Chapter XLI: Homecoming
Seven days pass after All Souls' Day. The candles have long burned out in the cemeteries, flowers now wilted, but inside the house the rhythm of life continues. Meric stands by the kitchen, the frying pan hissing as she drops in a handful of Ipon—tiny silver fish, young gobies caught fresh that morning at the market. The sound of sizzling oil fills the air, the fragrance drifting across the sala, reaching the round table where Jonn already waits with a fork in hand like a soldier with his weapon ready.
"Don't start stabbing the plate until I put the food down," Meric teases, flicking her towel at him.
Jonn grins, tapping the fork like a drumstick. "I've been waiting all week for this, Manang. Fried Ipon is better than any lechon, trust me."
At the table, Mark giggles, sniffing the air with exaggerated delight. "Mommy, you're making me drool already. Hurry, please."
Meric laughs, plating the golden, crispy Ipon, the tiny fishes lying in neat rows as though lined up for inspection. Just as she places the plate on the table, something brushes Meric's knee—sharp yet furry. She gasps lightly, jerking her leg back.
"What the—?"
She looks down, and there, eyes glowing like twin marbles in the dim light, is Salvi, their cat. His tail swishes with practiced arrogance, as if he owns both the house and the food.
"Salvi!" Mark exclaims, delighted.
Jonn bursts out laughing. "The general has arrived to collect his share."
Meric shakes her head, though a smile curls on her lips. "Jonn, give him one piece. Just one. Otherwise, he'll climb on the table and steal it himself."
Obediently, Jonn plucks one fried Ipon from the platter and holds it out. Salvi snatches it with practiced speed, tail flicking as he trots under the table. The crunch of tiny bones echoes from below.
"Well, at least we know he approves," Meric mutters, amused.
Dinner that night feels whole—humble fish, simple rice, laughter bouncing off the walls. Even Salvi crunching beneath the table feels like part of the family chorus. None of them know that it will be his last meal with them.
The next morning at 7 a.m., Jonn and Rico walk to the bodega, the small storehouse stacked with cases of Pepsi bottles and snacks. The air smells faintly of dust and sugar syrup.
But just as they step inside, Rico stops. His eyes fall on the floor near the crates.
"Jonn," he says quietly.
There lies Salvi, motionless. His fur is matted, a streak of blood near his belly. His once-alert eyes are closed, his chest no longer rising.
Jonn kneels immediately, poking him gently. "Salvi? ... Come on, don't joke like this." He shakes him lightly, but nothing happens. The boy's throat tightens.
Rico sighs heavily. "He must have been hit by a tricycle or motorcycle outside. Strays always wander the road. Maybe he dragged himself back here... to die at home."
Jonn swallows hard, blinking fast. "But... but he was fine last night. He ate Ipon. He was happy."
Meric soon arrives after being called, and when she sees Salvi, her hand flies to her mouth. Mark follows, his little face twisting in confusion.
"Why is Salvi sleeping here?" Mark asks softly.
Meric kneels, brushing the cat's head gently. "He's not sleeping anymore, Balong. He's... gone."
Mark's lips tremble. "Gone where?"
"To a place where he won't be hungry or hurt again," Meric answers, her own voice breaking.
Behind the bodega, there is a small open area. Rico and Jonn dig with a spade, the soil damp and stubborn. Sweat mixes with quiet tears. Finally, they lower Salvi gently, wrapping him in an old cloth.
"Goodbye, buddy," Jonn whispers, covering him with earth.
Mark places a tiny wildflower on top of the mound, whispering, "Bye-bye, Salvi. Thank you for your fun times and service to us."
The family walks back inside, the house feeling emptier, as if a thread has been cut.
Weeks pass. Almost a month later, December arrives with its cool breezes and festive lights. On the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, Meric and Mark dress neatly and walk to Hermosa Cathedral. The streets are alive with vendors selling religious images and candles, children running around, families gathering to celebrate.
The cathedral doors open, and a grand procession begins. The image of the Virgin is carried high on an antique carozza, veiled in blue and white, flowers spilling around her. Her halo is lit, like a halo of holiness. Band music swells, drums and brass echoing through the streets.
Mark clasps his hands, looking up in awe. "Mommy, Mama Mary looks like she's smiling at us."
Meric squeezes his shoulder. "She always is, Balong. Especially today."
They join the crowd, following the procession, Meric whispering prayers while Mark points excitedly at every carrozza passing by.
On Christmas Eve, the house feels both festive and incomplete. Mark sits by the tree, eyes glowing as he unwraps a large box marked from "Santa Claus." Inside lies a Lego set, colorful pieces spilling like treasure.
"Wow!" Mark squeals. "Santa really knows what I wanted!"
Meric smiles, though her heart aches slightly. She knows the gift is from herself who secretly played Santa, with a little help from Rico and Jonn, but she lets her son hold the magic a little longer.
They try to video call Ben, but the connection fails. He's busy abroad, working long hours.
Meric sighs, staring at the screen. "Just one Christmas without him," she mutters.
Mark hugs her, Lego box in hand. "Next year he'll be here, Mom. I know it."
Meric kisses his forehead. "I hope so, Balong."
It's December 30, nearly 9 p.m. Meric is in the bathroom when a loud voice shouts from the gate.
Mark, curious, rushes out. "Who's there?"
Through the dim streetlight, he sees a figure—broad-shouldered, scruffy-haired, carrying a big bag and a maleta (travelling bag with wheels).
"Daddy?" Mark gasps, eyes widening.
The man steps closer, grinning. It is Ben. He's no longer the skinny husband Meric once knew—now slightly buff, with a bit of a tummy, his face rugged but warm.
Mark yells, "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy's home!" He fumbles with the gate, finally pulling it open.
Meric, rushing out, towel still around her shoulders, freezes at the sight. Then she runs and throws her arms around him.
"Ben!" she cries, tears streaming.
He laughs, hugging her tight. "I told you I'd come back."
Inside the sala, Mark clings to his father's arm. "Daddy, please don't go back abroad. Teach me math again. I'm terrible without you!"
Ben chuckles, pulling his son close. "Math, huh? Don't worry, buddy. I won't leave your side again."
The next day, Caluipat bursts alive for the Barangay Fiesta. Meric and Ben head early to Hermosa Public Market, weaving through crowded stalls. Vendors shout prices, pork and vegetables glisten on display. They haggle, they laugh, Ben even flexes his new muscles while carrying the heavy bags.
Back home, the kitchen becomes a storm—chopping, frying, boiling. The smell of adobo, menudo, and pancit fills the air.
Visitors pour in. Roselyn, Ben's sister, and Dalen, his mother, arrive after a long absence. Their jaws drop when they see Ben back.
"Anjang! You're here?!" Roselyn cries, hugging him tightly.
Even more visitors follow—Elric and his family, Jing, and cousins from Banggai. The house buzzes with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of plates.
By afternoon, the procession of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medals, the barangay patron, begins.
Meric sits on the cemented pathway by the gate, watching as the carrozza glides past, candles flickering in the twilight. Ben is at the store, Mark beside him. The band music drifts through the air.
Later, when the procession makes its U-turn back to the barangay hall, a neighbor approaches Meric at the store.
"Manang Meric," the woman says, slightly trembling. "You know, earlier, while you sat by the gate... I saw a lady with glasses in a red blouse sitting right beside you."
Meric blinks, puzzled. "But... I was alone."
The neighbor nods, insistent. "I saw her clearly. Sitting with you. Smiling."
The words sink in, and a chill runs through Meric. She remembers Mercy—her late mother—who always wore glasses, and once favored a red blouse.
When the neighbor leaves, Meric stands still, heart thumping. Slowly, a soft smile spreads on her lips.
"Mamang," she whispers, looking at the sky. "So you're still here. Always beside us."
And in that moment, amidst the crowd and music, she feels less alone.