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Héctor’s shoes sounded heavy in his ears as he paced. Thump. Thump. Thump. He’d been wearing them for a few months, now, but he still hadn’t gotten used to the sound.
“Will you stop that?” Imelda finally snapped. “You’re wearing a hole in the floor.”
“Sorry, sorry!” The thumps stopped. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“What’s on your mind, Papá?” Coco asked calmly.
“I guess I’m just… nervous. About November.” And Día de Muertos, went unspoken.
“What do you have to be nervous about?” said Imelda, pausing in her sewing. “It will be fine.”
Héctor huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. Coco saved my picture and gave it to Miguel, who will make sure it gets put on the ofrenda. And of course, I believe you about that, and I trust Miguel, but…”
“But?” Coco prompted.
“What if it gets lost? Or what if taping it together wasn’t enough to make it work. What if the photo works and I get through the checkpoint, but then the bridge just doesn’t hold me up and I sink through the petals?” Without realizing it, he’d started pacing again, thump, thump, thump, SQUEAK!
Imelda had somehow appeared in his path, and he wind milled a bit to stop his momentum before he ran into her. Her hands were on her hips, her eyes narrowed.
“Héctor. Your feet will not sink through the bridge. Do you know why?”
He shook his head mutely.
“Look at your feet. You are wearing Rivera shoes, and Rivera shoes are the best support you could ask for. Those shoes were made with the faith and love of your family, and the very idea of them not holding you up on that bridge is preposterous.”
“I…” Héctor’s eyes were watering. “You’re right, Imelda. I should not have doubted my family. Thank you.”
“Oh, we don’t mind,” put in Coco, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re cute when you’re worried, Papá.”
“Cute?” he exclaimed, splaying a hand against his chest. “Me? Never! I’m much too dignified to be cute. You should have more respect for your Papá.”
Imelda crossed her arms, and raised a browbone. “I don’t know, Héctor, I think she may have a point.”
“Oh.” If he had skin, he would have blushed. “Well. In that case, then… Maybe I should be worried more often.”