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

Just knowing that things would eventually be all right made everything feel more that way. And apparently my newfound lightness was contagious, because the girls got into their bathing suits and cover-ups without being asked or raising their voices at each other, while Shiloh whistled as he loaded a backpack with snacks and supplies.

“Should we tell them what today is?” Shiloh whispered after we parked the Jeep near the trailhead leading to the beach.

“Later,” I said, because I was anxious to preserve the morning’s good vibe. “I want to tell them but feel like that’s a longer discussion. Right now, let’s just have fun.”

A frown flitted across his face so quickly I wasn’t sure I hadn’t imagined it. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe at lunch.”

“Perfect,” I agreed. The girls had already begun down the trail, and their heads were bent in conversation. The fact that they still weren’t fighting confirmed my decision to wait. “Let’s get going.”

The half-mile trail to the beach was steep and muddy; some sections were so flooded that we had to step into the thick brush along the side of the trail. We’d managed to make it about two-thirds of the way down when I miscalculated and stepped into a giant puddle. I yanked my leg up, but my foot wouldn’t move. I pulled again, even harder this time, but it was no use.

“Ugh, Mom, I’m beginning to think you’re cursed,” said Isa, but she was looking at Charlotte. They did this sometimes—had an entire conversation with a single glance. I knew what they were up to because Paul and I had been doing the same thing all our lives. I was willing to bet whatever they were saying had something to do with their mother being a master at manifesting disaster.

“Your vote of confidence is much appreciated,” I said to Isa. “And no, I don’t need help, but thanks so much for asking.”

“Libs?” said Shiloh, who’d stopped beside me. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” I said, like I wasn’t slowly being swallowed by a flesh-eating puddle. I tried again, and when my foot still wouldn’t budge, I said, “Actually, can you give me a hand?”

“Of course,” he said, looping his arm through mine. As he tugged gently, the earth finally let go of me.

“Mary and Joseph,” I muttered. Because the top of my foot felt like it had just been skewered like a shish kebab and stuck on a flaming grill.

“You’re hurt,” said Shiloh, which was when I realized I was grimacing.

I quickly fixed my face. “Only a little,” I told him, but there was a lump between two of my toes that was growing from a pea to a grape to a genetically engineered cherry tomato before my very eyes.

He whistled. “That doesn’t look great, cutie. Think you broke something?”

As I stepped gingerly on a less muddy part of the trail, pain shot from between my toes straight up my ankle. “Just pulled a tendon,” I said through gritted teeth. “Or maybe broke a blood vessel.”

His forehead was etched with concern. “We can head back.”

“No,” I said quickly. Things had just started getting better. There was no way that I was going to let a little tiny thing like childbirth-esque pain ruin our adventure. “I’ll be fine,” I said, trying not to visibly limp as I started on the path again.

“Listen, we really can come back another time. It’s not a big deal,” he said, giving me a sympathetic smile.

“Another day won’t be my cancerversary,” I said in a low voice, because I knew that was the one thing that would put an end to the discussion. I took another step to show him I meant it. “Let’s go see this mystical beach.”

The beach was set behind a red, rocky bluff, and the dense sand, which stretched for at least half a mile to our right, was the color of charcoal. It was beautiful to the point of being almost otherworldly.

The girls had been up ahead of me and Shiloh, and now they were running in the surf, squealing with glee. Tears sprang to my eyes, and not because of my foot. Maybe all this time, I hadn’t been looking for my own happiness at all, but for my daughters’. No wonder I’d been struggling so much—I’d been thinking about myself instead of what was most important.

“They love it,” I said to Shiloh. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t head back?”

He laughed. “You’re incredibly stubborn sometimes.”

“You’re welcome,” I quipped.

Most of Vieques’ beaches were speckled with pastel shells, but this one was dotted with tiny rocks. Shiloh squatted to examine a clay-colored stone. “You know, I haven’t been here since I was young,” he said, chucking the stone into the ocean.

“You’re still young,” I said, looking at his muscled back. “Or at least, you’re young-passing.”

“Thanks, I think?” he said with a laugh. He stood and put his arms around me. “So what does young-passing get me?”

I laughed with surprise. “Who wants to know?”

“Your husband,” he said in a saucy voice.

Just for a second I had a pang, because it had occurred to me that if we were actually younger and here without children, we might have ducked into a secluded area along the path and acted on our more primal urges. But a moment of spontaneous connection was nothing to scoff at, I reminded myself.

Then his shorts started to vibrate.

“Leave it,” I murmured, pulling him closer.

“If I leave it, it’s going to keep buzzing,” he said, already reaching into his pocket.

The screen was lit up, but he silenced the call before I could see whose name was on the display, then switched his setting to “Do Not Disturb.” He tried to smile again as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, but it was as authentic as a Rolex someone was selling out of their trench coat.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“No one,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

I immediately began rationalizing. He had his arms around me again, and we weren’t in the habit of keeping secrets from each