Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around

by Pagán, Camille

  “Always,” said Isa.

  “I don’t really care,” said Charlotte.

  “You have your kit, right?” I said to her.

  She held up her nylon bag. “In here, Mom. Stop worrying so much.”

  Right—because the only thing I’d been waiting for was her permission to relax about the chronic health condition that had nearly killed her the other day. “Thanks for being on top of it, honey,” I said pleasantly, stealing a glance at Shiloh. He still looked calm, which was somewhat reassuring. But a few minutes later, his expression clouded over.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered as we pulled up to the restaurant, or what was left of it.

  The place had never had an official name, so the locals referred to it as El Chinchorro—The Shack. That was part of the charm; it was slapped on the edge of a hilly side road, and you had to know someone who knew about it, or just stumble across it, as Shiloh had years before we met. The food was so-so, truth be told, but the dining area was open air and surrounded by lush vegetation. Twinkle lights were strung over booths and tables, and the bottles lining the oval tiki bar were lit up like jewels. Shiloh and I had our first date here and had returned several times afterward. It was one of the spots I’d been most excited to revisit on our trip.

  But now the roof was caved in, and vines had roped their way around the bar; the turquoise paint was peeling off the sideboards of the facade.

  I tried hard not to let my face reveal my disappointment. “You think this is from Maria?” I asked after I’d gotten out of the Jeep.

  “No doubt,” said Shiloh, surveying it from where we were standing on the side of the road. “This is . . . depressing.”

  I didn’t bother trying to find the silver lining, because there wasn’t one. As awful as it was to see a place that had been part of our story decimated, it was far worse to know that good people had worked there; good people had eaten here, and one storm had taken all that away. As I watched a pair of stray cats scurry through a gap between two rotted planks of wood, I was struck by how insignificant, how petty, truly, it was to worry about a stupid phone call, or obsess over a few botched attempts at intimacy. I was healthy and whole. We had so much more than a roof over our heads. The building my charity was housed in was intact, and my employees didn’t have to worry about whether their next paycheck would show up on time—or at all. Suddenly my face was burning, and not from the heat.

  I was a walking, talking first-world problem.

  No more, I vowed. From here on, I was going to view everything through my old rose-colored, gratitude-tinted glasses.

  “I’m sorry, Libby,” said Shiloh, who was standing beside me on the side of the road. “I know you were looking forward to this, and so was I.”

  “Don’t be,” I said, shaking my head. “Not for me, at least. What a loss for the island.”

  He looked at me, and even though he was wearing his aviator glasses, I could tell he was sad. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

  The girls had stayed in the Jeep, but Isa had just stuck her head out the window. “Mom! Papi! Come on!” she yelled.

  “Is Charlotte okay?” I yelled back.

  Isa rolled her eyes. “I’m fine—thanks so much for asking!”

  “Charlotte can tell us if she’s not okay,” Shiloh said. “It’s not Isa’s job to monitor her. I don’t want to give her a complex.”

  “Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” I said, but just hearing myself say it made me realize that of course he did, and Isa probably did, too. “Never mind,” I said quickly. “I’ll try to work on it.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said. “Maybe complex wasn’t the right word.”

  I glanced back at what was left of the restaurant. “You didn’t hurt my feelings.” Not that much, at least. “It’s a good reminder.”

  “Okay. Let’s go eat before the girls start threatening to revolt.” He shot me a small smile, and I found myself momentarily wondering if it was just to appease me. But as we walked back to the Jeep, he added in a low voice, “If it helps, they’re driving me crazy. This is the trip of a lifetime. I wish they’d act like it.”

  Was it the trip of a lifetime, though? I was beginning to wonder. The girls groused at every turn, and now Shiloh had admitted they were getting to him. Meanwhile, I couldn’t seem to keep my spirits afloat. Maybe because I’d been counting on the island to do that, even as I kept running smack dab into examples of how it—like me—had changed.

  “Girls,” said Shiloh when we got into the Jeep, “I shouldn’t need to tell you this, but for the love of all that’s good and holy, can you please stop complaining and try to enjoy yourselves?”

  “Fine,” said Charlotte, staring out the window.

  “Sure, but I’m starving. What are we going to do now?” said Isa.

  I rummaged through my bag and found a couple of protein bars. I usually saved them for Charlotte—since her diagnosis, I was never without bars and some kind of fast-acting glucose. But Shiloh’s comment about giving Isa a complex was still at the top of my thoughts, so I handed one to each girl.

  “Aren’t these for Charlotte?” said Isa, eyeing it suspiciously.

  “And you,” I chirped.

  “Huh,” she said, ripping open the wrapper. She took a bite and made a face. “Gross. This tastes like chocolate-flavored sawdust.”

  “Told you,” muttered Charlotte.

  “You have it,” said Isa, shoving the bar at her.

  “Yeah, no,” said Charlotte. “Give it to Mom.”

  I held my hand out and suppressed a sigh; no good deed went unpunished.

  “Speaking of food, can we talk about lunch?” said Shiloh. “Since we’re a lot closer to Isabela Segunda than Esperanza, I’m going to head that way and see what’s available. Sound good?”

  “Sure,” I said, crossing my fingers that we wouldn’t end up at yet another place that had been destroyed.

  We found a colorful Mexican restaurant, but it was closed for the afternoon. Charlotte suggested we try a fried-food cart, but her diabetes guide didn’t have carb counts for street food, so that was out, too. I was steeling myself for a twin-sized freak-out when Shiloh pulled up in front of a restaurant down the block from the marina. It was painted bright purple and had seen better days, but it looked over the water, and by that point, almost anything that was open would do.

  We parked and went inside, where a grizzled-looking bartender told us to seat ourselves. The sky had been light gray just minutes earlier, but by the time we’d taken a four top near the balcony, charcoal-colored clouds were rolling in from the direction of the mainland.

  “That doesn’t look great,” said Shiloh.

  It didn’t, but did we really have to play I Spy with My Pessimistic Eye? “Maybe we can try to eat quickly,” I suggested. We had some food at the guesthouse, but nothing substantial enough to call a meal.

  “I think we’re going to have to try,” said Shiloh. “How about I order a bunch of burgers at the bar, so I can settle the tab right away, and then we head back as soon as we’re done?”

  “Good plan,” I said, ignoring the look of skepticism that both girls were wearing.

  They pulled out their phones as soon as he left, and maybe because I knew Isa, at least, was on the verge of getting hangry, I let them be. By the time Shiloh had returned, the sky was dark gray. I didn’t need a degree in atmospheric science to know we were about to get stuck in a massive storm.

  Sure enough: no sooner had we bitten into our burgers than the sky began dumping rain.

  “Yikes—this is a monsoon,” said Charlotte, pointing at the street. The restaurant, like much of the island, was on a hill, and water was rushing down the street from gutter to gutter like a waterslide.

  Shiloh was staring at his phone, and though I’d been trying not to think about it, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was going to check his voicemail to see what the person who’d called him earlier had to s
ay. But then he glanced up at me. “It’s a flash flood.”

  Don’t panic, I told myself. “What about the bay tour?” I said. I was coming to terms with our vacation not being the idyllic getaway I’d envisioned, and that so far, my cancerversary had been chock full of disappointments. But if I could just make it to the bioluminescent bay again, none of that would matter quite as much.

  The girls were both staring at me with big eyes. “Are we going to be okay?” asked Isa.

  “Is there going to be another hurricane?” said Charlotte, gnawing on a cuticle.

  “We don’t know,” said Shiloh, just as I said, “No.”

  “Great,” they said in unison.

  “Listen, you two, there’s nothing to worry about,” I assured them. “It can’t rain all day.” But as I looked out at the dark clouds rolling in over the ocean, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just jinxed us all.

  To my surprise, it stopped raining a few minutes after we finished eating. We decided to head back to the guesthouse so Shiloh could take a nap and the girls could have some downtime (read: play on their phones). After everyone was settled I went out to the patio, where Milagros was lounging in a chair.

  “Now, mija,” she said, waving me over. “Why do you look like someone peed in your piña colada?”

  I managed to laugh as I sank into the chair that was next to hers. “No piña coladas for me yet today, but I’m sorry if I look down. I’m just tired, I guess.” This was true—between the hike and the heat I was wilted—though I suspected Shiloh’s secrecy and the decimated restaurant were as much to blame. But at least my foot had finally stopped throbbing.

  She stretched her thin legs out in front of her and leaned farther back. “Eh, I can’t see so well. But am I wrong in sensing that you’re still having a hard time, like we talked about?”

  “You’re not wrong,” I admitted. “Well, not entirely. I’m starting to feel a little better.”

  “It’s okay if you aren’t, tú sabes,” she said kindly.

  “I know.” I hesitated, then said, “Today is my ten-year anniversary. Of being cancer free, I mean.”

  “Felicidades,” she said, raising her water glass to me. “I still remember taking you to the doctor the first time you were here. Ay, you were in a bad way, ¿recuerdas?”

  “I do,” I said, smiling at her. The incision on my abdomen where I’d had part of my tumor removed had gotten infected, but I’d thought the pain was just another sign of cancer. I’d been on the verge of developing sepsis when Milagros had driven me to the health clinic, where another doctor had given me antibiotics. Looking back, Milagros had probably saved my life. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

  “Never ask an old woman what she remembers!” she said, swatting in my direction.

  My smile widened. “I told you I was supposed to die. You said that if that was true, I’d be dead, and that everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be, even if they didn’t realize it.”

  “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “You sure were.” I meant it, even as I wondered what it meant for me all these years later. Cancer—well, that had been a gift, albeit the kind that you’d definitely return, given the option. But I was hard-pressed to see the purpose in this ridiculous midlife funk I was in the midst of. “Hey, Milagros?”

  “¿Sí?”

  “Did you ever have a midlife crisis?”

  “Claro que sí, amiga!” she hooted. She leaned in conspiratorially. “His name was Nacho.”

  I looked at her and began to laugh. “Nacho?”

  “Short for Ignacio. Now that was a man. He had the biggest—”

  “Milagros!”

  “I was going to say boat!” She grinned. “Anyway. It was a bad idea, and I knew that from the moment I let him put his arm around me.”

  “Huh,” I said, thinking of Paul and Andy. “Then why’d you do it?”

  “Ay, there aren’t many things better than being naked with someone who’d give anything to be naked with you. Why do you think I’m having so much fun with Hector?”

  I tried not to wince and ended up wrinkling my nose.

  “You think old people shouldn’t have sex, eh?” said Milagros, frowning.

  “No, it’s not that at all.” My cheeks were warm. “It’s just that Shiloh and I—” I glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Things haven’t been going so well for us.”

  “That hunky husband of yours? He adores you!” she protested.

  “I’m sure he does,” I said, even as I thought of him silencing his phone on the beach. “I mean . . . in bed.” Just admitting this, however mortifying, was an immense relief.

  “Ahhh.” As she pushed herself up and leaned toward me, I was reminded of how frail she was. “Can I give you a bit of advice?”

  “Please do.”

  “Don’t try to fix it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shook her head firmly. “Mija, I’ve had a handful of husbands, not to mention Nacho and Hector and all the others who didn’t put a ring on my finger. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s the bedroom. And believe me when I tell you sex is never about sex. Shiloh loves you. Things will work themselves out, so don’t spend all your time worrying about why your fancy underwear isn’t doing the trick, tú sabes?”

  I was wearing cotton briefs and a bra that had seen better days. Still, the point stood. “I hope you’re right,” I said.

  “I’m always right most of the time!” she declared, grinning at me.

  Milagros had yet to steer me wrong. But as she began telling me about the gaggle of stray dogs she’d been caring for since shortly after the hurricane hit, I kept thinking about what Paul had said to me. Wasn’t letting our marital issues work themselves out the very definition of coasting?

  SEVENTEEN

  “No flash photography. If you have a phone, we recommend you leave it on the bus, but if you must take it with you, please use one of the sealable plastic bags we provided and place it in a zipped pocket. And again, you are welcome to put your hands in the water, but absolutely no swimming or otherwise attempting to leave your kayaks.”

  The four of us were standing in a semicircle with half a dozen other people, listening to our guide run through what was turning out to be a very long list of instructions for the bioluminescent bay tour we’d booked. And with every new prohibited activity, my enthusiasm waned a little more.

  “Really?” I said to the guide. “We went swimming last time we were here.”

  He looked at me agog. “Must have been ages ago. All that sunscreen and bug spray is bad for the dinoflagellates,” he said, referring to the tiny organisms that lit up when the water was disturbed.

  “And hurts the fish,” said an older man dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a matching vest decorated with pins shaped like fishing lures. “There are more than two hundred and fifty species in this bay alone.”

  I frowned. I guess I cared about the fish. No, I did, I reminded myself. But . . . what about being able to float beside Shiloh, as we did on our last trip here? I could still remember him reaching for my hand as we stared up at the stars and realizing that my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t possibly imagine.

  “No swimming? Lame,” Charlotte said from behind me.

  I didn’t bother shushing her. It was lame. And judging from Shiloh’s tight expression, he thought so, too.

  Isa, who was beside him, glowered at me. “You said this was going to be magical,” she hissed.

  I sighed. “Just wait until we’re out there, okay?”

  “Questions?” said the tour guide.

  “Yeah—what do I do if I have to pee?” called Charlotte.

  The guide shrugged. “Hold it until we’re back at the porta potties in the parking lot.”

  “Of all the things he mentioned earlier, you’d think letting the kids know they won’t be able to use the bathroom for several hours would have made the cut,” Shiloh whispered.
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  “I know,” I whispered back. “But hopefully they’ll forget about their bladders once we’re out on the water. Remember my reaction?” Shiloh had taken me out on his own—a friend who ran a tour at the time loaned him a couple of kayaks—and hadn’t told me what to expect. When I first saw the water glowing, I’d been speechless.

  His expression softened. “You’re right. I bet they’ll love it.”

  That’s what I was counting on. But even more than that, I wanted us to love it.

  The guide had stopped yapping and was directing us to a bunch of kayaks lined up at the edge of the bay. Finally, I thought, as Shiloh helped Isa and Charlotte drag their tandem kayak into the water. Then he and I got into our own single-seaters and began to paddle out toward the center.

  “I don’t see anything,” Isa called to Shiloh.

  “Why isn’t it glowing?” huffed Charlotte, who was in the seat in front of her.

  Had these children not heard of patience? I was about to tell them to keep going when Charlotte swiveled around. “Isa, look!” she called. As she skimmed her paddle over the water, a bright blue-green line formed just behind it.

  “No way,” said Isa reverently, leaning over the side of their boat.

  I laughed with equal parts delight and relief. “See?” I called. “I told you it was amazing!”

  “So weird!” said Charlotte, dipping her hand in the bay.

  “But good weird, right?” I said, pulling up next to them.

  “Definitely,” she agreed. “I can’t wait to tell Cecelia and LaToya about this.”

  Still smiling, I ran my fingers along the water’s surface. Though the sparkling reflection was no longer a surprise, it was still every bit as incredible as it had been the first time I saw it. Warmth filled my chest. Even more than Vieques itself, this bay was where Shiloh and I had become . . . us. What had started as a conversation about stars—how the light we see in the present is really the remnant of an explosion that happened in the past—ended with us tangled up in bed, having what was the best sex of my entire life. But like Milagros had said, it wasn’t even about the sex; not really. It was about realizing that in spite of my grim prognosis and my inability to envision my life without Tom at my side, I still had a whole lot of living left to do.