Chapter Text
“Good morning, Hector!”
Hector groaned and buried his head in the pillows. “Imelda...Imelda it’s too early for this…” He yelped as the covers were yanked off of him, followed swiftly by the pillows. He looked up indignantly at his wife, who was fluffing the pillows and shaking out the bedspread with brisk efficiency.
“So what? We’re dead, we don’t actually need to sleep.”
“But we can. And I was .”
Imelda turned her look on him. Hector knew that look well; Imelda had turned it on him ever since they were children. One hand cocked on her hip, mouth twisted to the side, one eyebrow raised--or, well, it would have been had she still had eyebrows. But it was her look all the same.
Hector sighed and slowly got off their bed. “Point taken, mi amor.”
Imelda nodded. “Good. We’re going to the Department of Afterlife Affairs today to talk about the shantytown.”
“I remember.” He watched as she finished making the bed--the bed that had been only Imelda’s for so long, and was now theirs. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled by that, by the miracle that meant he could curl up next to her and hold her in his arms again as they slept. Even if they didn’t technically need to sleep anymore.
A light smack on his arm jolted him out of his reverie, and Imelda was turning that look on him again. “Come, we haven’t got all day.”
He grabbed his hat off the hook by the door and adjusted it on his head. “I’m ready.”
The rest of the family had been spared this particular errand. As he tried to keep up with Imelda’s brisk stride, Hector admitted to himself that it was nice to go somewhere with only her. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the rest of the family yet--Julio and Rosita had been Coco’s age when he left Santa Cecelia for the last time, and he hadn’t known their family well. They couldn’t be expected to remember him. Victoria hadn’t even been born yet. And Oscar and Felipe...they certainly knew him, but Hector got the sense from them that they hadn’t quite forgiven him for abandoning their sister, even if they knew now that it wasn’t entirely his fault.
“Are you listening to me?”
Hector shook his head fiercely to clear it, then looked sheepishly at Imelda. “Sorry, mi amor, I was distracted. What were you saying?”
“I said that I’m going to need your support with whoever we talk to. Tell them what it was like living in the shantytown.”
“Are you sure they’ll listen to me?”
“Of course they will! If they know what’s good for them.”
That was not as reassuring as Imelda probably thought it was.
He squeaked in surprise when he felt fingerbones wrapping around his own. Imelda paid no attention, as though she wasn’t aware that her hand had slipped into his, but Hector felt a warmth spread from his hand throughout his entire skeleton. He gently squeezed back, feeling a ridiculous grin spread over his face.
Imelda glanced at him and shook her head. “You’ll never keep up with me if I don’t drag you along,” she said tartly.
“Whatever you say, Imelda,” Hector said, the grin still firmly in place. “Whatever you say.”
The Department of Afterlife Affairs was much bigger than Hector expected, a huge, flat-topped building covered in pale orange stucco. And so many people going in and out! He stopped short for a moment, overwhelmed, but Imelda released his hand and strode on ahead, and he had no choice but to scurry after her or risk losing her in the crowd.
They joined a line to one of the receptionists, Imelda tapping her foot impatiently as they stood. Hector glanced at a clock on the wall and watched the hands move. It was a good half hour before they reached the front of the line and the “Please Wait for Next Receptionist” sign that stood like a lone sentinel against the tsunami of Imelda’s impatience.
“Almost there,” Hector said, more to reassure himself than Imelda. She didn’t seem to hear him anyway.
“Next,” drawled the receptionist.
Imelda strode up the receptionist, Hector trailing nervously two steps behind. “Who in this building is in charge of housing management?” Imelda asked.
The receptionist was chewing a wad of bubblegum. She blew a bubble and let it pop before she answered. “In charge of what?”
Oh no . Hector glanced nervously at Imelda, but so far she only seemed a little irritated. That was a good sign.
“Housing management. I know there’s somebody. I’ve had to file paperwork for every member of my family that’s joined me at the hacienda here in the afterlife, so I’m sure somebody is in charge of wherever that paperwork goes.” Imelda smiled tightly.
“I mean, I guess that makes sense.” Another bubble. Another pop. More chewing.
After a minute or so of observing the receptionist chew her bubblegum, Imelda said, “So?”
“So what?”
“So, who is it?”
“Who is what?”
“In charge of housing management?”
“Oh.” Chew chew, bubble, pop, chew. “Dunno.”
Hector laid a hand on Imelda’s arm. “Imelda…”
She shook him off. “Why don’t you check?” Imelda asked. “You have one of those...things.” She waved a hand at the receptionist’s computer.
The receptionist chewed some more. “It’s broken.”
That did it for Imelda. She took off her boot and leaned over the desk so she could shake it directly in the receptionist’s face. “Now listen,” she said, the volume of her voice rising. “I know you have better things to do with your day than help me--chewing that gum like a cow chews cud, for instance--but all I need is for you to tell me who I need to talk to to discuss housing!”
As the eyes of every skeleton nearby turned to look at them, Hector wondered if the floor would do him the kindness of opening up underneath him and swallowing him whole.
The receptionist narrowed her eyes. “Security!”
“Well,” Hector said brightly, as they sat on the steps to the Department of Afterlife Affairs, “that could have gone worse.”
Imelda sighed. “I lost my temper.”
Hector looked at her in surprise. She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Mi amor, you know I love you, but I don’t remember a single moment I’ve known you where you have lost your temper and then admitted it afterwards.”
Imelda sputtered indignantly. “What--no! I have certainly lost my temper, yes, but I’ve been able to admit it afterwards! And apologize!”
Hector chuckled. “When?”
“Well, there was one time when Coco--” she paused and looked at him, suddenly wary.
Hector tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”
“I--Coco asked me once if she could learn to play guitar. In honor of you.” Imelda looked away.
Hector felt a tightness in his non-existent throat. “I--I see. And you got angry at her?”
Imelda turned back to him, looked at his face, then closed her eyes and hung her head. “It was two years after you left. I’d just heard that Ernesto had been...discovered? That’s the word they use? Anyway. I’d heard that Ernesto had been discovered, and there was no mention of you, no sign of you...I tried to send telegrams to Ernesto, tried to write him, anything. He never responded.
“I’d finally given up hope that you were coming back. That was when Coco found your old guitar. The first one, the one you had when we were young.”
Hector nodded. He couldn’t speak.
“She came running up to me, babbling about how she wanted to learn guitar like her Papa so she could surprise him when he came back and I--I--”
She trailed off. Hector opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Imelda continued before he could.
“I smashed it.”
Hector blinked. “You smashed my old guitar?”
Imelda nodded. She’d opened her eyes again, at some point, but she still didn’t look at him. “I just pulled it out of her hands and I--I smashed it on the cobblestones right in front of her.”
“I courted you with that guitar.”
“I hated myself for it immediately. But then I had to calm Coco down, and explain that she didn’t do anything wrong, that I just lost my temper, that you…”
Hector almost missed her words, so quietly did she speak. “That you weren’t coming home.”
“Imelda…”
“I buried it. I had a funeral for your guitar.” Imelda smiled a small smile, but it was a bitter thing, with no joy in it. “I sang to it. That was the last time I sang until the night Miguel showed up.”
Hector looked down at his feet. “I’m glad you told me.”
Imelda didn’t look at him, but she leaned her head on his shoulder. Hector looked at her in surprise, then slowly brought his arm around to hold her. She sighed.
“I suppose we should go home. I can send Oscar and Felipe to deal with housing management. Maybe if I write them a list of questions to ask…”
Hector thought for a moment, Later, he would digest what she had told him. Later, perhaps, they would talk more about what had happened since they had last parted in the living world--it would probably benefit them both. But for now…
“I think I have an idea on how to get in,” he said.
Imelda pulled back from his embrace enough to give him her look . “You have an idea on how to get in.”
“Yes.” Hector hopped up and helped Imelda to her feet. “But first we need some supplies.”