Dancing with Lizards - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 240

When we first bought our house in Vieques, the lot just below ours was vacant. But about a
year after our closing, bulldozers moved in to level the land. Construction on a new property
began soon afterward.
We were beside ourselves. Our neighborhood was so incredibly settled , it simply hadn't
occurred to us that someone would build a new house near ours.
And on such a small lot.
Jane asked around and learned that the builder was Hal Johnson, a successful contractor
from New England who had moved to Vieques with his wife twenty years earlier for a
change of pace. He was building the house for his sister and her husband, who lived in Ea-
ston, Maryland, just across the Bay Bridge from D.C.
Jane pointed out that we were “neighbors times two” with these folks, but somehow this
fun factoid didn't make us feel any better.
As we watched the house take shape, we rotated through all the various stages of grief,
although we lingered with particular relish on the anger and denial phases, with a protracted
wallow in the depression category for good measure.
“What if it's horrible?” I wailed.
“What if it's huge?” Michael wanted to know.
“How can it be huge on such a small lot?”
“Can you say McMansion? ” he retorted. “Think Chevy Chase with palm trees.”
Every time we went down for a visit they seemed to have added another level. It was
Buckingham Palace on steroids! Our ocean view was history! We drank heavily, all the
while telling ourselves it could be worse, though we couldn't imagine how.
And then about eight months after construction began, the house was suddenly finished
(which, by the way, was definitive proof that the owner was a blood relation of the contract-
or—otherwise, it would've taken years).
And it wasn't so bad after all. In fact, we kind of liked it. Built in a classic West Indies
style, the house was two stories tall (okay, so the Buckingham Palace reference was a little
over the top).
The whole living space—great room, two bedrooms and a bath—was on the upper story,
with a broad wooden veranda opening out of the great room to take advantage of the fantast-
ic ocean views. The lower level, which obviously existed solely to elevate and support the
upper floor, consisted of little more than a laundry room and carport.
They painted the house butter yellow and put a bluish-green tin roof on top. We liked the
sound of rain hitting the roof.
All was well.
And when we finally met the owners we liked them a lot. But again, I'm getting ahead
of myself.