Carmen said it would take an hour. He was still up there after lunch. No kidding.
‘Antonio’ arrived with a ladder, a small radio, and a cigarette that behaved like a prop.
“Just a quick look,” he said, and went straight up.
From below I heard tapping, scraping, and one noise that sounded like he had discovered a new species of animal. Dust drifted down onto my hair.
“All good?” I called.
“Depends what you call good,” he said.
I climbed to rung six and stopped. Heights and I have a deal. I stay polite and they stay far away. From rung six I saw Antonio poking the fascia with a screwdriver like a dentist who has seen enough and is watering at the mouth about the bill and follow ups.
“See this,” he said. “Soft.”
“Soft how?”
“Soft like bread.”
“I do not want bread on my roof.”
He laughed. Not comforting.
He pointed along the gutter. “Water sits here. Years go by. Nobody cares.”
“I care,” I said.
“Yes. Now,” he said. “Now is expensive.”
Rosa leaned over the wall with two oranges and the day’s news. She looked up at Antonio.
“He did my brother’s house,” she said. “Started at nine. Finished when the moon came out. Do not let him talk about paint.”
“Why not paint?” I asked.
“Because then you will die of old age,” she said, and smiled.
Carmen brought coffee and looked at me over the mug. “I told you to get this checked months ago.”
I nodded. I had hoped the roof would fix itself out of embarrassment. It had not.
Antonio called down, “You have a humidity line with history.”
“I do not like the word history,” I said.
“It means stories,” he said. “None of them good.”
He pried off one plank. Then another. He held one up like a prize. “This one is for art projects.”
“Please do not start a gallery,” I said.
There was a pause. Then a calm sentence no one wants to hear.
“Small hornet situation,” he said.
“How small?” I asked.
“Bigger than you want,” he said.
We took two steps back out of respect. Antonio gave the nest a look that said he had met worse.
By mid afternoon he climbed down and shook dust from his hair.
“Good news,” he said. “Most of it is fine.”
“How much is most?”
“Sixty percent. Maybe fifty five. Depends how you feel about holes.”
Carmen sighed and raised her eyebrows in a way that covered ten topics at once. I asked for a number.
He gave me a range that sounded like a raffle. Materials. Labour. Something called protection. I repeated it back to him to see if it changed. It did not.
Rosa tapped the oranges together. “Ask him about flashing,” she said.
Antonio brightened. “Ah. The flashing.”
“No,” I said. “We are not doing paint and we are not doing flashing today.”
Antonio looked wounded for a second, then cheerful again. “It is your roof,” he said. “I only visit.”
He climbed back up for one last look. Two taps. One photo. He descended like a man returning from a small expedition.
“You have a beautiful view,” he said. “Keep the water out and it will last.”
“Quote by Thursday?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Or Friday if Thursday is busy.”
When he left, Carmen wiped a line of dust from the windowsill.
“We should do it,” she said.
“We will,” I said. “On Thursday.”
That has become the rule. Big choices wait for Thursday. It stops the week from wobbling.
I wrote three things on the fridge list. Fix trim. Clear gutter. Ask about hornets. I crossed off clean fan because I had done it in a fit of avoidance while Antonio was explaining history.
Rosa passed the oranges over the wall. “For vitamin C,” she said. “And for luck.”
I put the ladder away and looked up. The roof looked the same as it had in the morning. Houses are like that. Quiet until they are just not.
Carmen folded the tea towel. “If we do the trim,” she said, “you will sleep better.”
“I already sleep fine,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Fine enough,” I said.
We went inside. The ceiling stayed where ceilings should be. Que problema?