4. Chapter 4

A/N: Edited 6/24/22 for spelling, grammar, to move some physical descriptions closer to the start of the story, and minor timeline adjustments that have no bearing on the overall plot.

Chapter 4

Lucía felt as though she were in some sort of strange dream. Twelve people. Twelve people would be staying at her home for the next – oh, Papá said two, possibly three weeks! And if they ran into trouble rebuilding the casita, it could be longer.

Oh, mercy. She hoped there would be no trouble rebuilding the casita.

She began running through the list of things she would need – food, blankets, mattresses – she hadn't even begun to think of what she'd need to do to clean out Alejandro's studio, but, now that she did think of it - instead of butting up against a wall of absolute, stubborn refusal brought on by grief, as she had in the past – she felt determined. Alejandro would want this. He would want to use his home to help someone else. It reinforced her decision. She would set up the other rooms first, and then tackle his.

But first – bedding and blankets.

Lucía spotted her sister packing up her family's picnic blankets as the town began to stir, motivated to continue working after their lunch and short siesta.

It was easy to tell Sofia and Lucía were sisters – they had similar straight, thin noses, rounded jawlines, and facial structures - though there were several differences between them. Lucía's hair was a wavy, rich brown that - when not braided - reached to her mid-back. Sofia's was jet black, shorter, and curlier. Where Lucía had waves, Sofia had ringlets. Sofia had quickly caught up to her sister in height and overtook her before her thirteenth birthday. She ended up the taller of the two, even though she was younger; she inherited her height from their madre. Lucía was shorter, like their Papá, and curvier. After having five children, Sofia was still as lithe as a cornstalk. Lucía, on the other hand, still had a little bit of the pancita she'd gained from being pregnant with Josefina.

Lucía's skin was caramel colored; Sofia's was the color of cafe con leche – with a whole lot of leche and just a little bit of cafe. Lucía had warm brown eyes with little flecks of gold in them. Sofia's eyes were a darker, richer brown, so brown they were almost black. Lucía took after Papá; Sofia had her madre's eyes but took after her Abuelita – or so they'd been told. They'd never had the opportunity to meet their grandparents.

While there were slight variations in their looks, there were much wider variations in their personalities. Growing up, Lucía had preferred the adventures in books and stories to the adventures in the outside world. Sofia had taken to climbing trees and shimmying up poles at the ripe age of four. Where Lucía asked, Sofia commanded. Where Lucía hung back and observed, Sofia jumped in and took charge. Lucía had softened Sofia's bluntness and Sofia had given her older hermana a poke in the butt when she needed it. Despite being opposites, they were close as children, and had never grown apart. Even now, they felt each other's joys and sorrows acutely. Lucía just hoped she'd get more joy than sorrow from Sofia over what she and Papá had just agreed to do.

"Sofia!" She walked up to her sister, a nervous grin on her face.

"Luci! Did you have a good rest? The sancocho was delicious. What were you and Papá talking with the Madrigals about?" She shook the last of the grass off of the last blanket, and deftly folded it in her arms.

"Well," Lucía said slowly. "I need to borrow about…twenty blankets or so."

Sofia froze. "Twenty - " She stared at her sister, an incredulous expression on her face, and then looked in the direction of the Madrigals, and back at her sister. "You didn't." She whispered forcefully.

"We did." Lucía whispered back – and thus began a rapid-fire, hushed back and forth.

"Luci!"

"It was the right thing to do."

"Luci!"

"Bruno just came back, and they wanted to stay together, as a family."

"Lucía…"

"There wasn't enough room for them all to stay together at la Casa Alvarez."

"Lucía…"

"Papá and Josefina will stay in my room with me."

"Lucía…"

"Help me."

"Lucía!"

"Help me!"

Sofia narrowed her gaze at her sister. "Mmmm – hmmm."

"Help me, please."

"Lucía María Moreno-Hernandez!"

"Sofia Esperanza Rojas-Hernandez!"

When her sister put her hand on her hip and pursed her lips, Lucía knew she was in trouble.

"I'm cleaning out Alejandro's studio so they have three rooms to use."

Sofia's hand slipped right off of her hip, and her expression softened. "Luci…"

"Please help me," she whispered, her eyes wide. "I don't know how to take care of this many people."

Sofia narrowed her eyes at her. "Fine. I'll gather all the extra blankets at our house and ask my in-laws for the rest. Between Lorenzo's three brothers and us, we'll probably have a few spare mattresses to bring over, too. We'll clean out one of the carts and I'll send Mateo over with them as soon as he gathers them. I'm sure we'll have some food to send as well, we'll see if we can collect the leftovers from lunch. My only condition," she added when seeing Lucía's grateful look, "Is that you wash everything before you return it."

Lucía gave her sister a horrified look – what was she insinuating?!

Sofia smacked her on the arm good-naturedly. "I have five children, chica loca! And two of them are teenage boys! I will not be adding twenty extra linens to my schedule!"

Lucía laughed. "Okay, okay, I promise – I promise!"

After lunch, Padre Tomás insisted the Madrigals take a break from the heavy labor and sort through the pile of possessions on the lawn. Surprisingly, many of Julieta's herbs and bottles of medicinal extracts were intact. They had found a large serving spoon and several pots and pans as well, though most of the plates, bowls, and cups were at least cracked, if not completely destroyed. All of Isabela's flowers had been crushed, and it seemed as though the only article of Isabela's clothing that had survived was the dress she was wearing. Thankfully, everyone else found enough to piece together another outfit to wear. Several of Luisa's weights and a book on Greek mythology with its cover torn off had made it out of the rubble. Mirabel's bed – one of the only beds in the home that had been made without magic – had survived, dented and dinged but still usable - though there wasn't really anywhere they could put it at the moment, aside from under the sprawling mahogany tree in the yard. They had also found that basket of sewing supplies, which she'd used to mend Antonio's stuffed jaguar. The basket was a little worse for the wear but all the things inside it were still perfectly good. A mirror with only a small crack in the frame from Camilo's room joined the pile of things to keep. Dolores found a small hummingbird figure carved from wood that her Papá had gifted her when she was younger. Its thin, wide-spread wings and delicate beak remained intact. Though the frame was broken, the portrait of Pedro was otherwise unharmed. Antonio, of course, had his stuffed jaguar. Everyone had found at least some piece of their home to keep. Even Bruno found a few of the picture props he'd used for his rats' telenovelas.

As they sorted through everything, a sudden movement drew Bruno's attention. Two beady eyes and a delicate little nose peeked out from behind Mirabel's basket.

"Lareina!" He whispered.

At his voice, several other little noses poked out from the grass and surrounding objects.

"Guys! You're all here!" He crouched down in the grass, holding out his hand. His beloved rats slowly crept out from their hiding places.

"You are all here, right?" Bruno muttered after a moment, counting and re-counting them.

"Bruno?" Pepa asked, giving him a concerned glance as she shook dust off of one of Dolores's skirts.

"Nothing!" He said frantically, whipping around to hide his little friends. "Nothing. Just – you know, talking to myself. Habit I'll have to break, eventually. Ten years in solitude, and all that – heh." He chuckled nervously.

His sister gave him a skeptical sideways glance, but shook her head, gave him what was meant to be an encouraging smile, and continued on with her task.

He turned back to the rats. "Wait here, okay?"

He made a quick trip to the tables that had held the food for the village at lunch, and grabbed a couple of leftover arepas before they were packed away, tucking them into his pockets.

When he returned, he crouched down and held his hand out once again. The rats smelled both him and the food he'd brought, and eagerly crept up his arm and leg and settled into his pockets for a snack.

When Bruno turned around, Antonio was staring at him, his eyes wide and mouth spreading into a wide grin.

Bruno froze, and then smiled and put his finger to his lips. "Shhhhh."

Antonio nodded, but his smile didn't leave his face for the rest of the afternoon.

After discussing the arrangements with her sister and asking some of their neighbors for any spare mattresses, as well as some dishes and chairs, Lucía, Josefina, and Papá headed home. Josefina could not stop skipping, wondering aloud what it would be like to have that many people in their home at once.

"It will be like Tía Sofia's house! It will be even more people than at Tía Sofia's house! Do you think Antonio will like my room? He should be in my room, Mamá. He can read my books and play with my toys, except not Beatriz because she is my special doll that Papá made for me, so she will come with me. We will have a sleepover, Mamá! It will be you and me and Abuelo. And Beatriz. Except can I also keep my blanket? I will share if Antonio needs it but it is my favorite. How long are they staying? What are we making for dinner? What are we making for breakfast? What - "

Lucía and Papá looked at each other over her head and laughed quietly, the little girl's exuberance lifting their spirits as well.

Josefina was much less enthusiastic when she realized that having guests meant cleaning in preparation for them. Still, when Lucía promised that Josefina only needed to help clean her room, and not every room, she was appeased. Papá worked on his room while Lucía helped Josefina with hers. They made quick work of tidying and moving the clothes and personal items they would all need into Lucía's bedroom. Then came the dusting, sweeping, and mopping the floors. Josefina pouted until Lucía reminded her that she could pretend to be Cenicienta (1). Josefina then sang sweetly about her misfortune in her thin little voice, and had conversations with imaginary rats and birds and capybaras, lamenting how her evil stepmother worked her to the bone. Lucía actually had a hard time convincing Josefina that her bedroom floor was clean enough, and suggested that instead, she could mop the kitchen floor if she wanted to do more cleaning.

Josefina put her hand to her forehead dramatically. "If you insist, stepmother. Maybe the rats and birds will help me finish my chores in time to go to the ball."

"Oh, you want to go to the ball, do you?!" Lucía laughed and tickled her daughter until she laughed long and loud, and when Josefina tilted her head back, she snuck in a kiss right on Josefina's strawberry shaped birthmark - where her cheek met her jaw, just below her ear. "All right, mi fresita, it is time to move on to what's next."

They met Papá in the hallway. "I believe the rooms are as prepared as they can be, until Mateo arrives with the bedding from your sister." He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her earnestly. "I can go clean the first floor with Josefina, or…I can help you with Alejandro's studio."

Lucía smiled at her Papá. "I think I would like to go in by myself first, if that is all right with you."

He nodded. "Of course, mi querida. Of course."

Lucía managed to keep the memories at bay while she opened the shutters and washed the windows, letting the afternoon breeze into the room. Dust filtered through the sunlight spilling in and a few spiders skittered out of her way, but it was not as bad as she had thought it might be, after being uninhabited for three, nearly four years. She knew Papá had come in now and then to retrieve supplies for the shop, allowing a curious Josefina to tag along on more than one occasion. He must have brought a rag in for some clandestine cleaning as well.

She finished dusting the lamps and the few framed paintings on the wall. Memories tugged at her heart as she straightened a painting of a waterfall at night, the dark purples and blues and greens of the surrounding jungle broken up by the pale cream-colored glow of the moon, stars, and fireflies.

When others commented on the bold colors and lack of realism, Alejandro had liked to say he'd painted it from the memory of his heart, not his mind.

"Come with me, Lucía." Alejandro laughed as he pulled her hand behind him, faster and faster, off the path through the jungle, pulling her higher and higher. She was breathing hard and gasping for him to slow down, but her heart was so light and free she didn't even care about the scrapes on her calf and palm as she steadied herself behind him. They crested the rocky hill and there – there was the most breathtaking waterfall, spilling over smooth, water-worn rocks, the air damp with its spray and heavy with the scent of orchids and sugar flowers.

"It's - beautiful!" Lucía gasped as she caught her breath. When she turned to Alejandro, he was staring at her, his eyes warm and his smile tender.

"Yes, you are."

They had stayed until after dark, and had trouble finding their way home afterward. Papá had been - less than pleased.

They were engaged less than two months later – but by then, Alejandro had won her father over with the sincerity of his love for her.

Lucía shook her head, allowing the sweetness of the memory to override the grief of losing the man responsible for it. It had been so long since she'd been this close to him – to his things. Perhaps too long.

She stepped toward an easel on one side of the room and removed the dusty sheet that had been covering it. It was a painting depicting the Madrigals and their powers, a smaller scale to the murales in town. He'd made it as a rough draft to refer to while painting the larger one. She smirked as she lightly brushed her fingertips over the canvas, feeling his stubborn defiance and passion in every stroke. Alejandro was not the first artist to paint a mural of the Madrigals, but he was the most recent. He'd first painted over an older one ten years ago to add Camilo and Mirabel to the wall just before Camilo's gift ceremony. The murales had been slightly different then. The triplets had originally been painted in birth order – first Julieta, then Pepa, and finally Bruno. But as Julieta and Pepa had married and had children, and Bruno had not - the murales became off-center. Alma had requested a change, and thus – Bruno was placed in the center, so each sister's growing family would balance the other. Alejandro had worked so hard on it, sketching the family from different angles, playing with arrangements and colors and styles, until he was satisfied with the result. At the time, everyone had been.

Then, shortly before Alejandro's death, when Antonio was around a year and a half old, Alma Madrigal had requested that he alter the murales in town. She had wanted him to add Antonio and hinted that he could move Bruno to a…less prominent position.

"Mi amor, what are you doing?" Lucía ducked as a pencil flew over her head, and turned to shield her toddler from any other potential flying objects.

He hadn't answered, hadn't explained what was going on in his head – he had just grinned and kissed her forehead, then Josefina's – and said that he had a problem to solve.

It wasn't until she'd helped him with the murales, handing him chalk to sketch and refilling paints as he worked and making sure he stopped for water and food, that she realized he was not changing Bruno's placement at all. Instead, he kept Bruno in the center of the family, and made some small alterations to his appearance. He toned down the green glow that surrounded him originally, aged his face marginally, and made his hair more unkempt and his expression more – sad. The effect was immediate, if subtle. She looked at the Madrigals and, while her eye was drawn to each one in turn – it was always drawn back to Bruno.

"If we cannot talk about him," Alejandro had said impishly, "We will at least make sure we can see him."

When the murales was revealed, the Madrigal children all retouched and altered to match their now older selves and Antonio added, Señora Madrigal was pleased – until her eyes found Bruno in the dead center of it all. She'd worn a pinched expression until Alejandro had explained his desire to maintain the history of the older mural, which had included all three triplets, and reminded her that with Bruno in the center, the work was more balanced. Señora Madrigal had accepted the explanation, but Lucía knew Alejandro's depiction of Bruno was a form of quiet protest. Bruno was a man with a gift that had become part of the town's history – a part of the town's story – and that is what he painted him as - not as some mysterious, fortune-telling monster or taboo black sheep – but simply a man, using his powers in the midst of his family.

Alejandro would have been pleased to hear Alma's apology to her son. He'd have been happy to see the man reunited with his family. And he'd have been the first to offer his studio -

No.

Lucía sighed. She would like to think that, but the truth was, for all his strengths – his art was also his weakness. If he were in the midst of a project, every moment of his attention would be focused on it. He would never give up his studio. He would surrender his bedroom, his kitchen, his courtyard, without question – but not his studio.

She swallowed the anger and grief that threatened to choke her, and pulled the dusty sheet back over the artwork, folding the easel and tucking it and the accompanying artwork behind the wardrobe-turned-supply closet. She brushed the tears from her eyes, lifted her chin, and made quick work of stacking the rest of his half-finished sketches and paintings into a pile and storing them in the same wardrobe.

Her breath caught and her hands lingered over a sketchbook compiled of pages with as much writing on them as there were drawings. She hesitated to touch it, her mind already spinning with the memory of working on it together with her husband.

"Lucía?" Papá knocked on the doorframe, allowing her time to collect herself and the book, and tuck it away into the wardrobe as well. She wiped her eyes one last time before turning to her father.

"I'm ready for Cenicienta, Papá. You may send in my little floor sweeper." She smiled at him knowing that he'd already seen and understood her tears.

"Ah, mija. Donde hay amor, hay dolor. (2) Sí?" He kissed her forehead lightly.

"Sí," she agreed, sniffing slightly. "But – it was time."

With that, Papá rubbed his hands together. "And, it is also time for me to collect our guests. Mateo has arrived with the mattresses and bedding. I've already helped him move some into Josefina's room, and mine. He will help you carry the rest here and set them up, and I will venture back to the Casa Madrigal to collect our guests. Does that work for you?"

When Lucía nodded, he clapped once and turned on his heel, exclaiming "Vamanos!"

Just as the sun began to set, Señor Hernandez arrived to escort the Madrigals to his home. The rest of the village had slowly cleaned up, calling happy, tired farewells to each other and planning to arrive the next day to begin rebuilding. They had indeed cleared up and sorted through every piece of rubble in one day, which was no small feat. If Señor Martinez was correct in his estimations, they would have the home done in the next two to three weeks at most.

Bruno and his family carried what meager possessions they could with them as they walked. His rats were growing impatient in his pockets – he'd let them out to stretch in a secluded area away from the house a few times, and then encouraged them to come back before anyone could spot them and demand traps.

After their conversation at lunch earlier, the family was pulled in all different directions and did not have much of a chance to talk. Bruno felt the unspoken questions connecting them all like heavy threads. However, though they still had so much to discuss – if they felt at all like he did - they were also feeling sheer physical and emotional exhaustion from the long night and day they had just had. He looked forward to food and sleep.

When they all arrived at Señor Hernandez' home, Josefina was waiting at the door to greet them. "Mamá! She called over her shoulder. "They're here!" She turned back to the family, fidgeting with excitement. "Hola, Madrigals!" She shouted, and then, at her Abuelo's stern look, immediately lowered her voice. "Hola, Madrigals! Come in, come in – welcome!"

The Madrigals smiled at her and stumbled in to the courtyard, held up slightly by Bruno's knocking and 'crossing the threshold' rituals, as Lucía came to greet them, wiping her hands on the apron she had donned. "Welcome, welcome! We are so glad to have you here with us. You must be tired, please sit! We will eat first, and then I can show you to your rooms."

Señor Hernandez said a short prayer of thanks, and the family sat down at the table to eat. The Hernandez family had obviously borrowed an extra table and chairs and several sets of dishes from the neighbors. Lucía had reheated the leftover sancocho and some rice and beans from lunch and made some fresh arepas con queso and coffee, and topped off with a platter of fresh fruit, it was plenty to satisfy everyone's hunger after working all day.

After dinner was done and the dishes had been cleared (Lucía insisted that she would handle the dishes later, her guests had worked too hard to help with such a chore), Señor Hernandez, Lucía, and Josefina gave them a short tour of their home and showed them where they would be sleeping.

"I'm sorry," Lucía apologized as they arrived outside the doors in the hallway. "We could only comfortably fit four mattresses per bedroom. I know this means you will have to juggle your families, and figure out where you will be sleeping, but if you need to, you are welcome to move the mattresses around how you see fit." At her mother's words, Josefina wove her way through everyone in the hall, opening the doors and revealing the beds set up inside.

"This is my Abuelo's bedroom," she narrated. "And this is my bedroom. It has toys and books for you, Antonio!" She said brightly. "And this," she added, opening the door at the end of the hall, "Is my Papá's studio. It used to have his art stuff in it. Now it has some beds in it."

At that, Alma Madrigal stepped forward. "Señor, Señora," she began – "Señorita Josefina," she added, smiling down at the child, "this is more than enough. We have each other and a comfortable place to stay. We cannot thank you enough."

The adults shrugged off her praise, telling her it was nothing, and Josefina beamed with pride. Lucía explained that she had heated water with the oven as she'd cooked dinner, and offered to continue to heat water as needed if anyone wanted to bathe.

"It's no trouble," she assured them all. "I will be doing the dishes anyway. Please, take your time, and settle in. If you need anything at all, my room is there," she nodded at a door in the middle of the hall, "please don't hesitate to ask. And you can help yourself to anything in the house you may need – food, drink, books – please, enjoy."

The family murmured good-night and returned to the first floor, leaving the Madrigals in the hallway to sort out their sleeping arrangements. Soon, the sounds of their quiet conversation, clinking dishes, and a broom sweeping drifted up to break the silence.

"Well!" Felix said brightly, nudging Agustín with his elbow. "I think tonight would be a good night for a triplet sleep-over, don't you? Reunite the siblings? Reminisce about some childhood memories, eh?"

Agustín looked confused for a moment, but quickly caught on. "Eh? Oh! Yes!" He nodded. "Julieta, mi amor – if it is all right with you, I will take Señor Hernandez' bedroom with our girls - "

"-and since Señorita Josefina has kindly pointed out her books and toys for Antonio, perhaps I will take her bedroom with our children, mi vida?" Felix added.

Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno eyed one another uncertainly, but did not protest.

Pepa knelt down by Antonio. "Hombrecito," she said softly, cupping his face in her hands. "Will you be all right tonight, with Papá and Dolores and Camilo?"

Antonio nodded. "'Course I will, Mamá. I've got Parce, too." He held up his stuffed jaguar and swayed slightly on his feet, stifling a yawn. "S'not as good as the real Parce," his eyes teared up a bit, but he lifted his chin bravely – "but he's still really good."

Pepa smiled warmly at her youngest son. "All right, Toñito. But first – a bath."

Bruno was one of the first to hide himself away in the art studio-turned bedroom, unused to so much human interaction, and not needing to settle any children or spouses in. He coaxed his rats out of his pockets, encouraging them to hide away in the many crevices and hidey-holes made by the wardrobe and table of art supplies against the back wall.

"Now," he instructed them softly. "I know it's probably not the best idea to bring you all here – I'm a guest – which means you're guests here. But rats aren't – uh – you guys aren't always exactly welcome. But it's just for a few weeks!" He held up his hands to reassure them. "And I'll make sure to bring you some food. It's safer here than out in the jungle or - around our old house. But you have to be on your best behavior!" He held up his pointer finger for emphasis.

"Guys – no stealing food. No scaring our hosts. No- "

"Bruno? Who are you talking to?"

Bruno spun around, leaning back against the worktable and giving his pets time to hide away. His mother raised an eyebrow at him as she braided her hair, having just returned from the bath.

"Nothing! Nobody. Noooobody." He smiled widely at her.

She sighed and shook her head. She looked as though she might say something else, but instead, smiled and walked over to pat his cheek. "I'm glad you're home, Brunito. You've been living alone for too long."

Even with fatigue and an eagerness to get to bed making their showers and baths take half the usual time, it took over an hour for the entire family to clean up. Lucía had come upstairs to check on them in the midst of it, and offered clean nightclothes or to wash clothing for anyone that needed it. Isabela took her up on the offer, but everyone else had found enough to get by for at least the night and the next day.

When Bruno, the last to bathe, returned to the bedroom for the night, Julieta and Pepa were talking quietly in the center of the room as Mamá sat in a chair near the window.

His sisters offered him another hug as he entered, and Julieta glanced over her shoulder at her mother. "I don't think we thought this through - " she began quietly. "I know our husbands meant well, but the floor is not exactly the best place for Mamá - "

"I am old, I am not deaf," Mamá said serenely – then chuckled. "But," she added, "you are right. After what we've done today, I would need help getting down to the mattress and back up in the morning. Perhaps I can change places with Felix or Agustín - "

A knock on the door interrupted her musing.

"Come in," Pepa called, and Dolores entered, biting her lip.

"Lola!" Pepa exclaimed, quickly embracing her daughter. "Is everything all right?"

Dolores nodded, her eyes flashing to Bruno and then her abuela before settling back on her mother. "It – I thought – can we talk?" She asked quietly.

"Of course, of course. Actually - " Pepa brightened. "Dolores, what if you sleep here tonight! Your abuela was just saying she needed a bed off the floor – is Papá in the bed, or - ?"

"He's still laying with Antonio, reading him a book. Camilo is snoring away already." Dolores grumbled. "So the bed is open. I'm sure Papá won't mind sleeping on the floor."

"Ah, excellent idea Pepa. Thank you, mi querida." Alma said her goodnights, embracing and kissing each of her children and her granddaughter on the cheek before going to the room next door for the evening.

The three siblings ended up pulling their makeshift mattresses close, Julieta taking the middle, with Bruno on one side and Pepa on the other (he'd turned down the middle, afraid he'd feel too claustrophobic sleeping in between his sisters, even if they did all have their own mattresses, spaced a foot or so apart), with Dolores on the outside near her mamá.

After everything was arranged to their satisfaction, they sat up, cross-legged on their beds, talking over the day, the things they'd found, the townspeople, and the particular kindness of Lucía and her family. Pepa and Julieta snorted over Bruno's retelling of his asking Lucía for the horse and finding Mirabel, as he included more details and made it slightly more dramatic than he had earlier in the day. He'd always been a good storyteller – and when Julieta told him so, he blushed - pleased.

After a lull in their conversation, Pepa turned to Dolores with a smile. "Mija, was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?"

Dolores swallowed, tracing her finger over the pattern on the quilt over her knees. After a moment, she smiled in disbelief. "I can barely hear it," she mumbled.

Pepa's smile froze in place. "I'm sorry - " she said softly, worried her daughter was grieving her gift, but –

"It used to be so loud." Dolores looked up at her mother and smiled. "I would just - " she traced her fingers over the quilt again. " – and I could hear it – in detail. Every rustle of fabric. Eyes blinking, heartbeats, grinding teeth, stomach upsets – I could hear it all! People – talking, arguing – Señora Moreno telling stories all the way across town! I used to listen to her stories, even if I wasn't there." Dolores smiled to herself. "And I mean – I learned to focus it, to listen in on particular things, to tune out what I didn't want to hear. Casita helped, my room – it was nice. Not completely soundproof, but nice. But - the whole world is quieter, now. It's - kind of – nice - too?" She squeaked at her own admission.

Pepa reached over and held her daughter's hand, squeezing it gently. "I know how you feel," she said quietly.

Dolores raised an eyebrow and titled her head.

"Not with the hearing, of course. But – today was the first day in – forty-five years I had no rain. I cried, and the sky didn't cry with me. I was afraid, and the wind didn't stir up all the air around me. I was gloriously happy, and the sun didn't shine any brighter." Her smile faded a bit. "I can't say I don't miss it, but there are aspects I definitely won't miss."

"I – don't know if I miss it, or not," Dolores said. "I mean – right now I'm just – enjoying the quiet. I did miss it yesterday, though. I tried so hard to hear Mirabel yesterday, and I couldn't."

Pepa squeezed her hand, but couldn't seem to say anything.

"You still helped, mi sobrina. You searched and you listened, and you were still helpful, still so thoughtful. Like Mirabel said today - you are more than just your gift. We all are. It all turned out all right in the end, didn't it?" Julieta reached out and patted Dolores' hand as well, smiling in sympathy and encouragement.

Something in what Julieta said made Dolores look up at her tío then, and her mother and tía followed suit – staring with mixed emotions at the member of their family that had been missing for so long.

He looked away nervously, glancing only for a moment at their wistful expressions and large eyes. "Hey – hey – no me abra los ojos que no le voy a echar gotas (3)." He chuckled uncertainly.

Pepa snorted. "Okay, Mamá." She teased, and her expression softened. "Ten years, hermano. Ten years, and you were right there the whole time!" Her voice was not accusing, just sad.

"I heard him." Dolores admitted quietly. This is what she had come to talk about. "I – I heard you," she said softly to her tío. "And I – " she squeaked again in trying to get the right words out.

"You tried to tell us," Pepa murmured.

"Yes."

Pepa brushed a curl from her daughter's forehead, her brows drawn together with regret. "You told us – you insisted he was there, but we didn't think – we didn't think there was space, that the casita would make – a literal room in the walls. Any other time the casita had made a new space, it – it was a gifting ceremony, it was obvious, strong magic, and we didn't - " she exhaled slowly. "We thought it was mice in the walls - that it was the wishful thinking of a little girl missing her tío – but we should have listened to you." She offered an apologetic smile, and it was Dolores' turn to squeeze her mother's hand in reassurance.

"I don't think it would have made a difference," Dolores said slowly. Noticing that all the attention was on her, she attempted to explain. "I tried to follow him – tried to follow you," she frowned at her tío. "I wanted – I wanted my gift to be helpful for once. Really helpful." Her voice was so small, but carried such heavy weight. Julieta and Pepa exchanged desperate glances. "But casita wouldn't let me. I would hear you in the walls, I knew you were there, but I looked and looked and could never find any way in. I think – casita didn't want you to be found. Eventually, I just – gave up."

Silence stretched between them all for a moment, before Bruno admitted – "I don't think I wanted to be found."

He looked up after a moment, and grimaced at their mournful expressions. "Ah – you're killing me with those eyes again!" He chastised them lightly, and they smiled in response.

He sighed and continued. "I just – I think maybe, somehow, casita knew when the time was right, for Mirabel to find me. It – knew that I – I didn't have the words, the insight – I couldn't see how to help fix the cracks in our home, how to fix our family. I just knew I had to - " he cut himself off abruptly.

"-protect Mirabel?" Julieta tentatively finished for him.

He shrugged with one shoulder. "And stop using my gift. For some reason, casita let me do that."

They were silent for a moment. "Because you know Mamá never would have. Let you stop using your gift, I mean. I'm glad Mamá never saw that vision," Julieta said suddenly, her voice strained and slightly bitter – slightly angry. "Or at least - not until yesterday." Bruno and Pepa raised their eyebrows at each other. They'd never heard Julieta say anything in such a tone about anyone, let alone their mother. There were tears in her eyes as she looked at her brother. "Mirabel's relationship with her was strained enough, these past ten years. I can't - I can't imagine - " she stopped and looked away.

"Yeah," Bruno continued after a moment – but his voice was just a little too high pitched, and he cleared his throat. "Anyway – I – I am sorry. That I didn't – I couldn't see how else to help, how else to stand up to Mamá, but I heard – I heard how upset it made you all, when I left, and – I still – I didn't come back. I was – afraid. I was afraid I'd – tell, about the vision, or that I'd see something worse, and – I was a coward." He mumbled off toward the end, wringing his hands.

"A coward?" Pepa repeated, incredulous. "Bruno, you are many things, many good things and many annoying things, hermanito - " she hesitated, offering a smile to show she was attempting to tease him like she used to – "but you are not, and never were, a coward."

He shifted uncertainly on his mattress.

"People were cruel to you, but you were never cruel back. Most of the time, even if you didn't want to have visions, you did in the hopes you would see something helpful, even when you were afraid it would only be bad news, or only make people angry or confused." Julieta jumped in, trying to convince her brother. "But I think – you'll find that the town is not as unified in their dislike of you as you seem to think they are. And now, once they have a chance to see how warm and funny and caring you really are - " Julieta clasped her hands to her chest dramatically. "I think even more people will love you like we do."

Bruno snorted and gave his sisters a grateful smile. He didn't look convinced, though.

Pepa hesitated, her head down. "I'm sorry Mamá and I told everyone to stop talking about you. I – I can't speak for Mamá, but every time I would think of you, I would feel - so confused, and scared – angry and worried, and sad. It was so hard to control my emotions, and so hard to control the weather attached to them, I just – it was easier not to talk about you at all."

Her confession hung between them all, and Julieta threw her arms around her sister.

"…And easier to blame your wedding day hurricane instead of the real problem?" Bruno asked hopefully, attempting to lighten the mood once again.

Pepa narrowed her eyes at him and pushed Julieta off, but she was attempting not to smile. "Getting married in a hurricane is a real problem, hermano." She laughed. "But! I appreciate you explaining it was my own overreaction that caused it." She rolled her eyes and grumbled under her breath, fiddling with the end of her braid.

Julieta reached over and gave her brother's hand a squeeze. "Pepa is right. You were never a coward. But even if you were, we would forgive you. We're just happy you're home." She smiled at him, and then her smile faded away as well.

"I'm sorry I didn't stand up for all of you more," she said softly. "I could have, but – maybe I was a bit of a coward myself."

Pepa sniffed. "Being afraid of Mamá does not make you a coward. It makes you smart. We all have to choose our battles. Don't repeat that, Dolores."

Dolores laughed nervously.

"Hopefully, that will change now," Julieta said, and after a moment of silent agreement from the rest of them, she yawned. "Well, I don't know about all of you, but I am exhausted. It is good to have you back, Bruno – this is - so good. I'm glad Felix suggested this, Pepa – but I need to sleep now."

They all murmured their agreement, blew out the candles and turned off the lamps and lay down. Once comfortable, they said their good-nights, beginning to drift off to sleep. Julieta had obviously been worn down with worry for her daughter and the work of the day, and almost immediately, her breathing turned to the slow, steady cadence of sleep. Pepa was not far behind.

"Tío Bruno?" Dolores murmured sleepily after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"I listened for you every day. To make sure you were okay."

Bruno smiled into the dark. "I listened to you talking to the walls."

"You did?" He could hear the surprise in her voice.

"You have such a quiet voice it was hard to understand you, but when I saw you through the cracks, when I heard you - I'd listen. It was nice to hear about your day, nice to hear about the family."

Dolores swallowed. She'd only done that for about six months after he'd disappeared, before it had begun upsetting her mother and started earning her disapproving looks from Abuela. "…if I'd known you were listening, I'd have kept talking for longer. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, kid. Trust me. You did enough." Bruno packed every bit of sincerity he possibly could into his voice.

"Thanks, tío." Dolores whispered. "So did you."

Bruno was almost asleep, when Dolores interrupted him one more time.

"Tío?"

"Yeah?" He mumbled.

"Will you finish the story of Lareina and her amnesia some day?"

He blinked, suddenly a little more awake. "You listened to that?"

Dolores giggled. "It was the highlight of my day, most days. You could give Señora Moreno a run for her money."

"Heh." Bruno grinned and rolled onto his back, stretching out, in a real bed for the first time in years.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

A/N:

(1) Cenicienta - Cinderella

(2) Donde hay amor, hay dolor – where there is love, there is pain. Spanish proverb.

(3) No me abra los ojos que no le voy a echar gotas – Basically 'don't open your eyes at me like that, I'm not going to put eye drops in them.' A Colombian expression that parents often say to their children, aka 'don't look at me like that'.

Dolores is such an interesting character to me. I think her gift would be almost as much of a burden as Bruno's – he knows everyone's future; she knows everyone's present – and all their secrets. I hope I did her justice, here.

Thank you again for your reviews, follows, favorites, and for reading this story. I appreciate you all very much! Have a fantastic day!