The construction at Harbor Point continued without him.

Every morning, I arrived at the site at six o’clock.

I wore a yellow hard hat and heavy leather boots.

I watched the concrete mixers pour the foundation.

I watched the steel frames rise toward the blue sky.

I selected the white stone for the entryways.

I chose the soft cedar wood for the balconies.

Every nail driven into the wood felt like a debt paid.

The weeks turned into months.

The winter rains passed.

The summer sun baked the new stucco.

Today, the construction fences were gone.

The Maribel stood complete against the Pacific horizon.

It was a long, low structure of white stone and dark wood.

It looked exactly as I had drawn it on my kitchen table years ago.

I stood on the third-floor balcony.

The morning air smelled of saltwater and fresh pine.

Down below, a large blue bus pulled up to the main driveway.

The side of the bus read *The Maribel Senior Living Residence*.

An elderly woman in a yellow sweater stepped out.

She looked up at the white stone arches.