back towards the door. Unwelcome surprises were common in the Rivera family, and Imelda tried to prevent them when she could. She preferred to be in control of her life, but her family never made it easy for her. Julio and her brothers knew that inviting a stranger to stay the night would upset her. They probably assumed that Victoria's visit to the doctor would go well. Unfortunately, it did not, and the bad news along with the surprise guest chipped away Imelda's already fragile mood.

Despite her frustration with the situation, she couldn't just throw the old man out of her house. He'd made dinner for them. Imelda knew she came off as aggressive, maybe even cold at times, but she wasn't heartless.

"Here, let me help you," she said, joining the stranger by the table and beginning to fold the tamales.

"Thank you, Señora," he said, his voice pleasant and humble. His towering, hulking body was imposing when she first saw him, but now Imelda sensed that her guest was a gentle giant rather than a goliath.

She nodded, focusing on tying her tamale shut. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Coco talking to Julio in the hallway. Their hushed voices clue Imelda into the subject of their conversation.

"You have a lovely home, Señora Rivera," the old man said, bringing Imelda's attention back to him.

"Gracias, Señor," she said quickly, already feeling her patience for small talk draining away.

If the old man noticed her irritation at all, he paid no mind to it. "I heard from your brothers that you started your own business from nothing," he mentioned, taking a moment to glance over to the matriarch. "That's very impressive."

"I did what I had to," Imelda said, poorly concealing her bitterness towards the subject.

"No," he said, his disagreement startling Imelda. Her family never dared to disagree with her, and the people of Santa Cecilia knew better than to cross paths with the fiery Señora Rivera.

"Excuse me?" she said, a sudden burst of defensive anger bubbling to the surface.

"No," he repeated, and then continued, "You went above and beyond, Señora Rivera. You did everything you possibly could for the good of your family, and then did even more. How many other women could have learned a trade from scratch and built a business like your's? Your determination is- if I may say so, Señora- intimidating."

"Oh," Imelda said. A faint blush bloomed across her cheeks as she processed the unexpected praise. After a moment, she added, "Gracias."

The old man smiled down at her. "De nada," he said, and turned his gaze back on the half-folded tamale in his large hand.

Imelda stared at the stranger as he worked on their dinner. His hands were calloused and veiny, his skin loose and wrinkly. The man was very old to be traveling alone.

"Why have you come to Santa Cecilia?" Imelda asked, casually returning to the tamales. She noticed the man pause for a moment, his hands frozen above the meal he made.

Hoping she hadn't struck a nerve, Imelda added, "If you don't mind me asking."

The old man swallowed. "I don't," he said. "In fact, I think you can help me."

Imelda quirked a brow, but said nothing, encouraging him to continue.

"I used to have family in Santa Cecilia," he said, a twinge of some sad emotion in his voice. "My wife and son. After talking to your brothers, I learned that they have not lived here for many years."

Imelda frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said earnestly.

The old man nodded solemnly. "I haven't heard from them in a long time," he admitted. "At first I thought they just didn't want to write to me- it would have made sense, after everything- but that was so long ago. Your brothers told me that my wife- she died of fever, way back when."

Before the Imelda had the chance to say her condolences, her guest continued, "My son never wrote to tell me. But, now that I think about it, she may not have given him my address . . . ." he trailed off, and then, noticing Imelda's confused expression, explained, "My wife left me when our son was very young. We parted on bad terms."

He took a deep, but shaky breath, trying to keep his composure in front of his host. "It's been over forty years since I last saw him. I doubt he remembers me very well," he said, "but I'm hoping I can track him down before I get too old to travel."

Which would be soon, Imelda knew. While his body suggested that he had once been strong and hardy, age was conquering the stranger. He looked frail and weathered. Imelda suddenly realized just how exhausted the old man looked. The news of his wife's passing must have taken a toll on his disposition.

"Perhaps my family can help you find him," Imelda offered quickly.

The old man swallowed. "Perhaps," he repeated, and then with a sly upturn of his lip, continued, "I have a feeling you may have known him."

"Oh?" said Imelda as she gathered the tied tamales into a boiling pot on the stove.

"You would have grown up together," the man said. "Do you happen to remember Héctor Rivera?"

The mention of the cursed name caused Imelda to drop the tamales into the water too harshly. Boiling water splashed onto her hands. She hissed and pulled them close to her, watching her skin turn red from the burn.

"Señora, are you alright?" the old man reached for her hand to inspect the damage.

"Don't touch me!" Imelda exclaimed, slapping the stranger's arm away from her.

"Señora Rivera, I-"

"No! How dare you, how dare you-!" she raged angrily, ignoring the pain in her hand as she tugged her boot off of her foot, "-speak of that man in my home!"

Imelda brought her boot over her head, ready to strike the stranger, when she suddenly remembered herself. Slowly, she lowered the boot. She couldn't hit an old man, nevermind the circumstances.

The stranger stared in shock at the boot in Imelda's hand, caught off guard by the matriarch's violent change in attitude.

"Señora Rivera," he tried, looking down the bridge of his strong nose at the tiny woman. "I understand your feelings towards my son- your brothers explained the situation before you arrived- but I need to know where he is."

"Where he is? Ha!" Imelda barked, gesturing wildly with her boot in hand. "You come to me to ask where he is?"

The yelling caught the attention of Julio and Coco, who were still discussing Victoria's condition in hushed voices. They rushed into the kitchen and gawked at the scene before them: Mamá Imelda threatening their elderly guest with her boot. Before Coco could try to calm her mama, Imelda continued, barely noticing her family gathering in the threshold.

"You think I would know where he went? Me, the wife he abandoned? The family he left behind?" she asked venomously, sneering up at the old man.

The man's brow furrowed, and his face grew stony. "Señora Rivera," he said lowly, "When I came Santa Cecilia, I had no idea he had left you and your family. I had no idea he was gone until your brothers told me earlier today. I haven't heard from him in years."

"And you thought I had?" Imelda spat.

The stranger thought for a moment. "Yes," he admitted. "I thought he may have written to you. He was such a sentimental child- I couldn't imagine that he wouldn't have written you," He ran his tongue over his teeth. "If I'm honest, Señora, I believe he has written to you, but you haven't told your family about the letters."

"Didn't tell my-? Are you suggesting that I would lie to my own family?" Imelda gasped.

"Well, from what I gathered, Señora Rivera," the stranger stressed her married name, "You refuse to tell them about my son. Your brothers told me you even placed a ban on music because of him, as if music were to blame for him leaving you."

Imelda swung her boot right in front of the old man's crooked nose. "Music is the reason he left!"

The stranger stared at the boot in his face for a moment before calmly pushing it away with the back of his hand.

"I doubt that," he said darkly, glowering over the Rivera matriarch.

"Excuse me?" Imelda seethed.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Señora Rivera," he said cooly. "My wife left me also. Perhaps he followed her example, and from what I've seen from you tonight, I doubt it took much prompting. Héctor would never want such an unruly woman."

The strike fell across the old man's face like a flash of lightning. The old man staggered backwards, and Coco rushed to catch him. He fell solidly into her arms and struggled to find his footing.

Coco protested, "Mamá, you can't-"

"How dare you!" Imeda interrupted, ignoring her daughter. She shook with rage, and angry, humiliated tears pooled in her eyes. "Y-You, you!" Her voice wavered dangerously.

The old man stared up at her in shock for a moment before a flash of recognition crossed his face.

". . . yes, me," he said after a pause, licking his lips in thought. Slowly, with Coco's help, he rose to his feet and brushed off his clothes. "I apologize for intruding on your family today, Señora Rivera. I wish you the best."

Without another word to his estranged family, the stranger turned and hastily left the kitchen, passing by his great-granddaughters in the hall. He spared them a glance before entering the courtyard and leaving the home for good.

Ricardo stumbled down the street, still shaken from the hit from Señora Rivera's boot. He lightly touched his cheek- it was warm and painful to the touch. For a tiny woman, the matriarch hit hard. The scene played through his mind over and over as he somehow found his way to a small motel, bought a room, and finally fell onto the bed.

Sleep came to him instantly.

The following morning, Ricardo Rivera left Santa Cecilia on a train bound for Mexico City. That was the last the Rivera's heard of strange old man who, in better circumstances, might have been their family.