Lattice Entertain You - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 270

“Well,” I began, “let's see. For starters, you promised to plant a mature hedge of bou-
gainvilleas across the bottom of the driveway. I wouldn't exactly call what you planted ma-
ture ,” I said, gesturing to the scraggly, ten-inch-tall specimens he had stuck into the ground
at uneven intervals. “I'm not sure I'd even call them plants.”
“These will grew very fast,” he claimed.
“I don't think they'll grew at all,” I shot back.
Grew at all? The one-time-English-major in me paused for a moment of silent despair.
“And then there's the hibiscus hedge,” I soldiered on. “Just call me curious, but is there
any particular reason why you planted it out of sight behind the garbage cans?”
“This is good spot.”
“This is terrible spot. Unless you're a garbage man who happens to like hibiscus. And
now let's talk about all the beautiful plants you removed.”
“What remove?”
“I'm glad you asked,” I said, smiling demonically, at which point Francisco began to
look the teeniest bit uneasy for the first time. “I have the list right here: one palm tree, three
ferns, five Heliconias and seven Calatheas. Not to mention,” I paused for dramatic effect,
pointing down the steps towards the lower level, “the ten beautiful seagrapes you hacked
down and replaced with $5 weeds.”
“Weeds?”
Just then, as Francisco and I squared off across the driveway, rhetorical daggers drawn,
the guests staying at Corinne's house came tiptoeing down the stairs, loaded with towels,
beach chairs and a cooler.
“Good morning!” I called out cheerfully, pretending for all that world that I hadn't just
been on the brink of throttling our gardener.
“Hey,” they muttered nervously. And then, without further ado, they crammed the
beach paraphernalia into the back of their car, threw open the gate and screeched down the
hill in record time.
My guess was that they'd been eavesdropping through one of the back windows and
had decided to escape before the shooting began.
“Weeds?” Francisco repeated, picking up exactly where we'd left off.
“That's what I said, weeds,” I replied wearily.
As fun as this was, it was clear we were getting nowhere. I had said everything I
wanted to say, and Francisco had offered a series of non-responses so unconvincing that
only someone drunker than himself would have fallen for them. But then I realized that I
hadn't said the most important thing of all.
“To be honest, we feel cheated.”
This got his attention. First his face flushed bright red, then he looked as if he might
cry.
“I no cheat you,” he whined. “I honest.”