The Leak

The rain started at sunset, a tropical downpour that sounded like gravel being thrown against the metal roof. By midnight, it hadn't stopped.

I was sleeping on a camping mat in the back of the print shop. Sofía refused to let me stay in the apartment upstairs because of "propriety" (and Doña Carmen's watchful eye), but mostly because the shop needed a guard.

Drip.

I opened my eyes.

Drip. Drip.

I sat up in the dark. The sound wasn't the rhythmic tapping on the roof. It was the wet, heavy splat of water hitting the concrete floor inside.

I grabbed my flashlight (Tony’s phone, which I had borrowed).

I swept the beam across the room.

Water was streaming down the back wall, right above the main electrical panel for the Heidelberg press.

"No, no, no," I whispered.

If water got into that panel, it wouldn't just short the machine; it could start an electrical fire. And without the Heidelberg, we couldn't print the high-volume orders that paid the rent.

I scrambled up, grabbing a plastic tarp from under the workbench. I threw it over the panel, but the water was coming fast, pooling on the floor.

I needed to stop it at the source.

I ran to the back door, unlocking it and bursting out into the alley. The rain hit me instantly, soaking my clothes in seconds.

I looked up. The roof was corrugated tin. The wind had peeled back a loose sheet, creating a funnel for the deluge.

There was no ladder.

I looked at the dumpster pushed against the wall. Then at the trellis I had climbed down at the hotel.

"Don't think," I muttered. "Just move."

I climbed onto the dumpster. I grabbed the edge of the roof. The metal was slick and sharp. I hoisted myself up, scraping my chest against the concrete lip.

I was on the roof. It was slanted and slippery as ice.

"Careful, Max," I told myself, crawling on hands and knees. "Don't die for a printer."

I reached the loose sheet. The wind was whipping it back and forth like a sail.

I grabbed it. The metal sliced my palm, but I held on. I forced it down, fighting the wind.

It wouldn't stay. I needed weight.

I looked around. Nothing but wet tin.

I lay down on the sheet. My body was the only sandbag I had.

I pressed my face against the cold, wet metal, shivering uncontrollably. The rain hammered my back.

"Max!"

I heard a voice from the alley.

"Max! Where are you?"

"Up here!" I yelled, spitting water.

Sofía appeared below, holding an umbrella that was useless in this wind.

"What are you doing? Get down! You'll fall!"

"The roof is leaking!" I shouted down. "It's right over the breaker box! I have to hold it!"

"Don't move!" she screamed. "I'm coming up!"

"No! Stay down! Find me something heavy! Bricks! Cinder blocks!"

She hesitated, then ran.

Two minutes later, she was back with Tony. They were dragging a heavy wooden pallet from the neighbor's loading dock.

"Tony!" I yelled. "Throw me a rope!"

Tony scrambled to find a rope in the shop. He threw a heavy extension cord up.

I caught it.

"Tie the pallet!"

They tied it. I hauled it up, hand over hand, my muscles screaming. The wet wood was heavy, scraping against the wall.

I dragged the pallet over the loose sheet of tin. I slammed it down.

The rattling stopped. The sheet held.

I collapsed next to it, gasping for air, the rain washing the blood from my hand.

I lay there for a minute, staring up at the dark, angry sky.

I was cold. I was bleeding. I was exhausted.

But the machine was dry.

I crawled back to the edge and lowered myself down.

Sofía was waiting. She grabbed me before my feet even hit the ground, pulling me into a hug that was fierce and desperate.

"You idiot," she sobbed into my wet shirt. "You stupid, brave idiot."

"I fixed it," I chattered, my teeth clicking.

"You're bleeding," she said, grabbing my hand.

She dragged me inside. Tony slammed the door.

They sat me on the crate. Sofía dried my hair with a towel while Tony poured me a shot of rum.

"That was metal," Tony said, looking at me with new respect. "Literally."

"The breaker is safe?" I asked.

"Bone dry," Tony confirmed.

Sofía wrapped a bandage around my hand. She kissed the knuckles.

"You act like this is nothing," she whispered. "But Max... you just saved us again."

"It's just a roof," I said, the rum warming my stomach.

"No," she said, looking at me with eyes that saw everything. "It's my father's legacy. And you protected it with your body."

She touched my cheek.

"You aren't a guest anymore, Max. You are the foundation."