The Deep End - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 313

There was a deafening crash from the side of the house. I jumped to my feet and ran to
the edge of the balcony facing the driveway. Below me sat a massive four-by-four backhoe,
idling its motor.
Nearby was a felled palm tree, the second of our cherished trees to bite the dust in the
past year. Now our stately row of palms was beginning to look like an insincere smile with
a couple of teeth missing.
Pablo, the bootleg contractor who had finished up our downstairs renovation when
Steve got sick, was sitting in the cab of the huge machine. When he saw me he swung open
the glass door, a guilty smile plastered across his face.
“I guess I need driving lessons,” he remarked.
“What in God's name are you doing, Pablo?”
“Getting ready to dig your pool,” he said.
“What pool?”
“The pool Michael said you guys are going to build.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“We didn't discuss a pool.”
Pablo lifted his hands in protest.
“Hey, keep me out of it. I'm just doing what I was told.”
I all but stomped my foot.
“Where's Michael?”
“He's not here?”
“Nope.”
“He told me to meet him here at two o'clock.”
I looked at my watch. Two-fifteen.
“But we can't build a pool,” I said to Pablo. “To begin with, we don't need one.”
He stared at me blankly.
“And they're a helluva lot of work,” I continued.
“Uh huh.”
“Plus, we can't afford it.”
Pablo all but rolled his eyes, clearly wishing I'd vaporize into thin air. Or at least quit
lecturing him about something he had no control over.
“The point is,” I summed up, “we're not building a $70,000 pool.”
“$80,000.”
“Excuse me?”
“That's what Michael said. $80,000.”
I threw up my hands in disbelief.
“He's insane.”
Pablo turned away, fed up with my ranting.
“Oh look, here he comes now,” he said with relief, peering down the road.