Entonces

"You're leaving?"

Imelda stared at Héctor in disbelief, watching as his expression shifted from cheerful to bewildered at her reaction.

"Well… not permanently, mi amor, but-"

"But nothing! You can't just… drop this on me out of the blue and-"

"Out of the blue?" Héctor repeated quietly. "This isn't… Imelda, you know that's not true. How often have you heard us talk about this?"

"I…" Imelda scowled and looked away. True, this had been a frequent topic between Héctor and Ernesto, but she hadn't heard either of them bring it up in some time; somehow, she'd thought that Coco's birth and Imelda and Héctor's settling into a comfortable family routine had put it firmly in the past. "But… why? Why now?"

"Well… the timing is good now, don't you think?" He stepped closer, reaching to take her hand; she hesitated, but let him. "After all. Coco's four now, things are a little less crazy around here. It's a quiet month here in town overall - a good time to get moving. And just think!" Héctor spread his other arm expansively. "Once I'm back, once I get a little experience, a little inspiration? I can do that much better for you!"

She gave his hand a squeeze, shaking her head slightly.

"Can't you do all that just as well here? Where you belong?"

"I think…." Héctor was quiet a moment, thoughtful. "I think… maybe if I see more, I can do better… give you and Coco everything you deserve, and-"

"Coco deserves to have you here. And don't you think I do too?"

"I… well, yes, of course, but…." He trailed off, indecisive. They could hear Coco playing in the courtyard; Imelda realized he'd focussed on that and held her breath, hopeful, and then scowled again as he squared his shoulders. "But I need to do this. Just for a little while, Imelda."

She pulled her hand out of his grip, eyes narrowed.

"You don't. And I think you need to realize that."

Héctor gave her a long, somber look.

"Are you sure it's me who needs to realize?"

He walked out, heading into the courtyard to join their daughter, and Imelda sank into a chair to rest her forehead in her hands.

The same conversation played out a dozen times over the next two weeks - Imelda pleading and arguing, Héctor always on the verge of relenting before steeling himself and telling her he had to do this, that this would make their lives better, that she knew this was part of his plan from the start.

She hated that she couldn't effectively argue that last point, but the other two she fought daily and the household descended into an unease that only Coco seemed unaffected by as she sang and danced with Héctor and made inept but earnest attempts to help around the house. Even Felipe and Óscar, usually quick to intervene when they thought their sister and her husband were being ridiculous, stopped offering any remark whatsoever after Imelda shouted them both down after a particularly tense discussion, her rage at their meddling enough to rattle dishes.

(It hadn't been fair, she realized; they were only trying to help as they always did, and she promised herself she'd apologize as soon as this was resolved.)

"Imelda, you're only trying to keep him all to yourself! That isn't fair," Ernesto said at one point, something like Héctor's gentle coaxing in his tone but oddly performative by comparison and more than enough to spark her temper.

"Isn't that exactly what you're doing?" she'd hissed. "Dragging him from his own life for something you never grew out of?"

Ernesto had glared at her with an intensity she hadn't known he had in him, silence stretching for several long seconds before he spoke again.

"Our plans existed well before you ever met Héctor. You know that perfectly well. We were playing together before you ever sat down to sing with him."

He'd turned and stomped away, leaving Imelda bewildered over the drastic shift in mood and the nigh-possessive tone. But he'd been right; she'd heard it from Héctor and Ernesto both.

Was it really fair to expect him to change his mind?

"Do you think I'm being selfish?" she asked Héctor the night before he was to leave. He looked over at her, blinking as he set the white guitar she'd given him as a wedding gift aside and crossed the room to rest his hands on her shoulders.

"Of course I don't, Imelda." He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. "But I do think you're worrying too much. It isn't as if I'm vanishing into the wilderness of big-city debauchery."

He drew back, smiling slightly; Imelda couldn't quite smile back, and he sighed softly. "I'm not like Ernesto, you know? He'll probably never set foot here again, this is all he's ever wanted."

"And what about you?" she asked wearily. "Didn't you?"

"Eh, that was a kid's dream with me." He shrugged. "I won't lie, Imelda, performing gives me life. But not as much as you, and Coco." He pulled her close, whispering into her hair. "This is all I want."

"Then why is that the choice you're making?"

"It's not. Imelda, please." He pulled back again, gazing down at her. "I promise this isn't going to be a permanent thing, or even a long thing. I'll help Ernesto out a bit, see him off. I'll learn a few new things myself, have a bit of a name I can support you with. And I'll be back."

She was quiet a moment, avoiding his gaze.

"How long?"

"One year." He said it immediately, decisively. "One year, and I'll be back in time for Coco's birthday."

"One year," she echoed. "Héctor… I… don't think this is the right choice. But I don't want to part angry if you're going to insist."

He rested his forehead against hers again, nodding slightly against her.

"I don't either. Thank you, Imelda. It'll be all right - one year, but then think of how many we'll have after. Won't you?"

She made a non-committal sound, hands tightening in the back of his shirt, and dreaded the coming day.

The next afternoon Ernesto was standing in their house, luggage at his side as he and Imelda studiously avoided looking at each other and Héctor talked quietly with Felipe and Óscar in the next room; he bounced out a moment later, calling over his shoulder.

"I'll see you soon enough, mis hermanos!" Héctor smiled at Imelda as he approached; from the corner of her eye she saw Ernesto shift slightly at Héctor's words but thought nothing of it, instead giving Héctor a level, questioning look.

"You're going, then?"

"Not before I say goodbye to Coco." He kissed her forehead in passing, then picked up the white guitar and hurried deeper into the house.

A moment later, she heard him singing - the same song he played for Coco every night, and before any trip that might take him out of town for more than a few hours. On the occasions he was out of the house at her bedtime, Coco always sang it herself, insisting that wherever he was Héctor was singing it too.

A glance at Ernesto told her he was listening as well, something contemplative in his gaze as he looked toward Coco's room. She hadn't spoken to him since their last exchange and had never been able to decide what to make of him even before that; like Héctor he exuded charm, but in contrast to her husband's sometimes-awkward, lively appeal Ernesto had an assured boisterous showmanship she couldn't seem to read.

She also couldn't shake the memory of his oddly possessive tone, his sudden intense anger.

Still. He was Héctor's oldest friend, someone Héctor knew as well as he knew her, someone who had been by her husband's side his entire life - and if Héctor loved him, that counted for quite a lot, didn't it? Héctor knew him, and it was something she had to trust. So she sighed, stepping close and laying a hand on his broad shoulder; Ernesto stared down at her, tense, and she summoned up a smile.

"Take care of him, Ernesto. I'll entrust that to you. All right?"

Imelda kept her voice soft, a peace offering; he shifted back, looking almost startled at her request - but then he smiled, taking her hand in his and bowing slightly.

"Of course, Imelda! You don't even need to ask!"

"See that you do. I'll be waiting." She turned as Héctor came back in, Coco cradled in one arm as he set the guitar aside and came to Imelda, raising his freed hand to cradle her cheek. He brushed a gentle thumb over her cheekbone; Imelda couldn't quite meet his gaze, but she did lay her fingers over his wrist for a moment before pulling back.

"One year, Héctor."

"One year," he agreed, both smile and sadness evident in his voice. He stepped back and passed Coco to her; Coco took hold of his sleeve, tugging, and Imelda saw him falter, shoulders slumping as he reached to gently untangle her, clasping her tiny hand in his long fingers.

"Papá-"

"Héctor, hurry up!"

Héctor jumped at Ernesto's admonition - not quite loud or sharp, but sudden and shot through with impatience. Imelda scowled, lifting her chin to stare at her husband's friend; Ernesto only smiled in return, but he did modify his tone to something more jovial before speaking to Héctor again.

"We need to be going, my friend. It won't be so long." He looked at Imelda again, smile widening. "And I already told you I'd take care of him, didn't I?"

Héctor chuckled weakly at that.

"We'll see who ends up taking care of who. Go on, I'll be right there."

"Make it quick, then!"

Ernesto stepped out; Héctor smiled, shaking his head as he leaned down to kiss Coco's forehead.

"I need you to reconsider, Héctor. I need you to stay," Imelda said, softly so that it didn't carry to Ernesto. Héctor hesitated, still holding their daughter's hand in his, and sighed.

"I can't," he said at last. "But he's right - it won't be so long, and I'll be able to do everything I wanted, for all three of us. So be patient with me, just a little bit?"

Imelda took a long, shaky breath and nodded, giving agreement she didn't feel, and he let go of Coco's hand at last as he kissed Imelda softly and then walked out.

She followed him to the door, watching him hurry to Ernesto's side; he glanced back once, his expression obscured by the sun's strong backlight, and then he walked away.

Ahora

"There - how does that feel?"

Héctor gets to his feet, bouncing lightly in the shoes Imelda has spent the last week making - perfectly fitted, sturdy craftsmanship evident in every stitch and seam, so comfortable they're already smoothing out aches he'd stopped acknowledging long ago - and smiles.

"Amazing, Imelda." He gives one more bounce and then rocks on his feet, rolling from heel to toe. "They're perfect - you're outstanding, you know that?"

"Hm." She folds her arms and tilts her head; it's a distinctly unimpressed look, but Héctor knows her well enough to catch the pleasure in the way she sets her shoulders and raises a brow. "There's no value in a job half-done, after all. I set out to learn a trade right."

"Of course! Never halfway." He smiles, watching her to more fully gauge her mood before venturing further. "Maybe you'd show me sometime? How it's done?" Imelda raises both brows at this, and Héctor falters and fidgets with one suspender. "After all, I spend… quite a lot of time here as it is, so I was thinking…."

He trails off, still watching her. To his relief she's not even making a pretense of being annoyed, instead giving him that slight smile that's always signaled she's taking his words to heart.

"Perhaps." She pauses a moment. "But for now… one other thing." Imelda steps back to the desk, retrieving something from amongst her ledgers - a small, rich purple book with gold designs traced on the cover. "To be honest - the shoes were finished days ago, but I was waiting for this to be finished too."

She holds the book out to him, holding his gaze a long moment before speaking again.

"If you're going to be writing songs again… you're going to need somewhere to write them all down."

Héctor takes a long moment to study the notebook, tracing the marigold designs on the cover and rubbing a thumb over the soft, clean texture of the paper. Then he looks back at Imelda and smiles, holding the little book against his chest.

"Thank you, Imelda - it's the second most beautiful thing I've seen here."

He winks as he speaks, and Imelda gives him a long, silent look. Héctor expects her to scoff at his flirting, perhaps an acerbic remark in return before they move the conversation along - a bit awkward perhaps, but a vast improvement over the last decades, and friendly enough in its way.

Instead she looks thoughtful, even sad. Héctor blinks at her and then takes a hesitant step forward, voice softening.

"Imelda?"

She holds up a hand; Héctor goes still, patient as she sorts through her thoughts.

"I haven't been fair to you," she says at last. Héctor frowns and fidgets, fingers drumming lightly against the little notebook.

"I… I really don't think-"

"Héctor, please." Imelda holds her hand up again, shaking her head once. "Let me speak. No chattering for once."

Her expression is somber, but there's fondness in her voice at the request. Héctor nods slowly, and Imelda sighs and folds her hands at her waist before continuing.

"I… misjudged you, Héctor. And I feel I should have realized, back then, that something had gone terribly wrong… and even more when we met again here." She looks up, studying him; Héctor shifts his weight but holds his silence, waiting. "You're… you were so young. But I wouldn't let myself consider it when we… when I was alive, and I didn't, couldn't let myself see it after. I was too angry to listen - to let you even get a word in to explain! - and too proud to put that aside, and…."

She trails off, looking away; Héctor waits a moment more, and when Imelda gives no sign of continuing he speaks up softly.

"Imelda…."

She makes no move to silence him this time, so he steps close and raises a hand to hover alongside her face just shy of touching; she leans into it, her jaw nestled against his palm, and he runs his thumb over her cheekbone, marveling at the delicate texture of the markings etched there.

"Imelda, I've never blamed you for being angry. So you didn't listen - so what? I didn't listen back then. I was stupid, and I… chose badly, and then I couldn't even…." He pauses, taking a long slow breath, and then he brings his other hand up to cradle her face between them, thumbs still tracing over the markings on her cheekbones. "And… we're listening now, aren't we?"

"Mm." She doesn't pull away from his touch, instead half-closing her eyes, and after a moment she moves closer. "Yes. It was… a long time coming. But yes."

"I don't think there's any need to fret over passed time," Héctor says gently. "After all - we have time now."

"So we do." Imelda smiles again at last, moving closer still to embrace him. "You know, Héctor. I'm as bad as Coco - no matter how I tried, I never did forget how much I love you."

"We're the same, then," Héctor replies, "and is that really so bad?"

"I suppose not." Imelda is still smiling, soft-voiced and soft-eyed as she brings one hand up to rest along his cheek, and he leans forward to tentatively rest his forehead against hers.

"Imelda… I-"

The office door clicks open; Héctor jumps and feels Imelda do the same before they both turn to see one of her brothers stepping in, peering at a stack of paperwork in his hands.

"Imelda, if you have a moment I need to retrieve and go over a few things - shouldn't be but a minute."

"Hello, Felipe," Héctor says flatly. Imelda snorts softly at his tone; her brother takes no apparent notice, focused on the papers he's shuffling through.

"Hello, Héctor. Imelda, I need the measurements on-" Felipe looks up and stops short, blinking at them over his glasses. "...oh. Oh my."

"Felipe." Imelda's voice is nearly the epitome of patience, containing just the slightest edge. "Can this... by any chance... wait?"

"Wait?" Felipe echoes blankly, still blinking at them as if trying to confirm what he's seeing. "Oh… oh!" He backs away, clearing his throat awkwardly, and stares at them a moment longer. "Er, yes. Certainly." Amusement creeps into his voice, and Héctor can see him struggling not to smile as he steps out. "Terribly sorry, I'll, ah… goodbye."

The office door clicks firmly behind Felipe as he hurries out, footsteps thudding down the hall. Héctor sighs, biting back a smile as he looks down at Imelda.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it? By my count that is the one thousand and eighty-second time one of your brothers has interrupted us."

"What?" Imelda stares at him a moment, taken aback. Then she frowns, shaking her head slightly. "No… no, that's too low. It must be closer to three thousand and… oh, one twenty-six?"

"You're mistaken, mi querida." Héctor is all seriousness, tone gentle and expression bland. "Two thousand and forty-four of those are both of them interrupting at once, which is distinct from one or the other."

"As usual, mi amor, you are oversimplifying the situation." Imelda matches him in gravity, lightly jabbing a finger into his sternum. "You're not accounting for one fetching the other before interrupting, which would naturally count for both 'one brother' and 'both brothers'."

"Oh come on - you can't muddle things like that, Imelda – we can only consider results in these circumstances." Héctor can't contain himself anymore, not really - his voice is laced with laughter now, try as he might to stifle it, and he can see Imelda's smile even as she dips her head to hide it.

"You're not doing it justice that way, Héctor, it's the nuance of the thing we need to think about."

Imelda still manages a more or less serious tone, but Héctor can feel her shake with suppressed laughter and that's all it takes – his own laugh bubbles up in earnest, and she laughs aloud when she hears it, and a second later he's leaning against the desk and she's leaning against him as they giggle in each others' arms like a pair of teenagers.

"He's going to talk, you know," Héctor says once they recover. "He probably ran straight to Óscar to gossip, and neither of us are going to hear an end to it." He doesn't mind that notion at all, really, but Imelda just might; he peers down at her, trying to gauge her reaction, and she tightens her grip, fingers curling into the back of Héctor's shirt as she rests her head against his shoulder.

"Let him, then - they'll have their fun sooner or later." She sighs, shifting against him but not looking up. "They're all well aware of how horribly stubborn I've been - I probably have it coming."

"Stubborn? You?" He gently tips her chin up with one hand, brows raised. "Never! I won't believe a word of it!"

She scoffs, thumping his chest with one fist - but he can hear the laugh under it, and there's no force behind the blow, and the next moment she's looking up at him with something close to shyness.

"Héctor," she says, very softly and very slowly, "if... after all this time, I asked you to stay… what would you say?"

He leans forward, touching his forehead to hers once more.

"I would thank you," he says, just as soft and slow, "for the chance to make the right choice."

"You'll stay, then?" she all but whispers, and Héctor nods.

"As long as you'll have me." He leans back a bit, studying her solemn expression, and grins. "So - I really am the love of your life?"

She laughs just as he's hoping she will, lightly thumping his chest again, and he laughs along giddily, arms tight about her.

"You are a clown, Héctor Rivera."

"I am," he agrees. "A clown who loves you very much."

"I love a clown, then. Hardly a new development."

She moves her hand up to the back of his head, tugging him down as she leans up; he obligingly leans down to meet her, and this time there's no interruption.