Chapter Text
The Encanto was bustling after the reconstruction of La Casita. The Madrigals were slowly changing their involvement with the community; still heavily involved as healers and helpers, but taking time out for family and their health. The village was growing as well, now that the mountain pass had broken. At the urging of Alma and the other elders of the community, a tall palisade had been built across the crack, with a regular rotation of people to guard it, but people trickled in here and there, allowed in only after intense vetting.
Elena Pascual was taking full advantage of the extra traffic to grow her businesses. Already she had taken out a loan and bought two shipments of books and one of exotic coffee, with more set up for her to pick up herself along the way. In a town as small as Encanto, one had to wear many hats if they wanted a niche business to succeed, and so Elena ran a small bookshop that also held Encanto’s bibliotheca and a small coffee shop, because all good books are improved with good coffee. Café de Libros was a straightforward name for the place, but Elena was a straightforward person, so it suited her just fine.
She did a steady business, more so in lending books (and their late fees) and selling coffees than selling books, but she was happy with that. More townsfolk were showing an interest recently, with curiosity and the availability of travel now making selections wider and livening imaginations, and she was comfortable as long as she was careful. She kept her small apartment over the shop frugally, her only extravagance treats for her pet, Chacha the Fuertes parrot. Chacha liked to nibble on book corners if left to her own devices, and was kept in a large rope enclosure in the apartment at night, free to fly during the day.
Since the rebuilding of La Casita, all of the Madrigals had, at one point or another, made their way to her shop. Isabela was quickly devouring her gardening and botany section, and had started in on the natural remedies section with her mother Julieta and little cousin Antonio, who each either bought or borrowed their own stack of literature. Julieta seemed a bit sheepish at her pile of true crime fiction, but Antonio lapped up his adventure and dinosaur books and came back for more, his reading level already very advanced for his age. Chacha liked to perch on his head and snuggle into his hair as he read books out loud to her.
Luisa and Camilo would sometimes come in to the coffeeshop side to relax at the end of the day, sipping mochas and reading new comics with their feet kicked up before heading home for supper. Elena always smiled at the unlikely duo. Middle children stuck together, it seemed. She would always weaken Luisa’s coffee so she could get a good night’s sleep, and doubled the cocoa and milk in Camilo’s. the poor kid was always starving, and any extra calories would help.
Pepa, out of respect for the nature of the shop, would only send in her husband Félix for their drinks and always remembered to borrow the special book protector that Elena had ordered for her. She didn’t want to buy it outright, afraid the glass would get broken if it lived in Casita. It certainly made it easier for Dolores to hide in the corners with Mariano, giggling as Félix would shoot her a covert wink. The courtship was progressing quickly, but both of them wanted a little more privacy to just be themselves that neither of their abuelas would find proper. Elena wasn’t telling.
Mirabel and her abuela Alma had been the second most frequent visitors, coming at least twice a week to sit, talk, and get to know each other again. Elena did her best to not listen in and to give them a brightly lit corner table in the café. It was certainly awkward at first, but by the two had quickly found a love of textiles, and could now be seen working on projects together for hours. In the café, it was understood to leave the two alone while they worked in the sunlight, fingers flying and needles whizzing through fabric or crochet hooks clacking as yarn became blankets and smiles became laughter at old family stories and bright new ideas. If Alma gave her the cold shoulder in the meantime, that was fine. The two of them had never gotten along after she’d taken over the shop. Mourning for her parents had removed all sense of decorum, and one day, she’d let Alma have it after seeing her overlook and ignore little Mirabel on a trip, who only wanted to show her abuela the project she wanted to make for her from her craft book. She’d seen the door ceremony and everyone’s reactions to it, and had been just seven levels of done with what she’d heard. That the two were repairing their relationship now made her happy.
It was the returned Madrigal brother that was a daily constant in her shop. Bruno Madrigal always hid in one of the leather chairs in the library, nose buried in whatever book was closest at hand when someone came in, nibbling some treat he’d smuggled in under his ruana and sipping an espresso. Elena had tried to weaken his coffee once as well, thinking the poor man with the sad, tired eyes needed more sleep and the caffeine definitely wasn’t helping, but he’d just started ordering doubles in his quiet voice. Beyond his coffee order and quiet greetings, he didn’t speak, and would always duck out when she was preoccupied, or when another of the family was nearby. If Elena hadn’t remembered him from before his disappearance, she would be highly suspicious of his strange behavior. But Elena did remember.
Bruno had been a frequent at the café and library when her parents had opened it as well, twenty year ago when she was sixteen and her father’s failing health became too much for even Julieta’s arepas to keep at bay any longer. Always an armchair scholar after a long day in the coffee fields, the business had built up quickly and the old town librarian, Senór Geraldo, had been thrilled to sell them the adjoining building and retire. Her father had asked Bruno for a prophesy about whether he would see the shop succeed, and had seemed pleased with the result, though he didn’t share it with his wife and daughter.
After that prophesy, Bruno had made a point to come out at least once a week with his sisters, seemingly trying to drum up business for the place, thinking kindly on her father for appreciating his gift. He was quiet and slunk into the background even then, hiding in the same leather chair to read while he waited for his sisters to make their selections and drink their coffees outside. Apparently, this was a break for them too, their toddlers having run them ragged and their brother coming to the rescue for some much-needed time away. Elena had tried once to ask the man about the vision he had given her father, ailing still, but he’d refused, saying gently that that was for her father to tell her, not him. It may have been the longest he’d ever spoken to her. After that she’d pestered her father, but he’d said nothing, only that she would know in time. Bruno continued to come to the shop regularly, bringing his sobrinos and sisters on occasion and working his way through the books for borrowing. The once lustrous leather of his favorite chair slowly buffed away to a gentled suede from all the sand in his clothes, and no matter how hard they cleaned or polished the shop, there was always a grit to the floor and in the carpets.
Elena had helped in the shop and gone about her business, kind to the quiet man who read unobtrusively in the corner and bought science fiction and mythology books in turn, leaving little handmade good luck charms tucked into shelves here and there after an especially difficult customer came through. The most they spoke after her asking about the prophesy was to exchange bits of information on books they’d liked, but she found herself grateful for him, since his presence kept people from bothering her while she worked.
Her father died shortly after what she called the Mirabel Affair, and her mother a few months later. With so much going on in her life and him being naturally quiet, it took her nearly half a year to realize that the shop shadow was no longer visiting. She thought perhaps the shakeup of the youngest Madrigal not receiving a gift had distracted the family and thought little of it, other than hoping that he hadn’t started drifting away from his niece like the grandmother was rumored to be doing. It wasn’t until she had to limp to Julieta’s stall in the market one day after breaking her foot that morning dropping a very large and very heavy book on it that she found out the truth with a sad, hushed “We don’t talk about Bruno” from Julieta. “He’s made his choice to leave the family without a word and that’s that.” It had surprised her, because of all the Madrigals, it had been Bruno that seemed the most attentive to his family, even if he didn’t speak to other people much. He knew what comics Luisa liked the most and all their storylines, just how Pepa took her favorite persnickety coffee, Agustín’s favorite author and when the latest book was coming out and his mother’s secret love of romance novellas. He had watched over anyone he came to the shop with, a silent guardian. For him to just leave had caught her off guard.
She had found the prophesy in her father’s things after that. There were chips and flakes taken out of it here and there, from frequent handling, and a large corner had broken off and been lost at some point, but the image was clear enough. The storefront, clean and busy, flowers in bloom around it, and her on the window bench outside, smiling at something lost in the broken corner. The shop would flourish under her, but her father and mother would not live to see it. A bittersweet vision, but she could understand why her father had been pleased enough.
For the ten years in between, Elena ran her bookshop, library, and café with military precision, keeping meticulous records of every book and planning her quarterly trips out of Encanto for replacements and new stock down to the centavo and minute. The mountains were treacherous to get back over, but she’d learned the route in and out in the ten years her parents had run the shop, and she used that knowledge well. The shop may not have been flourishing like in the glass, but it was doing well enough.
She had always kept good records, better than her father, and when La Casita was being rebuilt, she had done her part to help out. Not only did she get her hands dirty mixing and applying stucco and paint and hauling stones, but she’d raided her shop to replace as many of the destroyed books as she could. It wasn’t perfect, but it was appreciated. She’d run into Bruno more than once during the whole process, but he’d been very quiet still, and had quickly found some other task. She couldn’t place why, other than perhaps he found her brash attitude, so much different from who she had been in her twenties, off-putting. He wouldn’t be the first person to do so.
And now the shadow had returned, his eyes more sleep-bruised and mournful than ever and his hair shot through with gray, his smile wary and his voice even quieter than before. Elena would puzzle over it with Chacha at night, especially after seeing Bruno speak, quiet but sure with other vendors at the market on one of the holidays when she would drag out her better loved books for a flash sale. Perhaps it was just the fact that he’d always used the shop as a sanctuary and didn’t like to disturb the quiet, but the fact that he never truly spoke to her was starting to wear on Elena’s nerves. If she had done something to offend him since his return, better he tell her and they hash it out that just skirting the issue.
*****
“You aren’t getting any younger, Brunito,” Alma said teasingly, standing beside her son as they watched the three youngest Madrigals trying and failing to get the futbol past Luisa in the courtyard in their usual post-comida game. Bruno sighed.
“Mamá, please don’t start this again. We’re trying to start off on new footing, and we used to have this conversation once a week ten years ago.”
“I have some catching up to do, then,” Alma smiled mischievously. “You’re so good with the children, and you need someone to talk sense into you. You stay in your own head far too much.”
“Mamá…don’t go trying to set me up. You remember how that always ended.
“Senórita Flora was a nice girl! And Patricia got along so well with your sisters. Beatriz may not have been the prettiest thing, but she had a heart of gold.”
“None of which mattered because they were all scared of me, Mamá! Flora cried enough to flood the house the first time she saw my eyes glow because I’d told her abuelo when her abuela would die and she was terrified I was going to give her more sad news. I had a migraine, that was it! Beatriz tried so hard to be around me, but she shook like a leaf if I offered her the salt! Patricia smashed a plate on my head because I’d surprised her in the kitchen offering to help her with the dishes! It’s always a terrible idea Mamá. Please let it go. I’m fifty anyway, that’s far too late. There’s no guarantee a woman my age would be able to even have children anymore by the time we got to the attempting stage.” His brow furrowed even as his neck burned red.
Alma shook her head. “So look for a younger woman, you silly boy! You are a handsome man when you aren’t skulking around in the shadows with a pocketful of rats.”
“And get labeled an old pervert? No gracias, Mamá. That was the one rumor I managed to avoid, I don’t want to pick it up now! ‘Lock up your daughters, it’s Bruno!’ ‘Don’t let Bruno linger near the shop girls, he’ll cart them off in the night!’ Really, Mamá!”
Alma threw up her hands. “You’re just being impossible. I wasn’t saying go party with los adolecentes! But there’s nothing stopping you from at least talking to one of the women in their thirties! Senóra Pamela and Juanita Valdez, or Carlita the baker!”
Bruno’s frown deepened and he held up a hand, his voice strong. “Mamá, stop. I am not having this conversation right now. You know why I’m not doing any of that. Let it go, please?” With that, he walked away. That was one thing that he’d learned since coming back; it was healthier to walk away from the immovable object than continue to attempt to be the unstoppable force. Eventually, he hoped his mother would leave him alone about it.
He made his way to his room and closed the door, sliding down it and running his hands through his hair, scrubbing at his face and groaning. He’d given up on that idea a long time ago, probably around the time Camilo and Mirabel were born. He’d seen how young women had started to avoid his mother in the street, afraid the older woman would try to rope them into a dinner sitting next to Maldito Bruno. Even their children being guaranteed a miraculous gift wasn’t enough to reduce the fear people had of him and his visions.
His chest felt tight. Needing to get out of the house, he tore through the new oasis that was now his room, with its soft multicolored sand beaches and gentle, tumbledown stone waterfall, to find the corner where his actual room was, a hidden alcove that was just small enough to be cozy without being cramped. His rats were all sleeping in patches of sunlight that dotted the floor from above, save for Pecasita, with her mottled coat. Bruno sighed and held out a hand to her. The little freckled rat scampered up his arm to snuggle into his hood beneath his hair. Bruno grabbed his tattered wallet, saw he had enough pesos for his goal, cursing under his breath that he’d have to find some way to make a little more money after this. He didn’t want to go back to charging for visions just yet, but he certainly wasn’t going to ask his hermanas for money, and definitely was not going to his mother. He paused, stuffed a small bag in his pocket, and headed to the back of his room.
He slunk out the back way that La Casita had provided for him, happy that the house accommodated his readjusting to the real world. He didn’t want to run into his mother at the moment.
Of course he had the luck to run smack into Antonio, who had left the game and running to escort a rather weather-beaten something with feathers into the kitchens.
“It’s Senóra Pascual’s Chacha!” Antonio said, looking up at Bruno with sad eyes “I heard her coming and went to meet her, she got divebombed by a falcon, but got away! She doesn’t sound so good.”
Bruno got on his knees eye level with his nephew and looked at the bird. She was breathing raggedly, something was wrong with both her wings and blood stained her green feathers.
“Tell her to eat some of this. If it works on humans, maybe it works on birds?” Bruno said as he dug into his pocket, pulling out the bag with his stash of healing arepas. They were a couple of days old, but they worked just the same on him.
Antonio and Chacha had a hushed conversation that sounded wholly one sided to his Tio, but in the end, he laid Chacha down on the ground and put the arepa in front of her. The bird nibbled it curiously, doing that little black tongue thing that always made Antonio laugh, and stopped. One of the wounds on her back sealed up. Chacha quirked her head noticing the curiosity, and then dove onto the treat, tearing it to shreds, her wings popping back into their sockets without a hint of pain. She then flew up, testing her wings, and flapped around Bruno’s head squawking triumphantly. Bruno flapped his hands at the sudden flurry of feathers and landed on his rear, Antonio doing the same as he cackled.
“She says ‘Thank you’, Tio Bruno!”
“She’s very…enthusiastic.”
“Will you help me take her back to Senóra Pascual?” Antonio asked, “Mamá doesn’t like me to go into town by myself if I don’t have Parce, and she’s off doing Jaguar stuff in the real jungle.”
Bruno nodded, holding a hand out to his youngest sobrino. He had been headed to the café anyway. Maybe he could finally finish Don Quixote and get Mirabel and Agustín off him for having never read the classics.
He laughed at himself. Wouldn’t that just make his mother’s day? Him sneaking out of the house to see a woman she couldn’t stand. Senóra Pascual had a reputation for not taking any nonsense, and that included from his mother, and his mother didn’t care for anyone who didn’t take her nonsense. Though he supposed she was making exceptions for her family, now. Bruno could never bring himself to say more than his coffee order to Senóra Pascual. She had gone from a gawky teenager who wasn’t afraid of him to a lovely, plump, and assertive woman who had been quietly charming him since his return by her simple ability to just let him be. She was possibly the only person in town who didn’t whisper about him as he passed, who didn’t bother him with digging questions about where he’d been. She let him exist in his old favorite chair in her shop and read, ignoring when he snuck in snacks or napped. She’d once chased a group of teens away from him as they tried to snatch the book from his hands as he slept, smacking them away with the long ladle she used to retrieve coffee beans from the sack and threatening that next time it would be something heavier. He couldn't even remember what book he'd been reading that day afterwards, he'd been so distracted by the sight of her, swearing a blue streak out the door at the punks as the sunlight turned her hair to a writhing halo and brought out the freckles on her nose.
Not that he meant to do a thing about it. He was fourteen years older than her, and she seemed to have no interest in a domestic life anyway, content to run her businesses, pamper her parrot, and traveling more than many in the village. Even if she did, she had better options than him. The handsome butcher was there at least three times a week at the end of the day, and the cocoa farmer she bought her raw chocolate from was always bringing her flowers. Senór Marquez the tailor seemed to be another man orbiting around her. Around his age, but with much more to offer. Even if he did try, he was sure he had no chance of success, given his reputation and social awkwardness.
Antonio looked up at his Tio as he held his hand. It was odd for him to be so quiet. Usually, he’d be asking questions about the animals, seeing how his rats were doing and if they wanted anything, but today he seemed lost in his head again. They made their way into town in silence, the occasional chitter from Chacha the only thing breaking the silence.
*****
Elena jumped and yelped as the door to the café blew open, a curly head darting in, followed by a green shadow.
“Hola, Antonio!” she said as she realized who it was that had come flying in. Bright eyes and a huge grin popped up over the counter as he hopped up on a stool and beamed at her, Chacha in his hands. “And Chacha, you’re home early.”
“She had a fight with a falcon at La Casita.” Antonio stated matter-of-factly. “She was hurt, but Tio Bruno healed her with his snack stash, and she wanted to come back home for the day.”
Elena looked from the parrot to the little boy to the man standing off to the side, trying not to be seen, and smiled.
“Well then gracias, Senór Madrigal, and gracias Tonito. Chacha is special to me, and I’d be very sad to lose her. Are you just here with Antonio to drop off my bird, or will you have your usual?”
Bruno looked surprised to have been addressed, and muttered “the usual, por favor.” Elena nodded and got to work grinding fresh beans and compacting them by hand, her strong arms moving with the ease of muscle memory, chatting with Antonio as she did.
“And for you, Tonito? A hot cocoa?”
“Ooh, yes, please!”
“That book about the South Pole Expedition finally came back if you want to read it. Why don’t you read to Chacha to calm her down for a while? That is, if your Tio isn’t in a hurry to get somewhere?”
The man in question shook his head as he reached for his finished cup of espresso. His fingers brushed hers and seemed to linger as she handed it over, and his ears pinked brightly as he fumbled and looked away, stammering a “thank you.” Elena pretended not to notice and nodded, turning to complete the cocoa for the little boy, who now had her parrot nesting snugly in his hair, swinging his legs rhythmically waiting for his treat. She accepted a couple of crinkled pesos from a suddenly bashful Bruno and went back to tidying the library shelves. ‘It’s like that then,’ she thought to herself. That surprised her more than her thought of having somehow offended him. But she couldn't say the idea didn't intrigue her.
Bruno Madrigal was a gentle, sweet, and handsome man; she’d thought so for years. How some other woman hadn't seen that and snatched him up before he went into hiding, she'd never understand. Especially after the rumors she heard from la vidua Gonzalves tittering about with her other raunchy old lady friends during their weekly chinchón game. When she passed his chair a while later to re-shelve some older classics, she gave him a small smile and scooted past his armchair, standing close as she slid books to their places on a low shelf. He coughed quietly and buried his nose deeper in Don Quixote, his ears even redder, though she caught him looking over the book in her direction, eyes following her as she finished her tidying. She saw a little nose wiggling under his hair and bright black eyes peeping at her, and knew he’d brought in one of his pet rats. She’d long since asked his sobrino to tell them not to nibble on her books, and they all knew the deal, so she let it go. the little rata was pretty cute anyway.
Elena continued on about her cleaning, letting the slow and steady hum of pages turning and Antonio’s reading to Chacha be the background noise of her day. The books were reshelved and put back in order for the day in due time, interrupted now and again with other villagers coming in and browsing, or grabbing a late afternoon pick-me-up. They stayed away from the aisle that Bruno occupied, though Elena noticed when they passed by, he’d glance over his book and follow them with his eyes. Curious that, but considering the reputation he still had in the town, it didn’t really surprise her. She lost track of the time humming to herself behind the coffee counter, setting things up for the most common orders and the regulars.
The bell on the door to the library rang, and she heard footsteps she recognized, and sighed tiredly. It was Carlos the butcher. Again.
Bruno’s ears perked up at the sigh that had cut off the humming he’d been tapping his foot to, and saw the butcher walk in. He was leaving a trail of something unsavory on the rugs that dulled the sound of foot traffic.
“Cariña Elena!” he greeted her, his voice grating against her ears, it always made her teeth itch. “You look lovely today, as always. I’ve made a reservation for us at Los Amore’s for tonight. Won’t you put away these dusty books for an evening and come with me?”
'Los Amore’s’ Bruno thought, sinking into his chair ‘that’s the best place to eat in town. Things must be getting serious; how did I miss…’
“No.” Elena said clearly, cutting through his mental fog.
“What do you mean ‘No’? I told you I was going to on Meírcoles.” Carlos asked, his brow falling into an ugly frown and leaning forward over the counter, taking hold of her chin. Elena looked up at him, a glower on her own face.
“I said ‘no,’ Carlos. That means I don’t want to go. I told you no on Miercoles. I’ve said ‘No’ each time you asked me. That ‘no’ should be enough.”
“What game are you playing? I spend all this money trying to get you to come out of this dingy little shop every other day, and you turn me away every time! I want you, mi gordita, but I won’t be giving you chances forever. Why will you not say yes? You’ll get old and fatter one day, then who will have you?” He whispered something Bruno couldn’t make out, but that turned Elena’s expression dark.
“Not you, Carlos. No. Ten times no. A hundred times no. A thousand times, no!” Elena hissed, pulling away, her voice high and agitated.
Bruno looked over his book at the sudden increase in volume. Antonio had gotten quiet in his corner with Chacha hiding in his curls, and Pecasita was sitting alert under Bruno’s hair. Elena and Carlos were almost nose to nose, close enough to slap or kiss, and Bruno frankly couldn’t tell which was going to happen next, though he didn’t like the pet name Carlos had for his novia—if she even was his novia. Elena was clearly less than thrilled about how she was being spoken to.
“You want to know why, “no”, Carlos? You disrespect my businesses every time you talk about them! You always drag something foul onto my floors from the butcher shop that I spend hours cleaning! You never listen to me. But overlooking todo esa mierda?” She paused to scoff. Bruno thought that was more than reason enough, but was taken aback by what he heard next.
“I will keep telling you no like I have been every week since you came here two weeks after your wife died asking me out! And for asking me out before she died as well! Eres una perro for acting like this! Your little girl was still crying over her Mami and you waltz in here with a bouquet of flowers acting like I should be flattered at the attention before she's cold in the ground! Well, I’m not flattered. The only reason I keep letting you in the door and haven’t gotten a guard dog yet is because I keep hoping you’ll get it through your fat head and buy something for your daughter like a real father, but this is the last straw! Now get out!”
Carlos’ frown deepened, and he slammed his hands on the counter. “You’ll be coming with me tonight, Elena. I’ll not be made a fool of. Leave my daughter out of this, she doesn’t need a bunch of fool ideas in her head like some joder puta.”
“I said get out, Carlos.” Elena said flatly, her mouth a hard line and her eyes cold.
Carlos lunged and grabbed her arm, and Bruno was out of his chair in a flash, his fingers crossed and Don Quixote forgotten on the floor before Elena had completed her string of curses.
“La Senóra told you to go. I think you should listen to her.”
“Says who?” Carlos said, yanking Elena’s hand and turning. He saw Bruno’s eyes beginning to glow and the ingrained sand in the shop floor start to swirl around them both and blanched pale as a sheet. “...Senór Madrigal…”
“I believe the lady said to leave, Carlos Martín Bardales. Perhaps you should listen.” The sand swirled a bit more fiercely as Bruno raised his voice, flashes of green sparking around the two men and Elena. Shadows deepened around Bruno’s eyes as they glowed brighter. The butcher’s eyes widened at the use of his full name and at the green images flashing around the smaller man, dropping Elena’s arm and shuffling away, muttering and crossing himself, rage and fear on his face. Bruno let the light fade from his eyes and the sand fall once the butcher was out the door. He leaned on the counter, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Elena stared at him like a ruffled owl, absentmindedly trying to brush sand off the counter.
“L-lo siento, Senóra. I didn’t mean to interrupt. He got rough and I just…well…”
Elena ran a hand through her hair and patted his arm, causing him to jump. “It’s fine, Senór Madrigal. Thank you for chasing him off. I’m sorry you had to hear that, and that you had to use your gift that way." Bruno started at that. "It didn't frighten you?" Elena shook her head, "Of course not! Senór Madrigal, you have a niece who could grow a cactus in my lungs, another that could tear out my spine, and a sister that could electrocute, drown, or freeze me. You being able to see the future doesn't really compare to all that. Carlos is just stupid and superstitious, lucky for us. What did you see?"
"Nothing. It--it wasn't really a vision. Sometimes I get flashes of things when I'm...when there's a lot going on."
"Well, thank you for chasing him off, regardless. And Antonio, I'm so sorry you had to hear all that as well. Forgive me, cariño.” She sighed, turning to the little boy who’d come to take his tio’s hand. “It’s late, and I need to clean and close up the shop anyway. He always tries to ambush me at the end of the day.”
“We--We’ll get out of your hair…yes, Tonito?”
“We can’t leave yet!” Antonio whispered, looking bashful as he tugged Bruno's ruana urgently. “Chacha got scared at the yelling, and now I can’t get her out of my hair!”
“‘Tonio! Dios mi--lo siento again, Senóra Pascual…Mi sobrino seems oddly attached to your parrot!”
Elena laughed and came around the counter, kneeling next to Antonio and attempting to wrestle the parrot out of his riotous hair. After a few minutes, squawks of protest, and a small yelp from the boy, she gave up, and wry smile on her face. “I guess you’ll have to take Chacha home with you tonight, mijo. She’s tangled as grapevines, and I’m not about to do anything to that lovely hair. Your mama would hang me out to dry. Anyway, you two should be getting on for supper.”
Antonio looked up at his uncle, who was blushing and fidgety, and Senóra Elena, who looked worried and sad. He nudged Bruno’s knee. Bruno ignored it, until Chacha gave him a healthy peck on the hand Antonio was holding.
“Ah…Senóra Pascual, you could always come with us…to dinner I mean…that way you can bring Chacha home yourself after and not have to worry about her?”
Elena stopped wiping sand off the counter and looked at Bruno. Red had crept from his neck to his ears, and was spreading on his cheeks. She’d never seen a man so shy, and she found it inexplicably endearing. “Why not,” she grinned. “But only if you call me Elena. Senóra Pascual is going to get tiring to say after a minute.”
Bruno just ducked his head in agreement and headed to the café door to open it for her. Elena grabbed her favorite verde shawl before locking the bibliotheca door, slipping her keyring into a beltloop on her trousers and making her way out the open door, locking it too as she exited, letting Bruno close it. “Bruno. You can call me Bruno…if you want,” he mumbled quietly. “I’d like that,” she answered.
Antonio, the polar opposite of his bashful tio, grabbed her hand with his free one and walked between the two adults, mostly oblivious to the nervous chuckle this caused both of them. He skipped happily all the way down the road to La Casita listening to Chacha and Pecasita talking about their respective people. He giggled every now and again, asking each adult questions about the things their pets told him.
“Is it true that you once pranked Senór Bonitez into thinking Mami was mad at him by hiding your watering cans, Senóra Elena?” Elena had cackled and told Chacha to stop spilling her secrets. “Sí, Sí! Senór Bonitez was giving your Mamá a hard time over the state of his garden. It’s not her fault he never fertilizes it! She’s too nice to do it on purpose and I got sick of hearing him gripe about it. So yes, watering cans and ropes. It’s a good thing Senór Bonitez isn’t too bright.”
Bruno snorted quietly before Antonio turned to him. “Tio Bruno, did you really used to hide Tio’s libros so you could read them before they were due back to Senóra Elena’s bibliotheca?”
“Pecasita, cállete! I told Agustín I’d pay him back those late fees when I could! Not my fault he’s the only other person in the house that likes sci-fi.” Bruno hissed at his rat friend, looking at Elena apologetically.
Elena shook her head. “I always just assumed he was taking forever because he kept breaking his glasses or something. Consider the fees waived, Bruno, now that I know they were being enjoyed. I imagine it gets lonely being in hiding for ten years.”
Bruno swallowed and looked away awkwardly. Elena sighed. “I’m not judging you, you know. You overhear things in the stores. Your family is just glad to have you back, I think. It sounds like you did what you had to, to protect your niece. It’s a shame your gift isn’t more valued. Petty people asking petty questions and getting mad at you like you’re the one who’s responsible for their bad decisions! Ptah!” She spat that last bit. “We’re all more than what people think we are, Bruno. If they think at all.”
Bruno just nodded, tongue-tied. Antonio filled the silence as he skipped along. “Chacha says she remembers Tio Bruno from before he hid away?”
“She should! That ragtag bird is older than me! Your Tio told my Papá the business would succeed, and then spent ten years with your Mamá and Tia trying to drum up business on his own.” Elena laughed. “I’m glad she talks to someone. I spent five years trying to teach her to talk and it never stuck.”
“She says copying people hurts her throat, but she likes when you talk to her! She says ‘specially when you talk about Tio Bruno.”
Bruno quirked up an eyebrow and managed to look at Elena. She looked back at him with a smirk.
“Que? You barely ever spoke to me besides a coffee order. I was brainstorming with the parrot over what I could have said to upset you. We used to trade book titles at least.”
“I…I wasn’t upset. It’s just--hard for me to…talk to people. Sometimes. Still.”
“I don’t see why, Tio” Antonio said, confused “You talk about Senóra Elena all the time, Pecasita says. All the rats say that’s why you read only at la bibliotheca.”
“The rats are snitching little queso thieves,” Bruno grumbled, shrugging his shoulder to dislodge Pecasita, who squeaked and dove into his hood. Elena giggled and shook her head. “What could you possibly be telling them? I’m just boring senóra del libro.”
“I don’t think you’re boring,” Bruno muttered, Elena barely hearing him. “You actually leave Encanto and bring in news from outside! That’s not a safe trip at all, and you take it four times a year just so that Encanto gets word of the outside world and new books to read!”
“Anyone else would do the same. Books are important!” Elena said defensively “Besides, everyone else just says that I’m able to make the trip so often because no one would want to deal with my mouth if something did happen on the road.”
“Senór Geraldo only made the trip once every two years,” Bruno remembered suddenly. “And people say a lot of silly things. You run three businesses with no help, que requiere tenacidad y fuerza!”
Elena felt her face grow hot for a moment. “I think this is both the longest we’ve ever spoken, and that that was the nicest thing I’ve heard in a while. Gracias, Bruno.”