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

his shoe. “I know this is scary,” he said quietly. “But something you taught me, Libby, is that when you believe the best, you’re a lot more likely to do what it takes to make the best happen.”

The evening was surprisingly beautiful, considering the sky had been black just hours earlier, and I squinted at him in the low, golden light. Even if I knew where to find this shiny version of me he was referring to, her wishful thinking would not have done a darn thing to fix our situation.

“There’s got to be something we haven’t thought of yet,” he added.

Such as attempting to swim to the mainland? Or perhaps we should make a giant sign on the beach—Save Our Stupidity!—and pray someone would fly over and rescue us.

Then it hit me.

“The waves are still pretty low, right?” I said, shielding my eyes as I glanced past him at the strip of ocean visible over the fence.

He nodded.

“You think it’ll stay that way until tomorrow?”

“Maybe . . . why?”

“Someone on this island has to have a boat that we can borrow. Let’s go ask Milagros and Hector.”

He put his arm around my shoulders. “I like the way you think.”

“I’m glad,” I said, because at least things between us were starting to feel normal again. Maybe they’d even continue on that path, and we’d never have to discuss the secret phone call he’d gotten.

As we opened the gate, I saw that the girls were on the patio on either side of Milagros, under a tree whose branches had once been host to at least half a dozen orchids. Now only one bright yellow blossom with fuchsia streaks in its center remained. But the girls were talking animatedly as Milagros listened on. I’d just started to smile about the three of them getting along so well when I realized the girls were actually arguing over Milagros’ head.

“I get to name the dog,” Isa was saying.

“No, I do,” insisted Charlotte. “Mom told me we could get one. So I get dibs.”

“Do not!”

Before I could interject, Milagros clapped her hands together. “Niñas! Let me tell you about the first time I got a dog. It was a tiny little puppy named Lola, and I kept her in a dresser drawer . . .”

“Wait,” I whispered, holding an arm out to Shiloh, who’d just taken a step toward them.

We stood at the gate, listening to Milagros tell them a story about her first dog, who apparently had a thing about doing its business in her parents’ bed. By the time she was done, the girls were rolling with laughter.

“We have to name our dog Lola!” said Isa.

“Just so we can watch it poop in Mom and Papi’s bed!” said Charlotte, still cackling. “Milagros, we’ll send you pictures. Do you know how to text?”

“Hi, you guys,” I announced. “For the record, no dogs will be pooping in my bed.”

“Bienvenidos!” called Milagros, but I noticed that she didn’t hop up like she usually did. “Hector is just finishing dinner for us.”

Just then, Hector emerged from the house, a large pot in one hand, a flashlight in the other. “It’s going to be dark soon,” he explained, setting the flashlight on the tile. “I’ll be back in a moment with everything else.”

I looked at Charlotte. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s time to test your blood sugar, okay? The kit is inside.” We’d moved our stuff back into the guesthouse after confirming that it hadn’t been damaged. In fact, thanks to Hector’s repairs, the roof hadn’t leaked.

“I’ll go get it. Isa, come with?” She hesitated. “It’s dark in there.”

Isa looked at her like she was going to say no. But then she grabbed the flashlight and sighed. “Fine.”

At least they were finally getting along. “Just come back with your meter so I can see the numbers,” I said.

Hector returned with plates, glasses, and a bottle of rum, which he poured into each glass and handed to us.

“Salud,” said Milagros. “To being home.”

To going home, I thought to myself a bit guiltily as I lifted my glass. “Salud.”

“Hector, Milagros, Libby and I were just talking,” said Shiloh. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, then continued. “If the power stays off—and I see no sign that it’s going to come back anytime soon—it’s not safe for us to be here.”

“Claro,” said Milagros. “As much as I wish you could stay, the four of you should leave as soon as you can.”

“Oh no, Milagros,” I said quickly. “We’re not leaving you here without electricity and all the clinics closed.”

“Eh, this is my home. I have Hector, and who needs electricity? I didn’t have a television until I was twenty years old, mija, and didn’t I make it through Maria?”

Sure—but I could still remember the days, then weeks, following the storm as Shiloh and I frantically tried to get hold of her, to no avail. Back then I’d been a heck of a lot more optimistic than I was now, and yet it had still been torture to wait—and wait—to hear if she had survived. I was not about to leave Milagros here and twiddle my thumbs until the electricity was turned back on.

Shiloh, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, shook his head. “I don’t know, Milagros, that doesn’t sound safe to me. There’s no saying how long this could go on. But yes, we do need to leave—Libby and I are really worried about Charlotte’s diabetes supplies. They’ll go bad if they stay warm too long, and if she’s without insulin . . .”

She could die.

Shiloh, who couldn’t make himself finish the rest, turned to Hector. “Do you know anyone who has a boat? Libby and I were thinking that might be the best way off the island. Maybe even the only way,” he added. “I know we’ll need to wait until tomorrow, since it’s late, but . . .”

Hector reached for Milagros’ hand and gave her a tight smile. I was wondering why when he said, “I know someone with a boat, but I