A Gloom with a View - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 41

“Could be, amigo , if you'll open up.”
His name was Tio. He'd worked for the gas company for forty years but was now re-
tired. Despite the intense heat, he wore a long-sleeved black flannel shirt buttoned to the
neck.
As soon as we got inside the house the smell of fish assaulted us. Fried fish to be exact.
Señora Tio was at the stove, making dinner. She stopped everything when we came in
and greeted us as if she'd been expecting us her whole life. We felt uneasy, but her simple
kindness soon made us feel at home.
“Will you take supper?” she asked.
“No, but it's very nice of you to ask,” I said.
She eyed us in her friendly but slightly puzzled manner.
“You came from New York?”
“No, Washington.”
Her face went blank.
“You know, the capital.”
“Seattle?”
“No, not Washington state. The city of Washington.”
“Actually, the district,” Michael interjected unhelpfully.
“Cherry blossoms,” said Armando.
She lit up. “I always would have liked to see these big pink plants.”
Having settled both the dinner and cherry blossom issues, it was now acceptable, or so
it seemed, to begin the tour.
The house had tremendous potential. Mind you, it was pretty run-down, not to mention
stuffed to the gills with inappropriately ornate furniture, plastic chandeliers and a fifty-four
inch television. But the basics were there—and more.
Judging from our admittedly limited exposure to island architecture, the layout of this
house was an anomaly. Instead of being chopped up into a series of small dark spaces, like
most houses we'd seen, the better part of the top floor was devoted to one very large room
containing kitchen, living and dining areas.