Chapter Text
Marco leaned against the doorway of the ofrenda room, smiling as he watched Miguel holding Socorro, explaining who everyone was one by one.
“And there's Tía Rosita... and your Tía Victoria... and those two are Oscar and Felipe.”
Socorro--who he still couldn’t believe was this big now-- gurgled happily, reaching out towards the pictures that lined the ofrenda. It looked the same as it did every year, loaded with offerings and candles and flowers. But this year there were three noticeable differences.
The first was that the photo on the top had been mended, with Papa Hector smiling down at them from his place at Mama Imelda and baby Coco’s side.
The next was the photo of Mama Coco as they’d all known her, revenantly placed by a misty eyed Mama Elena.
And the last…
On the left of Mama Coco’s photo was a polaroid of a young girl, maybe about twenty, with short wavy hair and golden eyes, smiling up at the world like she couldn’t wait to take it on, a gold-eyed baby held in her arms.
“These aren't just old pictures,” Miguel went on, explaining to Socorro, “They’re our family, and they’re counting on us to remember them.”
The woman they’d tracked down in Oaxaca, Gloria, had given Marco many pictures of his mother, mostly ones they’d taken together as young girls. But this was the one that he liked best. It was the one where she looked the healthiest, and the happiest. It was how he wanted to remember her.
Marco took in the photos a moment longer, his mind wandering back over the year, over the changes that had taken place, both in his family, and in himself. Things he’d once never have thought possible had happened to him in more way than one. And the next year would likely hold more--though hopefully not of the getting cursed variety. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. He’d settle for small miracles now, like the one that was going to take place tonight.
“Hey hermanito.” He said with a smile, coming up to stand by Miguel’s side. “It’s almost time, we better get out there.”
***
The courtyard of the Rivera hacienda had been done up and decorated like never before in honor of the holiday--and of the special event taking place that night.
Because tonight the Rivera children were giving their very first concert together, playing a song written by Miguel himself, with parts for all of them.
They’d been working at it for months, all by themselves, trying to keep the song a surprise for the adults. It hadn’t been an easy task either. All the adults had suddenly begun remembering things they’d left or forgotten in the rooms the children tried to practice in--even Mama Elena.
Finally they’d taken to practicing in empty classrooms after school or in the woods outside Santa Cecilia just to get away from all the prying eyes.
“This is ridiculous!” Rosa had complained once as they trekked along a dry creek bed, cradling her violin case close to her chest as if expecting the trees around them to try and grab it from her. “I feel like an outlaw!”
“Now you know how we felt.” Miguel had said with a laugh ,stepping carefully from boulder to boulder.
“Yeah Rositita ,” Marco smirked as he carried Abel’s accordion, “Consider it a bonding experience.”
His use of her hated nickname had quickly lead the two into a battle of snipping, with Miguel trying to keep the peace, while Abel, who’d been chosen to carry the guitars on that particular trip, and was not enjoying it, muttered obliviously, “I’m just glad none of us decided to start playing the cello .”
But despite prying parents and frayed nerves, the Rivera cousins were finally ready.
“Excited?” Marco asked as he and his siblings looked around at the decorations.
“ Por supuesto !” Miguel grinned, practically bouncing as he walked. “I just gotta go grab the guitar! I’ll be right back!”
And handing Socorro off to Marco, he raced towards the newest addition to the Rivera home, the Hector Rivera Museum (tours weekdays from 9 to 5 ) where all of the memorabilia they had of Papa Hector was housed.
Miguel had practiced mostly on his own guitar, but tonight--tonight he was playing Papa Hector’s.
Marco still felt a little weird each time he looked at that guitar. And it wasn’t just because of what his ancestor had done to get hold of it. It wasn’t even that the guitar had cursed them. No, it was the fact that he was sure that it had been the guitar that had brought him back from the brink of death. Maybe it had taken pity on him, maybe it had felt that his efforts that night for Hector and Miguel had made up for what De la Cruz did...as much as a guitar could feel anything anyway. He didn’t try to dwell on it too much. But whatever had happened, he was grateful. Grateful to be alive--and with his family.
Besides, he had his own guitar now, a gift for his seventeenth birthday last month. And speaking of which, he better go make sure that Manny and Benny hadn’t gotten their hands on it again.
“Mama!” He called as he entered the kitchen. “Can you take Socorro for a minute? I gotta go tune my--”
He stopped in his tracks when he saw what was laying across the kitchen table. Two beautiful, brand new, expertly tailored charro suits, complete with sombreros. One red, one blue, and just the right sizes for him and Miguel.
“Do you like them?” Papa asked with a smile, coming up behind Marco and clapping him proudly on the shoulder.
“They’re... wow …”
“Consider this our surprise for you two.” Mama said, picking up Socorro and kissing him on the cheek.
Marco didn’t know what to say. He ran his hand over the material of his suit, too touched to do anything but stare. To think, one year ago he’d had to hid out in an increasingly small attic to keep his parents from finding out about his music. And now...
“Thank you” he whispered, looking up at his parents. His eyes felt oddly hot, and he quickly looked back down at the suits to keep them from seeing the sheen of tears. He thought Mama might have noticed anyway, but he was saved from the embarrassment by Miguel, who came bounding into the kitchen, Papa Hector’s guitar in his hands and a grin on his face.
“Ok I’m ready--- Woah! ”
The boy ran quickly over the table and picked up the red jacket, holding it up to his chest, grinning from ear to ear.
“Que chido, eh hermanito?” Marco said brightly, tossing his own sombrero onto his head with a flip and pulling it down to a jaunty angle.
“I’ll say!” Miguel answered, putting on his own. He looked over at Marco with a proud grin, which suddenly turned into a smirk.
“What?” Marco asked, lifting the brim of his hat back to its normal position.
“Oh, nothing.” Miguel said, his voice wavering a little, as if he was trying to hold back a laugh. “I was just thinking… blue really does bring out your eyes.”
Marco gave Miguel a whack with his sombrero as the younger boy finally gave into his laugher, their parents looking on in bemused confusion.
***
Hector’s heart had never felt so full.
The golden glow that surrounded the station seemed to match the feelings inside him. The last year had been nothing short of a miracle. Each day after the events of last Dia de Los Muertos had seemed like a dream come true, that only got better the longer it went on.
His bones were whiter and stronger now then they’d been in decades. Marco and Miguel had been busy on the other side making sure he was remembered, and not just by the family. Most of the city now knew and accepted his role as the real writer of De la Cruz’s songs, but new arrivals brought new that the Land of the Living was slowly coming to terms with the revelation as well.
De la Cruz had been locked away, given the maximum sentence the Land of the Dead had for murderers who’d been unconvicted in life. His lawyers were working desperately to find someway out of it, but nobody thought they stood much of a chance. It’s hard to beat a taped confession broadcast in front of thousands of people, especially when the confession was made while trying to murder somebody else.
Slowly but surely, he and Imelda had managed to patch things back together. ( It helped that she now had De la Cruz to vent her decades of anger on instead of him.) Things weren’t perfect of course. He was still a dreamer with his head in the clouds, and she could still be stubborn to a fault. But they’d been able to overcome those differences once in life, doing so again in death wasn’t too hard.
Not to mention they were both still head over heels for each other, as everybody who spent more than fifteen minutes around them quickly found out. Each day he got to spend with Imelda was a gift and a joy. A blessing he still wasn’t sure he deserved, no matter how much his new--old--regained family assured him he did.
But the absolute best day of all was the day he and Imelda had been summoned to the Department of Family Reunions, and he’d finally been able to give Coco her long awaited hug. And there been a lot of hugging and kissing and crying and hugging again in the days following. And talking. He had so much to catch up on. Coco’s entire life. He’d heard so much about her growing up from Imelda and the twins, and her later life from Julio and Rosita and Victoria. But to get to talk with Coco herself, to get to hold her in his arms again---that had been the greatest blessing of all.
Music had returned to the Rivera home in the Land of the Dead, just as it had in the living. And the family sang and danced as if they were trying to cram all the years they’d missed doing so into one. Hector danced with Imelda, sang with Coco, traded jokes with the Twins and Julio, shared stories with Rosita, taught Victoria how to sing, and utterly failed at making shoes.
He couldn’t have been happier.
And now, now after so many years--he was finally going to cross the bridge, and he was crossing it with his family.
“ Perdoname …” A quiet voice, accompanied by a tap on his shoulder, cut into Hector’s thoughts, and he turned to see a young female skeleton, who looked as though she’d died around the same age as himself (although decades later if her decidedly nineties fashion choices were any clue) bouncing nervously, clutching at a piece of paper.
“A-are you Hector Rivera?” She asked breathlessly, her hazel eyes wide and shining with excitement as she nervously ran a hand through her short, wavy hair.
Imelda gave a distinct groan.
Ever since the revelation at the Sunrise Spectacular the Riveras had had to put up with all sorts of interruptions. From requests for interviews to random strangers like this one. Most were willing to respect the family’s privacy when they requested it, but a few of the more...d etermined had been subjected to Imelda’s boot--or been chased off by Pepita. And the female ones were always determined. There seemed to be something about musicians who died tragically young that drew them like moths to a flame.
“I’m sorry.” Imelda said quickly, tugging Hector aside and sounding anything but sorry. “But we were just about to leave to visit our family, so we don’t have any time right now for autographs--”
“Oh no, I’m not a fan--” The skeleton said quickly, before rapidly stuttering , “I mean-- I am a fan but--”
Hector had the feeling that the woman would have been blushing furiously at this point if she’d still had skin. And she seemed more nervous than ever as Imelda’s glare continued to bore down on her. She twisted the piece of paper awkwardly as she rambled, her words coming out in a stream.
“I--I didn’t mean to interrupt your visit or anything, it’s just that when they sent me the notice I was so excited I rushed over here without really thinking, and then the officer at the desk told me to find you because I’ve never been to Santa Cecilia before since the only person who really puts up my photo is my amiga Gloria but she lives in Oaxaca so I wouldn’t know the house and since you were going there anyway--”
“Niña, what are you talking about?”
Imelda’s question cut off the skeleton mid sentence, and she gulped loudly.
“I--um--well--oh here .” She said quickly, holding the piece of paper out towards Hector and edging away ever so slightly from Imelda.
Hector took the paper, eyeing it questioningly.
And then his eyes went wide.
Estimada Srta. Fuentes:
This notice is to inform you that a new ofrenda option as been opened to you in the town of Santa Cecilia, Oaxaca México. The ofrenda is located in la calle Molina, número 19, La Zapatería de la Familia Rivera.
If you would like to visit this ofrenda please report to the Santa Cecilia Gate at Marigold Grand Central Station on Dia de los Muertos.
Cordialmente:
El Departamento de Reuniones Familiares
Hector looked back up at the skeleton girl, who looked back at him, anxiously and awkwardly. Imelda was still glaring, but she seemed more confused then upset now. The rest of the family was eyeing both her and Hector expectantly, waiting for one of them to finally explain what was going on.
“What’s your name senorita?” Coco finally asked kindly, coming up to the skeleton girl and patting her on the arm in a way that seemed to help calm her down.
“Simone Fuentes.” She said after taking a breath, “I--well you see I’m--well I think I’m your--um--”
“She’s Marco’s mother.” Hector said, still staring at the young woman standing before him.
The entire family turned to stare at Hector, and then Simone, and then back to Hector again.
“How is he?” Simone asked quickly, her nervousness returning. “That was him, wasn’t it? At the Spectacular? Fighting with...with…”
Her voice trailed off, and she ducked her head, as though ashamed. And Hector suddenly realised she probably was. De la Cruz was, after all, her great-grandfather. She didn’t know that they knew of course. But she knew. She’d had to deal with knowing she was related to a murderer, who’d killed the man she was currently standing in front of, who’d tried to kill a little boy, who’d tried to kill her own son . And if she was anything like the rest of the city, she’d once been a fan of the mariachi, she’d probably been proud to be related to him, no matter how legitimately. And now…
Now she’d had to deal with the truth all year, all alone.
“I-I’m sorry…” Simone said quietly, backing away from the group. “I shouldn’t have interrupted…I’ll...I’ll go now...”
She turned away, ready to disappear back into the rush of people--but was stopped as Hector reached out and touched her shoulder.
“You know, I used to be a tour guide.” He said with a smile, “ How ‘bout a tour of Santa Cecilia?”
***
Night had fallen, fireworks were already lighting the sky above Santa Cecilia. The Riveras were all assembled in the courtyard. Everyone’s eyes were on Miguel, dressed in his new charro suit and looking every bit the real musician. The cousins were waiting for his signal to begin, the adults were waiting to hear what they had in store.
The brothers stood together on the old well, which had been boarded up to create a small stage, Rosa and Abel flanked them on either side, violin and accordion held at the ready.
Miguel looked out at his family with excitement, but Marco noticed that he was clutching Papa Hector’s guitar rather tightly. He wasn’t surprised if the younger boy was a bit nervous. After all, this wasn’t just any song he was playing. It was his song, his very first.
Marco had watched Miguel working at it for weeks, from the very first night when he’d sprung awake at three am to start frantically writing the first ideas down, to last night, when he’d still been making last minute checks on Rosa’s violin. He’d worked so hard on this, and it was a great song. Marco knew it, Rosa and Abel knew it, and Marco wasn’t about to let Miguel himself doubt it.
“Hey,” Marco whispered, stepping just a bit closer to Miguel, fiddling with his guitar strings to stall for time. “Remember what Papa Hector said? About singing to someone you love? Well, everybody here already loves you. So relax, and go on hermanito.” He finished, hoisting his guitar up and grinning. “I’ll be right behind you.”
And Miguel, grinning back, took a deep breath and began his song.
“ Say that I’m crazy, or call me a fool, but last night it seemed that I dreamed about you… ”
The words came out strong and clear, flowing smoothly as Miguel played, Papa Hector’s guitar held up proudly for all to see. The light bounced off of the golden “tooth” as Miguel strummed, in a way that made it seem like the guitar was smiling back at the listening crowd.
Miguel played a little longer, letting the notes build upon each other, before nodding over in Marco’s direction. Marco nodded back, and let his own guitar join in as he sang the next line.
“ When I opened my mouth what came out was a song, and you knew every word and we all sang along .”
Now the two boys glanced back at their cousins, who quickly joined in, their instruments flowing expertly into the strumming of the guitars. The song swelled, picking up tempo as the brothers sang out together.
“To a melody played on the strings of our souls, and rhythm that rattled us down to the bone. Our love for eachother with live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón!”
The adults were clapping along with the rhythm now, wide grins on their faces and more then a few tears in their eyes. As they played, Marco noticed that Dante had shown up to joined the festivities--along lo with an oddly familiar looking alleycat. He thought he saw something else as well, a sort of flickering in the lights, as if something, or someone, was moving in front of them, like a translucent shadow. But then he blinked, and the effect was gone
“Our love for eachother with live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón!”
Both boys had left the makeshift stage now, moving about the courtyard, dancing in between family members, with Rosa and Abel following, each one playing their instruments and singing along with such passion that it felt like the music was playing them as they launched into the final, triumphant chorus.
“Ay mi familia! Oiga mi gente! Canten a coro! Let it be known, our love for eachother will live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón!”
The entire family burst into applause and cheers as the song finished off, the last notes drifting out over the rooftops and up into the firework emblazoned sky. Papa and Tio Berto hoisted Miguel up onto their shoulders, Marco stepping aside with a grin so that they could stand on top the stage, even as Tia Gloria told them all to get off because the lid wasn’t built to take that much weight.
The festivities carried on into the night, the family playing games and sharing stories of their ancestors as they shared their meal. A warm feeling settled around Marco was he watched his family gathered together. He could almost imagine Papa Hector and Mama Imelda and Mama Coco right there with them. With a pleasant start, he realized that they probably were . The contentment he felt deepened as he pondered the thought, wondering if Papa Hector was congratulating Miguel right now, if Mama Coco and Tia Victoria where embracing Mama Elena. He could almost feel the embrace himself as he imagined it.
In fact, he did feel something--like someone had reached out to touch his shoulder. Marco turned to look--
But there was nothing there...
Nothing but the moonlight shining down on him.
Slowly, still not quite sure what he was feeling, Marco began strumming at his guitar, and with his voice barely above a whisper, he sang:
“ Luna Lunera, cascabelera. Ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera. Dile que me muero, que tenga compasión, dile que se apiade de mi corazón…”
The warm feeling enveloped him, bringing tears to his eyes that he didn’t even try to fight, and in that moment, Marco heard something, maybe an echo, maybe a whisper, quite close to him say:
“ Oh, mi corazón... ”
And Marco knew then, that at last all of his family was together once more.
The End.