Orange You Sorry? - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 74

“That's not exactly the point,” I said. “I didn't tell you guys to choose your favorite
color and go crazy. We chose the color. All you had to do was hire someone to slap it on
the walls.”
He glanced at his watch, a gesture that was beginning to seem like a Daniel/Rod family
tic. “You'll have to talk to Daniel about this. I need to run.”
“This is a serious problem,” I muttered half-heartedly, acknowledging to myself as I
spoke that it's foolish to argue with someone who's more or less reading from a script.
“Ask Daniel to call me,” I said to his retreating back.
“Will do,” he chirped. “Bye-bye.”
Michael and I stared at each other in disbelief.
“What a freak,” I tossed out, my voice flat.
“Totally,” Michael replied with an equal lack of conviction.
And then, without another word, we sprang into action—our usual antidote to all things
negative.
In a blur of activity, we assembled the bed frame, divested the mattress and box springs
of their plastic shrouds, flopped them over onto the bed and swaddled them in crisp new
sheets.
At least we'd have a place to crash at bedtime.
That done, we finished unpacking, showered and drove to dinner in Esperanza. We
were dead tired and more than a little discouraged, though after a couple of drinks we man-
aged a few lame jokes at Rod's expense.
When we got home we switched on the ancient window unit and were soon lulled to
sleep by its old-fashioned clank, which happily drowned out our neighbor's barking dog
and the roosters that crowed like banshees all night.
The next day was my birthday. Despite all that had happened, it was sheer bliss waking
up in our new house for the first time. Michael got up early and made coffee. By the time
I dragged myself out of bed he was already fully caffeinated and busily unpacking boxes
and unwrapping furniture.
Before pitching in, I wandered out onto the balcony and drank in the stunning view.
It was an almost unimaginably clear morning. In the middle distance lay Isabel Segunda,
dotted with red-roofed buildings. On the horizon, across a dreamy patch of sapphire water,
rose the gray-blue ridges of Culebra, Vieques' smaller sister-island to the north.
The breeze rustled the palm trees fringing the driveway while a wild mare and her colt
grazed in the pasture below our house.
I turned back inside with a renewed sense of purpose.
☼ ☼ ☼
We worked hard those three days, but it was rewarding labor. By Monday, the day before
our return to D.C., the house actually looked almost habitable. Everything we'd bought