Coco Junior Novel Read online

  In the courtyard, Miguel’s cousins Rosa and Abel hung colorful papel picado while Miguel’s parents worked on tamales. Miguel’s grandfather swept the courtyard as the tiny grandchildren created a marigold-petal path leading to the ofrenda room.

  “And that man is your Papá Julio,” Miguel explained, holding his ten-month-old sister in his arms while Abuelita arranged photos on the altars. The baby had been named Socorro after Mamá Coco’s full name. “And there is Tía Rosita, and your Tía Victoria, and those two are Óscar and Felipe. These aren’t just old pictures—they’re our family, and they’re counting on us to remember them.”

  Abuelita smiled to see that her grandson was passing on the tradition of Día de los Muertos to his baby sister. She gently placed one last picture frame on the ofrenda. It was a photo of Mamá Coco. Abuelita exchanged a glance with Miguel, and he put an arm around her. They both missed Mamá Coco very much. Next to her picture was the photo of Mamá Imelda, Coco, and Héctor, taped together again.

  Back in the Land of the Dead, Héctor waited in the departures line. After so many years of being rejected, he was full of nerves.

  “Enjoy your visit! Next!” called the departures agent. Héctor stepped up to the monitor. The agent recognized him and smirked. Héctor chuckled nervously as the agent scanned him.

  Ding!

  “Enjoy your visit, Héctor!” the agent exclaimed.

  Héctor’s chest swelled with joy. His family had finally included his picture on the family ofrenda. Mamá Imelda joined him at the foot of the bridge. They kissed until a joyful voice cried out.

  “Papá!”

  Héctor turned to see his daughter walking toward them. He opened his arms to give Coco a huge embrace. “Coco!” he exclaimed, holding her tight. He knew that every moment together was a miracle. Coco took a hand of each of her parents, and together they crossed the bridge.

  Overhead, Dante and Pepita flew in the night sky of the Land of the Dead. They alighted on the marigold path and bounded across and into the Land of the Living. Dante’s neon skin and wings disappeared, and he was a normal hairless Xolo once more. Pepita’s shadow of a glorious winged feline loomed large, but as she rounded the corner into the Land of the Living, she appeared as a little alley cat. Dante and Pepita weaved past holiday revelers and into the Riveras’ courtyard. Abuelita spotted Dante and quickly tossed him a tamale. He chomped it down.

  In the courtyard, the family gathered around Miguel as he strummed his guitar and began to sing. Dante hopped up to give him a lick on the cheek.

  “Dante!” Miguel squealed. Everyone laughed.

  On this special night of Día de los Muertos, the spirits of Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda stood arm in arm, listening to Miguel play. Abuelita listened, too, with Mamá Coco’s hand on her shoulder. Miguel’s father cradled the baby as Miguel’s mother leaned on him. All of Miguel’s family, living and dead, bobbed their heads to the melody while others sang along and played their own instruments. Though the living couldn’t see the dead, the family was whole, brought together by the harmony—and the meaning—of a song.