Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (top novels of all time txt) 📗

said with obvious delight. “He came over to move furniture for me and ended up moving in. Life is never boring for a moment, mija.”

I wanted to laugh and be happy for her—but hearing her call some man “lover” only reminded me of all the naked Twister I’d not been playing. If I was envious of an octogenarian’s love life, things were even worse than I’d thought.

“Libby?” said Milagros. “You still there?”

“I’m here,” I said, looking up at the sky. The sun had just begun to set; above me a pair of airplanes were heading in opposite directions, leaving white trails in their wakes.

“How’s Shiloh?” said Milagros, who seemed to have read my mind.

“Fine,” I sniffed. “Busy lately, but fine.”

“You’re lucky to have a man who loves you. That’s more than I can say for at least five of my seven ex-husbands. Or maybe there were six—it’s a little fuzzy now. But if I know anything, it’s that you have yourself a winner.”

I did; I really did. And wasn’t knowing that I’d married someone I truly loved, and who loved me, enough?

“Hector, amor, un segundo,” she hollered. “Sorry, Libby,” she said. “I’m telling you, the man is insatiable!”

I managed a laugh.

“¿Y las niñas? When are you going to bring them to Vieques to see me?” she asked.

Though our family visited Puerto Rico at least once a year, getting to Vieques was time-consuming and logistically complicated. So we’d only taken the girls there once, when they were two, and too young to remember Milagros. Shiloh and I had planned to return last summer but canceled after Charlotte’s diagnosis; everything had seemed so overwhelming at the time. We’d discussed going for spring break instead, but then my father had died.

“I know we’re long overdue for a trip. But the girls are doing great,” I told Milagros. “Charlotte’s blood sugar has been under control, which is the most important thing. Granted, they’re fighting more than I’d like because they don’t have camp this summer. They don’t realize what a privilege it is to be bored.”

Milagros cackled. “Kids never do! But if they’re bored, why don’t you bring them here for a week or so? Hector just made some updates to the guesthouse, and they didn’t take as long as we thought, so the month of August is open. It’s hot, tú sabes, but I can’t imagine New York will be any cooler. Celebrate being cancer free for ten years—my treat.”

“That’s so nice of you, but I don’t think we can pull it off,” I said, even as I imagined lounging in the hammock outside her guesthouse. It wasn’t just the idea of taking a break that was so appealing; Vieques was where I’d pieced my life back together and found peace and clarity at a time when both had seemed impossible. And given the week—heck, given the month—there wasn’t a single thing that sounded better than sticking my toes in the water and feeling like everything in the world was going to work out just fine. “Shiloh has been working a ton.”

“Then it’ll be even easier for him to ask for time off,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You’re funny.”

“Pero I’m also right. Come back to the place where you two started. And bring those gorgeous girls of yours so I can see them again before I croak.”

She was kidding, but her words pierced me. What if the twins never really got to know the woman who’d mothered me all these years?

“I miss you, Libby,” she added.

Here came the waterworks again. “I miss you, too, Milagros,” I told her, wiping away a tear. “I’d love to come, but I don’t know if I can make it that soon. Let me talk to Shiloh and get back to you.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said, and I could just see her grinning. “I’d say the door is open, but we’re booked solid from September through the second week of January.”

I sniffed. “Noted.”

“Of course, old Milly understands if you can’t visit. Either way, hang in there, okay, Libby?”

“I’ll try, Milagros. Thanks for helping me feel better.”

“Any time, mija, and I mean that.”

I knew that she did. Which is why I was going to find a way to see her again—and soon.

EIGHT

After I finally dried my eyes, I went into the living room and pulled my Vieques photo album from the bookshelf before heading to our bedroom. Still fully dressed, I got under the duvet, then opened the album.

I ran my finger along the edge of the first page. At the top, there was a photo of palm trees against a bright blue sky; I’d taken it shortly after arriving at the airport in San Juan. Just below that was a snapshot of the plane I flew to Vieques with Shiloh, who was barely visible in the background. Of course, at the time, I had no idea that the maddening if highly attractive stranger would eventually become my husband.

On the next page, Shiloh and I were at our favorite restaurant in Vieques, the one with twinkle lights and the open-air bar that looked like a movie set. It was where we went on our first date, which ended with us fighting about why I wasn’t planning to get treatment—not that that had been enough to prevent us from finding our way right back to each other.

And there I was, lying on a towel on the beach in my bathing suit and a wide-brimmed sun hat, smirking at Shiloh, who was taking my picture. I wanted to reach through the page and shake thirteen-years-ago me. Forget that I had no clue that just a few years later I would have traded a kidney for skin that supple and unlined. What I really didn’t realize was that what I’d thought was a low point was really one of the highest of my life.

New tears sprang to my eyes, because I’d just realized how much I looked like my mother in that photo. Specifically, I looked like the photo