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

away. “What’s wrong?” He’d been holding Charlotte over his head, but he took one look at my face and let her go.

There was a smacking sound as her torso hit the water, and I swear I could hear her yelling before she even surfaced. “Papi! Ow!”

“Sorry, niña, that was an accident. But Mami’s hurt,” he said over his shoulder. He put his arm around me gently. “You okay?”

No. “I will be.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing the top of my head gently. “Come on, let’s get to the shore.”

Surely the pain will ease up once I’m on land, I told myself. But no—as Shiloh helped me limp back to the beach, the pain only intensified. I took a few steps before throwing myself down on the sand, even though I hadn’t made it to the towel. Crap. Was our vacation over before it even began?

“Uh-oh,” said Shiloh, examining my leg. There were several long strings of welts up and down my right calf. Each welt was circular and perfectly spaced from the next, like beads on a necklace. I would have appreciated the artistry if it hadn’t felt like hundreds of shards of glass implanted in my flesh. “Looks like you had a run-in with a jellyfish,” he said.

Isa, who was standing over me, started to scream. And I mean really scream. “There are jellyfish?! In the water?!”

“Con calma,” said Shiloh. The girls weren’t fully fluent in Spanish, which I knew was my fault; everything I’d read said it took both parents speaking around the clock to really immerse children in a language, and I’d not been capable of that. But he’d always used Spanish phrases to soothe them. To me, he added, “That’s really unusual for this part of the Atlantic, especially so close to the shore. Although maybe global warming . . .”

“Honey,” I said, but then I had to squeeze my eyes closed because my leg had just started throbbing. “It really hurts,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Pee on it!” said Charlotte. “That’s what you’re supposed to do for jellyfish stings—I saw it on YouTube!”

Isa’s face brightened. “Pee on it! Pee on it!” she yelled.

“Pee on it! Pee on it!” chanted Charlotte.

Every beachgoer within a half-mile radius had turned to stare at us. Really, I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone walked over and offered to empty their bladder onto my leg just to shut my children up.

“No one is peeing on anything, now knock it off,” Shiloh told them. “Libs? Can you stand on it?”

I could, but it hurt. A lot. “Do you think I need to get to the hospital?” I whispered, one arm slung over his shoulder. I was starting to feel kind of woozy. “What if it’s poisonous?”

“Luckily, the kinds of jellyfish you find in this part of the Atlantic are perfectly harmless. Well,” he said, glancing at my leg, “not harmless, but not poisonous, either. Let’s get back to the hotel so we can clean it out. Girls, grab our towels.”

“But we just got in the water!” said Isa.

Charlotte put her fists on her hips. “We want to stay. I’ll keep an eye on Isa and she can watch me.”

I remembered how Milagros had practically hauled me out of the Caribbean when she saw me swimming alone in an area that hadn’t been designated for swimming. Unlike then, the four of us had been wading in a roped-off part of the ocean, but the receptionist at the hotel had warned us that the current had been particularly strong over the past week. “Until both of you are trained as lifeguards, no one is swimming without us,” I said. “Now please come with me and your father.”

“This always happens,” said Isa, trailing behind us.

I didn’t fully catch Charlotte’s response, but I heard her say, “Lame start to our vacation.”

My heart sank. Not because I disagreed—but because she was right.

TEN

Imagine my relief when the concierge at our hotel informed us that vinegar, not urine, was the best way to treat a jellyfish sting. Shiloh plucked a few stray pieces of tentacle from my skin with a pair of tweezers, which is every bit as repulsive as it sounds, then attempted to pickle my calf with the vinegar he’d bought at a convenience store. Afterward I took a warm bath, which reputable online sources said was helpful for easing pain. Not so much—but it was nearly dinnertime, so I tossed back a handful of ibuprofen and pasted on my best poker face.

We’d intended to eat at the Parrot Club, which had been one of our favorite spots in Old San Juan. But when we arrived there, we learned that it had been permanently shuttered several years earlier, though it wasn’t clear if that was a business decision or a result of the hurricane.

“I can’t believe how much of the island has been affected,” muttered Shiloh as we stood in front of another restaurant across the street. The building had a gaping hole in its roof that looked like it had been there since Maria hit. “I should have expected it, but still.”

“Maybe we’ll find something even better,” I suggested, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I knew we had almost the whole vacation ahead of us, but as my throbbing calf was intent on reminding me, we were already seriously off course.

“When?” demanded Isa, leaning against a tree in front of the restaurant. “I’m starving.”

“I am, too,” said Charlotte, who was sitting in a heap on the concrete, not far from Isa’s feet.

“Good, because now they’ll actually find food for us,” muttered Isa. “If I’m hungry, it doesn’t matter. If you’re hungry, stop everything! You might die!”

“Isa, for the love of all that’s good and holy, please knock it off,” I pleaded. “Can we be nice to each other tonight? We’re on vacation.”

“Are we, though?” said Charlotte, rolling her eyes, and Isa laughed.

“I’m glad you’re at least agreeing on something. Why don’t I call the hotel concierge to get a suggestion?”