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

Shiloh sat up straight. “You think he’d let us if he knew about Charlotte?”

Hector grunted a laugh. “She’s Flor—my ex-wife. And she’s mad as a hornet’s nest about me and Milagros.” He sighed heavily. “Mira, even if she says yes, that crossing can be rough—and after a storm there’s no telling how the water will be. It could be dangerous.”

I could feel adrenaline coursing through my veins as I pulled my phone out of my pocket—as if it would miraculously turn on and I could call for help, and we wouldn’t have to rely on the mercy of Hector’s ex to get us out of here.

The black screen was a potent reminder that we really had exhausted all of our avenues. “That boat is our only hope,” I said to Hector.

He nodded with what seemed to be a mix of resolve and resignation. “Then first thing tomorrow, we go see Flor,” he said.

TWENTY-FOUR

The four of us went to bed soon after the sun went down. Except my exhaustion was no match for my anxiety-addled brain; I tossed and turned, but sleep was all but impossible. And every time I opened my eyes, Shiloh, barely visible in the pale moonlight, was either sitting up in bed or staring at the ceiling beside me.

“You okay?” I whispered at one point.

“I will be once we get out of here,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry this vacation has turned out to be such a disaster.”

I reached for his hand beneath the covers. He squeezed my fingers before I could squeeze his. “You have nothing to apologize for,” I said. “One day we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

“You think?”

“No,” I admitted, and that made him laugh. “But hopefully it’ll be over soon and nothing like this will happen again for a while.” And by a while, I meant ever. Hadn’t the past year been enough difficulty for a lifetime?

Of course, I knew all too well that it didn’t work that way. Besides, hadn’t I already sworn I wasn’t going to indulge in my first-world problems? I finally fell asleep thinking about all the people who had it far worse than we did.

I couldn’t say what time it was when we finally stumbled out of bed, but the sun had just begun to peek from behind the clouds. It wasn’t storming, so after checking on the girls, who’d woken up shortly after us, Shiloh and I headed to the beach to see how the water looked.

Though the sandy stretch in front of the guesthouse was strewn with palm fronds and debris that had washed up during the storm, the waves were no choppier than they’d been the night before. “What do you think?” I asked Shiloh.

He put his arm around my waist. “I think it looks like we might just get out of here today.”

It was exactly what I needed to hear. The cooler had long since become a hot box, and though we’d been keeping Charlotte’s supplies shaded, that was barely making a difference; it was easily ninety degrees with, oh, 200 percent humidity. I knew we had a day, if that, before her insulin stopped working. But if we could get out of here, none of that would matter.

Just as I was about to say this to Shiloh, Charlotte and Isa came tearing through the gate toward us.

“What is it?” I yelled.

Like Isa, Charlotte was panting when she reached me. But unlike Isa, Charlotte almost never got winded. “Are you okay?” I said. “Is it your blood sugar? Your test strips?”

“Mom,” she said sharply. “It’s not me. It’s Milagros.”

The sand beneath me seemed to sway. “No. What happened?”

“She fell.” Isa was tugging on my shirt the way she used to when she was little. “Come on.”

I was still dizzy, but she didn’t have to ask twice; I was already running toward the guesthouse like a serial killer was behind me.

I saw Hector first. As I approached, I realized he was cradling Milagros’ head. She was on her back on the tile, arms and legs akimbo, moaning quietly.

“Milagros!” I cried, kneeling beside her. “What happened?!”

Shiloh, who’d just sat next to me, took her wrist in his hands to feel for her pulse. We’d both been trained in CPR, but unlike me, Shiloh never forgot the steps. “Milly, can you hear me?”

“Sí,” she murmured.

“Can you breathe?”

She managed to nod.

“Is either one of your arms or legs painful or numb?”

“My chest hurts,” she murmured.

For a split second I’d been relieved—because not only could she speak, one side of her face wasn’t drooping, so maybe she hadn’t had a stroke; that was how my father had died. Just as quickly, I realized chest pain was a sign of a heart attack.

Which could be every bit as deadly.

Either way, she needed a doctor. A hospital. Immediate medical attention. Basically, everything we didn’t have.

“She was fine when we got up,” said Hector, still stroking her head. “Then I went to get dressed, and I heard Isa and Charlotte yelling. When I got out here, she was on the ground.”

“Tell me more, Milagros,” I said, placing my hand on her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy. “Does anything else hurt?” I asked.

“My arm.” She paused. “It’s a little hard to breathe.”

Cognizant that Isa and Charlotte were right behind us and watching this all, I turned to Shiloh and Hector and whispered, “I think she had a heart attack. We have to do something.”

Shiloh looked at Hector. “Your ex. We need to get to her—immediately.”

Hector nodded numbly.

Shiloh put his hand on Hector’s shoulder. “As fast as you can, pack an overnight bag for Milly and for yourself.” He turned to Charlotte and Isa. “Go pack your backpacks—quickly. Charlotte, you know what to bring, right?”

“Insulin kit, protein bar, notebook,” she said, watching us with big eyes.

“I’ll help,” said Isa.

“Thank you,” I said. “Don’t worry about anything else, okay? We’ll get the rest later.”

“Go!” he said. “We leave in three