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

And then I’m sorry to report that I screamed and lurched backward like I’d just seen a ghost.

“Libby,” she said hoarsely. “Estoy aquí. Tu estás aquí. Todo está bien.” I’m here. You are here. Everything is fine.

“Milagros!” I cried. “I thought you were . . .”

“¿Muerta? Not yet, mija,” she said, her lips curling into the faintest smile. “Soon enough, but ya no.”

Now I was crying with happiness. “I’m so relieved! I’m sorry I thought the worst, I just . . .” I just couldn’t seem to turn off my worst-case-scenario mode.

Hector appeared in the doorway, with Shiloh just behind him. “Lo siento, Libby—I didn’t mean to scare you. Milly was asleep,” he said apologetically. “I just needed a minute.”

Through my tears, I managed a smile. “Yeah, I figured that out. It’s okay,” I told him, because it was. Milagros was alive. And maybe because of that, I felt that way, too.

“Hector, Shiloh, can Libby and I talk for a second?” said Milagros.

“Claro que sí,” said Shiloh, as Hector nodded.

“We’ll let you know when we’re done,” said Milagros, and Hector nodded.

Milagros gestured to the chair beside her bed. I sat in it and reached for her hand again.

“This has all been so scary for you. How are you doing, mija?” she asked.

I frowned. “I’m not the one who just had a heart attack.”

“Don’t worry about me, Libby.” The lines around her eyes deepened as she smiled at me. “Eighty-three is a good long life. If the time comes, I’m ready.”

“Milagros, please don’t say that,” I said. “I need you. Now more than ever.”

“I’ll always be with you, even after this body’s long gone,” she said, squeezing my arm.

I spoke before I could think. “If that’s true, where’s my father?” I said. “It’s been six months, and I’m still waiting for some sign he’s still with me.”

She looked at me for a moment. “Mija,” she finally said, “you just got your family—and me and Hector—out of a disaster. Do you think your father wasn’t with you during all that?”

I blinked hard, but the tears streamed down my cheeks anyway. “Yes,” I said softly. “You’re right.”

“Like I said, I’m always right most of the time,” she said, winking. But then her face grew serious again. “You’re having a hard time. I see now that it’s even harder than we talked about earlier. And don’t tell me how great your life is—we’re all entitled to feel pain, no matter how good we think we have it. You’ve had a whole lot of stuff thrown at you lately, and now this,” she said, gesturing toward her hospital bed.

I bit my lip, then said, “Yes—I’ve really been struggling, and on top of that, I’ve felt horribly guilty.”

“Good girl. Say it. Let it be hard.”

Wasn’t I already doing that? “What do you mean?”

“Life is filled with difficult things,” she said, sighing so deeply that I wondered for a second if she was having a hard time breathing. “Not always—let’s say sixty-forty. But that forty percent is tough, terrible, ugly stuff. Don’t you think so?”

The trip I’d planned for my family had morphed into something terrifying. Charlotte had suffered multiple health scares, and Milagros had gotten far cozier with death than I ever wanted to witness. And of course, my father—my North Star, my voice of reason, arguably the person who loved me more than anyone else had—was gone. Never had I known quite so acutely that life was filled with tough, terrible, ugly stuff. “Of course,” I said in a choked tone.

“Bueno,” she said. “You know I like to look for the good in every situation, if only because it makes the days brighter. I don’t want you to stop doing that, either. But you know what one of my ex-husbands taught me?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Repression turns into depression,” she said, nodding sagely. “You get that, Libby?”

“Yes,” I whispered. Was that what had happened to me?

Now she nodded even more emphatically. “You have to tell Shiloh how you’re feeling. Tell him everything.”

But when I told him I didn’t feel alive, his response was to try to kill me in a tiny plane. I’d attempted to let him in, and he’d responded by keeping secrets from me. “I tried that, and it didn’t work,” I said.

She smiled. “Then try again.”

A nurse had just appeared in the doorway. “Visiting hours are almost over. We’re going to run some tests, so I’ll have to ask you to wrap this up.”

My face crumpled as I met Milagros’ eyes. “I can’t believe we have to say goodbye tomorrow. This wasn’t how this trip was supposed to go.”

“Even so, how good it was to spend time together,” she said, patting my hand. “To see your wonderful daughters and spend time with the four of you, and for you to get to know my Hector. Things worked out just like they were supposed to.”

I kissed her cheek. “I meant what I said when I thought you were dead,” I said, and she laughed. “I love you. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“No, thank you. The doctor said I would have died if I’d stayed on the island. If you hadn’t been in Vieques and made me come to Fajardo . . . Well, it’s a good thing you were there.”

“Yes,” I said, smiling at her. “I guess it was.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

The girls were lounging on the bed when Shiloh and I returned to the hotel. I didn’t even tell them to put their phones down; I just jumped between them, scooped them into my arms, and kissed their faces over and over until they squirmed away from me.

“My babies!” I said. “I can’t tell you how hard it was to be away from you. Are you both okay?”

“Mom, we’re fine,” said Charlotte. “We have food. Electricity. Insulin,” she said pointedly. “What else could we possibly want?”

“Well, your mother, for starters,” I joked. “But I’m glad to hear that gratitude. How are you feeling? How’s your blood sugar? I really think it’s time we