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

hold their own during conversations with adults. Especially adults as important as Milagros.

But now they were staring at Milagros and Hector like they were dumbstruck. I was about to nudge them when Charlotte blurted, “You guys are in love?”

Milagros laughed and gazed at Hector adoringly before turning back to Charlotte. “Sí, amiga. It’s the most wonderful thing in the world. Ask your parents—they fell in love right here,” she said, gesturing toward the guesthouse. “Isn’t that right, Libby?”

“That’s right,” I said, meeting Shiloh’s eyes.

The rain had slowed, and he was standing at the edge of the porch, leaning against a dry section of stucco. Warmth spread through my body as he smiled at me. How silly of me to worry. Of course he was still attracted to me, just as I was to him. And if all went according to plan, we’d soon have an opportunity to act on that attraction, just like we had thirteen years earlier.

THIRTEEN

Milagros had told me that they’d updated the guesthouse, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t gobsmacked when I walked inside and saw that the kitschy island decor had been replaced by myriad shades of gray. Gray sofas, gray walls, gray rugs—and for a little variation, a trio of white glass vases on the gray stone counter, which Charlotte and Isa would be sure to shatter at their earliest possible convenience. Didn’t anything stay the same?

“¿Qué te parece?” asked Milagros, who had followed us inside. “Hector’s been working on it. We just put posters up, and our rentals are almost back to what they were before Maria.”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I felt like I’d just stepped into a rain cloud, so I glanced at Shiloh. “It looks great, Milly,” he said, taking the hint. “And I’m glad business is booming.”

“Me, too,” I managed, because at least Hector’d had a solid financial motive for erasing all semblances of whimsy and personality. I shook my head; it wasn’t my guesthouse, so what did I care? It was like I was turning into . . . Paul, I thought with a shudder. As much as I loved my brother, I had no interest in taking a page from his worst-case-scenario handbook.

“Libby? You okay?” said Shiloh.

“Great,” I said. “Tired but thrilled to be here.”

“We’re happy you’re here, too, mija,” said Milagros. “I’ll let you get settled, but you holler if you need anything, okay? Oh, and drinks are at six—rain or shine.”

I smiled, because at least her old ritual remained. We’d spent many a happy hour on her patio, talking about love and life and making the most of the hands we’d been dealt. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I assured her. “You sure you don’t need me to help you back?”

Milagros, who’d already retrieved her umbrella and opened the door, turned to look in my direction. “Gracias, pero no. I know every step like my own face.” She smiled broadly and said, “That’s why I’m leaving this place in a body bag.”

“Milly,” I said, laughing nervously. “Don’t even say that.”

“No one makes it out of this life alive, mija,” she called as she stepped outside. “Not saying that doesn’t make it any less real.”

Maybe not, but I still couldn’t bear the thought of losing her—not so soon after my father.

After Milagros was gone, Charlotte threw herself down on an armchair. “This place is so small, Mom.”

“It’s not huge, but it’s lovely.” At least, it had been. Were it not for Milagros herself and the beach just outside our door, it could have been any rental in any town. But how lucky you are to be here, I reminded myself. And you’re not even paying for the privilege.

“Just look at that view,” I said, pointing through the large windows of the sunroom, where Isa and Charlotte would be sleeping on a pull-out sofa.

“I’m not going anywhere near ‘that view,’” said Isa, using air quotes. The water on the south side of the island was no less choppy than the north side had been, and the sky was almost as dark as if it were sundown. She scrunched up her nose. “I wish we were still at the hotel, so we could go use the pool. Jellyfish don’t do chlorine.”

I would have scolded them for complaining if I hadn’t been partially to blame. There was no way that my little meltdown in the car hadn’t left a dent in their mood.

“Please find something—anything—to like, okay?” called Shiloh, who’d just opened the side door that let out onto the patio. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “The patio’s wet, but the outdoor shower’s still here.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, smiling at him. “How soon do you think we can use it?”

“Not anytime soon, unfortunately,” he said, pulling the door closed. “The storm’s picking up and they’re predicting more of the same for the next few days.”

“It could change, though.”

“Definitely,” he said, finally smiling back at me. “And if it does rain, we’ll just have to find ways to stay busy.”

This was a welcome one-eighty. “Want to go nap before we head to Milagros’ for drinks?”

He tilted his head. “You know, I’m suddenly bone tired.”

My stomach did a little jump. “Girls,” I called, following Shiloh as he headed for the other room, “your father and I are going to lie down for an hour. Find something to do that doesn’t involve trying to murder each other.”

The bedroom had been subjected to the same monochromatic makeover as the rest of the place, but Hector hadn’t replaced the old rattan bed frame. This struck me as a good omen, as it was where Shiloh and I had conducted the first of many chemistry experiments. I lay across the mattress, watching him undress on the other side of the room. “You remember that night after the bay?” I asked. Vieques’ bioluminescent bay was one of only a few in the world; Shiloh had taken me to it thirteen years earlier so I could