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

Our flight hadn’t arrived until late afternoon, so instead of rushing to try to make the last ferry to Vieques, we’d decided to spend a night in the Condado neighborhood of San Juan, where Shiloh had lived before we got married. I sighed with relief when we pulled up to our hotel, not because the hotel was in good shape—though that didn’t hurt—but because I’d spotted the ocean on the other side of the building. Just the sight of it made me feel like somehow, some way, everything was going to work out.

Charlotte and Isa had always loved the water, too; I could still remember the way their faces lit up the first time they dipped their tiny toes in the Atlantic on our first trip to Puerto Rico. I wasn’t surprised that as soon as we dropped our bags in our room, they ran out to the beach.

Shiloh and I followed them to the shore, then stood back watching them splash each other and dive into the waves. From a distance, they could almost pass for children who hadn’t spent the past several days complaining about having to leave their friends for a whole week (never mind that half their friends were at camp). I wasn’t about to complain about that.

“Things are looking up,” said Shiloh.

“I mean, I don’t want to say I told you so, but . . .”

“But you totally told me so,” he said, bumping my hip with his own.

I grinned. An hour in the land of palm trees and piña coladas and we were flirting like a couple on their third date! I had half a mind to call Paul and tell him that I’d found a cure for coasting, and that he and Charlie should hop on a plane immediately and try it for themselves.

“It’s so good to be here,” I told him.

“It really is,” he agreed. His hair was blowing in the wind, and even from behind his aviator glasses he looked awfully darn content. Which was a relief—even though he’d said he wanted to go on this trip, he’d been so busy with work the past week that I hadn’t gotten a sense as to whether he really meant it. “Aquí, me siento como yo mismo,” he added.

“You feel like yourself here?” I said, attempting to translate. My Spanish had improved a lot over the past thirteen years, but I still managed to say things like “I have poop!” when I was actually trying to say, “I’m afraid.” No surprise, I left the talking to Shiloh when it came to anything important.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at me.

“Do you not feel like yourself when you’re in New York?” I asked, thinking of how I hadn’t felt right lately, either.

He looked from me to the water and back again, and I could tell he was trying to work out how to respond. “I do,” he said slowly, “because that’s where you and the girls are, and that’s where my home is.”

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Thank you,” I said softly.

“You don’t need to thank me. But I should thank you. I’m glad you wanted to come.”

It felt good to hear him say this. In fact, I could almost ignore the tiny nagging voice deep within me saying that if I’d only done this sooner, I could have avoided flatlining when I should have been hollering hallelujah. Maybe next year we’d leave in June, as soon as the girls were done with school, and make it an annual trip. Heck, maybe at some point we could even spend the whole summer here. It was probably an impossible idea. But as I stared out at the ocean as the sun warmed my skin, I realized an impossible idea was a massive improvement over the Nancy Nostradamus persona I’d been sporting the past couple of weeks.

“Mom! Papi!” Isa was flapping her arms and jumping up and down. “Come in the water!” she said. “Come on!”

My children were inviting me to join them without being bribed or guilted? Score. “Coming,” I called. “But don’t get me wet. I’m not wearing a suit under my sundress.”

“So?” said Charlotte. She motioned to the running shorts she’d worn in lieu of a bikini bottom. “The water’s so warm right now. You have to try it!”

“Okay, okay. Just a little,” I said, putting a foot in the water. It was warm, and the sand was soft beneath my feet. “Hey,” I said to Shiloh. “If I’m doing this, you are, too.”

He grinned and shrugged, then rolled up his shorts and waded in.

“There you go,” teased Isa.

“Was that so bad?” said Charlotte, who looked at Isa and laughed.

“Listen, you two,” I said, splashing them.

“This is war!” said Charlotte. “Isa! You know what to do!”

Isa grinned. “Get her!”

“Not while I’m in my dress!” I protested, but it was too late—they were on top of me, pulling me down into the ocean.

Salt water seeped into my mouth and burned my eyes, which I’d closed a second too late. I didn’t care. I resurfaced with a big smile on my face. “You’ll pay for that!” I yelled before dunking a screaming Charlotte.

Isa attempted to run through the waves away from me, but Shiloh was faster. “Don’t worry, Libby—I’ve got her,” he said, grabbing Isa as she squealed. He lifted her as though she was no lighter than a doll and tossed her into a wave. Seconds later, she popped up, laughing gleefully like she had when she was a toddler.

“Team Parent for the win,” said Shiloh, winking at me.

I winked back, though I was on the verge of weeping with happiness. My family was actually enjoying each other’s company! This was the best idea—

My thought was interrupted by a stun gun hitting my calf. At least, that’s what it felt like.

“Oh sugar,” I said, lurching forward to clutch my leg. “Oh, mother plucking sugar.”

“Libby?” asked Shiloh, who was standing a few feet