“Whatever you’re paying those boys, it must not be enough,” Mrs. Caldwell said. The sun gleamed against her white hair.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I’ve been watching those boys all morning—especially the darker one with the tattoos.” She grinned and the wrinkles in her face seemed to disappear. “Are they Spanish or Italian?”
“Puerto Rican,” I told her.
“Well, anyways, I just saw the three of them huddled around your chimney, sharing the same cigarette. The poor boys must not be able to afford their own.” She stared over my shoulder towards my roof. I turned about and found Julio looking down at us, smiling. He waved and blew a kiss to Mrs. Caldwell. The old woman’s face filled red as she rushed off. “I’m going to make those boys some lemonade. Don’t work them too hard.”
Julio called me up, gesturing that he wanted to show me something. I headed up the ladder and stepped onto the angled roof, immediately falling to all fours. My hands singed as soon as they touched the black shingles.
“Caliente!” one of Julio’s guys shouted from the peak.
“Careful what you touch,” Julio warned. “It gets hot up here in the sun.” The man on the peak sprawled out on his back, looking up at the clear blue sky. Julio laughed as I watched him. “Us Boricuas, we like the heat, you know,” he explained. The third one, a silent man, stood with his back to me, staring at a section of the roof without shingles. “We waiting for the lumber yard to make a delivery,” Julio told me. “We gone have to replace a couple boards before we can finish—you have some water damage o’er there. Not that big of a deal, but it’s gone cost another $100.”
“That’s fine.” Julio invited me to inspect their work. Everything seemed to have been done properly, not that I could have known if it wasn’t. I made my way to the peak, checked the other side, which they had finished yesterday, and realized that I didn’t feel safe walking back down to the ladder. I took a seat on the peak, next to the sprawled out roofer, who seemed to be sleeping at the moment. It was an uncomfortable feeling—I was higher up than I cared to be. After a while, I heard the sound of an aluminum storm door crashing against a door frame. Seconds later, I noticed Mrs. Caldwell by her fence waving up at us. Julio smiled and sprung to his feet. He strutted down the roof like a cat, and easily mounted the ladder. A moment later he was at the fence. Mrs. Caldwell handed him a plastic bag and a jug of lemonade. Julio paid her with a kiss—a passionate one on her lips. Her legs trembled and almost gave out, her face flushed red, and her shoulders shook wildly. When it was over the old woman flew into her house with vitality that I never expected to see in her.
A quick, “What the fuck!” fell from my gaping jaw.
“He kiss her?” the sleeping man asked me.
“Yeah!”
The two Puerto Ricans laughed at me. It was the first time that I had ever heard the other one make a sound. A moment later Julio came up the ladder, smiling. “That’s a beautiful woman,” he said. “She made us all lunch.”
“She’s over 60 years old,” I told him, not understanding how he could have overlooked that fact.
“I know,” he said passing me a sandwich. “She made you lunch, too.” He took a swig of lemonade and gave a satisfied nod. “Her husband’s a lucky guy.”
“He’s dead,” I said. “She’s been a widow for almost 10 years.”
“No wonder,” he said grinning to the silent one. “There was some passion in those lips.”
The silent man grinned back at him, and mumbled something in Spanish. The trio laughed. “She a Christian woman?” Julio asked, rubbing the tattoo of a crucifix on his bare shoulder.
“Catholic.” I told him. Julio nodded at the silent man, who chuckled as quietly as a man could manage.
I couldn’t eat—I was too uncomfortable and hot on the roof. I watched Julio and the silent man have their lunch. Julio smiled as he chewed through what looked like ham and cheese. His eyes were glazed and his lids hung low, like a man drunk off the taste of a woman. It was horrific. The other was still lying sprawled on his back, eyes closed. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I offered one to Julio, who politely refused.
“Thanks, but we don’t smoke cigarettes,” he told me.
