The Reconstruction Begins

The sound of a jackhammer is usually annoying. To me, it sounded like a symphony.

"Easy on the lintel!" I shouted over the noise, pointing to the stone archway. "That stone is five hundred years old. Treat it like your grandmother!"

Raúl, who was operating the lift, gave me a thumbs up.

"Si, Jefe! Gentle like a baby!"

I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my glove. I was covered in limestone dust. My boots were battered. My guayabera was stained.

I had never been happier.

It had been ninety days since we took over the site. In that time, Mercedes & DeLuca had transformed from a sketch on a plywood wall into a functioning machine.

We worked out of the print shop in the mornings—designing logos, printing flyers for local businesses—and spent the afternoons here, at the San Nicolás, resurrecting the dead.

"Max!"

I looked down from the scaffolding.

Sofía was walking across the courtyard. She was wearing a hard hat over her curls and holding a clipboard. She looked like the CEO of the world.

"The tile samples arrived from Santiago," she called out. "And the Ministry inspector is here. He says the wiring diagram is 'unconventional'."

"It's not unconventional," I said, climbing down the ladder two rungs at a time. "It's efficient. Tell him to look at Sheet A-4."

I landed on the ground. Sofía handed me a bottle of cold water.

"I told him," she said, wiping a smudge of dirt from my cheek. "He’s afraid of you. He calls you El Mago de Piedra (The Stone Wizard)."

"Wizard is better than Arsonist," I joked.

We walked to the makeshift office (the same trailer where Cata had humiliated her, now scrubbed clean and filled with Sofía’s colorful prints).

Inside, the samples were spread out on the table.

"This one," Sofía said, pointing to a deep, oceanic blue tile. "For the pool. And this terracotta for the walkways."

"The blue is expensive," I noted, checking the price sheet. "We are on a government budget, Sofía."

"I negotiated," she smirked. "I told the supplier we would print his catalog for free next year if he gave us the 'Family Discount'. He agreed."

I shook my head, smiling. "You are dangerous."

"I am efficient," she corrected.

She leaned against the table, looking at the plans.

"It’s happening, Max. It’s actually happening. The roof is sealed. The plumbing is rough-in. We might actually finish this."

"We will finish it," I promised.

The door opened. Raúl poked his head in.

"Jefe, the lunch truck is here. Moro de guandules today."

"I'm coming," I said.

Raúl looked at Sofía. "Jefa, Tony called. He says the Heidelberg is making a 'crunchy' sound."

Sofía groaned. "That machine is jealous. It knows I’m spending too much time here."

"Go," I said, kissing her forehead. "I'll handle the inspector. Give the Heidelberg a kick for me."

She grabbed her keys. "Dinner tonight? Doña Tata is making Mofongo."

"I'll be there," I said.

She walked out, her hips swaying, commanding the attention of every worker in the yard.

I watched her go.

We were tired. We were broke (the stipend barely covered rent and materials). But we were building something that would outlast us both.

I turned back to the tiles. I picked up the blue one.

Turquoise.

It was the color of the sea at Boca Chica. It was the color of the dress she wore the morning after the storm.

"Approved," I wrote on the order form.