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

talk to your endocrinologist about a continuous glucose monitor and an insulin pump. Because I can’t help that I’m always going to be concerned about you, but I can do something about the way we monitor your health.”

She was looking at me like I’d sprouted a horn. “Um, whoa. Papi got me everything I needed from the hospital pharmacy. No biggie.”

I almost said nothing. In fact, a day earlier, I probably would have bitten my tongue. But Milagros’ comment about repression was fresh in my mind. “Actually, it was a big deal,” I told her. “I know you didn’t choose this, and that living with it is not fun. But you can’t keep blowing this off, and I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t scare the living daylights out of me anymore. What happened in San Juan was preventable.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about that after what happened on Vieques,” she said, glancing away from me. “I mean, hello. I didn’t ask for the electricity to go out.”

“You’re right, and there’s a lot about that trip that I should have done differently. Still, that’s not my point.” I could feel Shiloh’s eyes on me, but I kept going. “Charlotte, maybe hearing how much your father and I love you and want to keep you healthy isn’t that important. But at least think about Isa. Your sister was terrified in San Juan, and from what I heard, when you guys got off the boat in Fajardo. This affects her, too. A lot.”

“Oh, you finally noticed?” remarked Isa, who was lying on her back on the bed.

“That’s fair. I owe you a big apology. Your father and I—but especially me,” I clarified, shooting him a look that I hoped conveyed solidarity, “have been paying so much attention to Charlotte’s health that you’ve gotten the short end of the stick. That’s not how it should be, and it ends here and now.”

“Hmph,” she said, but she’d sat up. After a moment she added, “Thanks.”

I put my arm around her shoulder. “You’re welcome. Listen, you two,” I said, glancing back and forth between them, “I know you’re just twelve—”

“Practically thirteen,” interjected Charlotte.

“Exactly,” I agreed, even though they were still six months from their next birthday. “My point is, you’re active participants in this family. If you need something from me or Papi, or feel like we’re glossing over stuff, or—well, anything—then I want you to tell us.”

“Okay . . . ,” said Isa.

“Is that a sincere okay, or a ‘yeah right’ okay?” I asked.

She frowned. “It means that you don’t like when we tell you things aren’t good. You’re always telling us to look on the bright side, blah blah blah.”

I winced, because it was true. “Also fair,” I said. “I do like focusing on what’s good—that’s always been my go-to for dealing with hard stuff. But I’m also starting to see that sometimes I go overboard on it when I’m struggling, and I’m going to stop trying to do that, okay? I can handle whatever it is you need to tell me.”

Shiloh arched an eyebrow. “Well put, Libby,” he said after a moment.

“Thank you,” I said. As soon as we had a moment alone, I intended to ask him about that phone call.

Then I kissed both girls’ foreheads again. “I love you both so much,” I repeated. “I don’t know if I tell you that nearly enough.”

“Oh, you do,” said Charlotte, but she wasn’t scowling anymore.

“Ditto,” said Isa. “But Mom?”

“What is it, love?” I asked.

“You’re still acting really weird.”

I smiled at her. “Get used to it, sweetheart, because this is my new normal.”

“Well, isn’t this nice,” said Paul. The five of us—or perhaps I should say six, as Pedro, newly leashed, was at Shiloh’s feet—were having dinner on the patio of a nearby restaurant. The tropical storm hadn’t hit the mainland as hard as Vieques, but there had been some flooding. Now all signs of the storm were already gone, and the night was still and clear.

“Isn’t it?” I smiled at him from across the table. “Just think—if you hadn’t come to get me, Pedro and I might still be stranded.”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

Shiloh cleared his throat. “No, it isn’t. Paul, I can’t thank you enough for going to Vieques to get Libby. And then booking a hotel room for us . . . Well, you really shouldn’t have.”

Paul smiled to himself. “I help where I can.”

“Too bad Toby and Max aren’t here,” said Charlotte. “They’d love this place.”

“I bet they would. Maybe we can join you the next time you head to Puerto Rico for vacation.”

“With Charlie?” I said pointedly.

“I was thinking of the three of us.” There was an edge in his voice, and Shiloh glanced at me nervously.

“Is there anything you want to discuss?” I said. “Because you can. You don’t have to hold it back. The girls know you’re talking about getting a divorce.”

“We don’t want you to,” said Charlotte, who was seated beside me.

“Oh honey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Uncle Paul doesn’t want to, either. But we’re going to support him no matter what, right?”

“Libby,” said Paul pointedly. He leaned in toward me over the table, and in a stage whisper said, “I know you’ve just been through a lot, so I’m going to forgive you, but it’s time to stop talking.”

“How do you know he doesn’t want to?” said Isa, ignoring Shiloh, who was shaking his head at her.

I shrugged. “I’m his twin sister. You two know how that goes.”

“Again: not the time or place,” said Paul, waving down a server.

Now Shiloh’s eyes were darting back and forth between us, and the girls were stealing glances at each other.

“Anytime you’re ready,” I said as the server appeared beside our table.

After we’d ordered, Paul, who was clearly trying to redirect the conversation, asked if we were ready to leave the island; our flight left the following afternoon.

I reached down and scratched Pedro, who responded by thumping his tail against my leg. “Not even a little bit,” I