Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around

by Pagán, Camille

  I flung the door open and found him standing there wearing an enormous smile. “The good news is,” he announced as he stepped inside, “Charlotte has new insulin and test strips, Milagros is in the hospital, and obviously, in addition to being a stellar pilot, Shiloh is one hell of a boat captain. Everyone is okay.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I said, reaching for the wall to steady myself.

  “I go by Paul these days, but you’re welcome.”

  I would have laughed if I hadn’t just burst into tears. My family had survived! Milagros was fine! I was wrong, wrong, wrong, just like I’d been about my diagnosis!

  “Libby?” said Paul, examining me. “You do realize I just gave you great news . . . right?”

  Instead of responding, I threw my arms around him. I was hugging far tighter and longer than he normally allowed, but I must have looked particularly rough because he patted my back and said, “It’s okay, Libby. I’m not sure why you’re crying, and I’m going to assume it’s stress, but it’s all right.”

  “Thank you,” I whimpered, spreading snot all over his three-hundred-dollar shirt. “Thank you for coming here and telling me that and being you. I love you, Paul.”

  “I love you, too,” he said slowly. “But . . . are you okay?”

  “No, but I will be,” I said, finally releasing him. I wiped my eyes. Only then did I realize I still had no idea what he was doing in Vieques. Especially since he had a fear of flying that was impervious to cognitive behavioral therapy, hypnosis, and hard liquor. “Where is Shiloh? And how did you get here?”

  “It’s called flying private. Perhaps your spouse has mentioned it to you?” he said with a wry grin.

  “Ignoring you. Now, details, please.”

  He smirked. “As a frequent consumer of media, including but not limited to national and international weather reports, I saw the news about the storm, and when I couldn’t get hold of you after calling and texting forty-two times, I knew it was bad. After procuring some perfectly legal sedatives from my doctor, I got on a commercial flight to Florida last night. It was super unpleasant, for the record, but this morning I finally spoke to your husband, then flew private from Orlando to Fajardo, and had a helpful man named José jet me to Vieques on a boat, where I flagged down a lovely taxi driver named Luisa at the marina. In fact, she’s outside waiting for us.” Now he smiled. “You do know I’d sell the brownstone if it meant keeping you safe.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “But how did you manage all that this early in the day?”

  “It’s—” He examined his watch. “Nearly noon, Sleeping Fruity.”

  “Oh.” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I’d been asleep all this time, even as my family could have been bobbing in the Atlantic?

  “But to your point,” he continued, “it wasn’t just the news about the storm and Vieques losing power. I . . . well, I sensed you needed me. Was I wrong?”

  “No,” I sniffed, because I’d started to tear up again. “You were a hundred percent right. Thank you for coming.”

  “I’d say my pleasure, but I’m still rattled from the landing this morning.”

  I examined him. He was dressed in a crisp if now slightly booger-covered button-down and a pair of linen pants that looked like they were freshly pressed, and he wasn’t even sweating.

  “Shiloh wanted to come with me,” he explained, “but Isa wasn’t doing so well.”

  “Isa?” I said. “You mean Charlotte?”

  He shook his head. “Apparently Charlotte was pretty shaky when they landed in Fajardo, and—well, Isa freaked out. I’ll let them fill in the rest.”

  “Oh no,” I said. Here I’d been so worried about Charlotte that I hadn’t spent nearly enough time thinking about how this was affecting Isa. “Where are they now?”

  “At the hotel I’m staying at in Fajardo. I got you a room.”

  “That was generous of you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, arching a brow. “And you do know I mean that literally, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Noted. So Milagros is fine?”

  His smirk disappeared. “She is struggling, Libby. She’s in the hospital, and she’s not doing super well. That’s all I know.”

  My face fell. “You know that’s what they said about Dad, right?”

  “Sweetie, they’re not the same. Let’s focus on something more positive.”

  I pulled my head back and looked at him like he’d just told me he was planning to break into the Federal Reserve. He was telling me to be positive? I really must be in bad shape.

  Ignoring my expression, he said, “When’s the last time you were intimate with a bar of soap?”

  “I had a rough couple of days,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Oh, I can smell that,” he said, fanning his face.

  “I can tell you’re trying to change the subject to make me feel better, but I’m serious.”

  “I know you are, Libs, and that’s progress. Let’s focus on what we can control for now, yes? Get your stuff and let’s get out of here so you can go see Milagros.”

  “Just like that?” I said, because I’d looked at the dog, who must have surmised that Paul was of no threat and was now doing a little tap-dance routine between me and him. “I can’t leave Pedro here.”

  “Pedro?” said Paul, watching as the dog stopped pacing so he could plop down directly on top of my feet. The bruised flesh between my toes was still tender, but I liked the way he felt.

  “Yeah,” I said, reaching down to pat his head. “He’s one of Milagros’ mutts, but he’s grown on me pretty quickly.”

  “Like a fungus,” remarked Paul.

  “Come on, he’s adorable,” I said. “And a very good listener. In fact, Pedro helped me see that it’s time to stop holding it all in.”

  “So, I should expect more spontaneous sobbing?”

  Probably. “No.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  I sighed. “You’re welcome. By the way, where’s Charlie?” I asked.

  “Still on Fire Island.” He didn’t say more, but his face had always been its own form of shorthand. And his had just revealed that he was deeply hurt.

  He didn’t want this divorce at all, I realized suddenly.

  “We will discuss this later,” I said gently. “For now, we need to get to the hospital.”

  He looked relieved. “Are you really bringing the dog?”

  I glanced over at Pedro, who was watching me with his one good eye. “I can’t just leave him here, not when there’s no one here to feed or take care of him,” I said. “He can come back with Hector—that’s Milagros’ boyfriend—when he returns the boat we borrowed.”

  “Fine,” sighed Paul, “but if he gnaws off my face, you’re paying for the plastic surgery.”

  I threw my arms around him and gave him a huge smooch. “Thank you. He’s a good dog—you’ll see.”

  “I didn’t take you for a dog person,” said Paul, shaking his head with disbelief.

  “I’m not,” I said.

  But an hour later, as I pressed my face to the boat window and watched Vieques disappear in the distance, I was glad I didn’t have to say goodbye to one tiny part of the island just yet.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Paul, who had rented an SUV in Fajardo, drove me directly from the marina to the hospital. When we pulled up, he looked at Pedro, who was lounging at my feet, and then back at me. “You can’t take him in, you know.”

  I supposed I knew that in the way one knows the ozone layer is rapidly thinning but can note no difference in the quality of the air they breathe. In reality, I hadn’t thought about having to leave him behind, even for a few hours. “Can you please keep an eye on him?” I asked. “I really need to get in there and see Milagros as soon as possible. I promise he’ll behave for you.” As if to demonstrate this, I patted my lap, and Pedro—who, up until this point had never made any indication he’d been trained to do anything except run wild—
jumped up and licked my face. His tongue was probably host to seventeen different diseases, but I still laughed. “See?” I said.

  Paul sighed deeply. “Listen, I can’t believe I’m offering this, but why don’t I see if I can find a place to buy him a leash and some food?”

  “Really?” I said. “You would do that for me?”

  When he nodded, I leaned over the armrest and kissed his cheek. “You really love me, don’t you?”

  He pretended to be offended. “Would I have flown over shark-infested waters in two-winged death traps to save you if I didn’t? All the same, you owe me.”

  “That was true long before you offered to dog sit. I’ll have Shiloh text you when we’re on our way back.” I gave Pedro a quick scratch under the chin before hopping out of the SUV. “Wish me—” I stopped myself before I could tell him to wish me luck, because I wasn’t the one who needed it. “Wish Milagros the best,” I said.

  “Already done,” he called through the window. “Love you the most!”

  I didn’t yell back that he was wrong. After all that he’d done for me, maybe that was actually true.

  I was awash with equal parts anticipation and anxiety as I walked through the hospital’s double doors. Milagros was alive; that was no small victory. But when Paul said she was “struggling,” what did that mean, exactly?

  I was ready to pull my head out of the sand and find out.

  I broke into a run as soon as I spotted Shiloh in the lobby. “Where are the girls?” I said breathlessly, throwing my arms around him.

  “Hi to you, too,” he said, planting a kiss on my lips. “They’re at the hotel. I double-checked Charlotte’s blood sugar before I left and she’s totally fine—I take it Paul told you we swapped out all her supplies yesterday?”

  I nodded. “What about Isa? Paul said she wasn’t doing well.”

  “She was freaked out about Charlotte’s health, but she’s calmed down a lot. Now they’re vegging out in front of the TV in a room that’s nearly freezer temperature. They claim they never want to be warm again.”

  “They’re alone?”

  “It’s only ten minutes away, and I didn’t want to bring them to the hospital,” he explained apologetically. “They promised to be good, and there’s a doctor on call at the hotel if anything goes wrong.”

  “That makes me nervous,” I admitted, “but I trust you.” His arms were still around me, and I pressed my face into his neck. He smelled so good, and he felt so solid and reassuring and alive. “Thank you,” I added.

  “For what?” he said.

  “Getting everyone here safely.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Yes it is,” I insisted. “I was so scared.”

  “You’re the one who thought to look for a boat. But Libby,” he said, too gently. “Are you all right? Did anything happen after we left?”

  I was about to tell him I was fine when it occurred to me that I wasn’t, and I was done pretending that I was. “We’ll talk after I see Milagros,” I said, tugging on his shirt so he’d follow me to the elevator bank. “Which floor?”

  “Fourth,” he said as I pressed the button that would take us up.

  “Have you seen her recently?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’ve been here for about an hour.”

  “And?” I said.

  He hesitated.

  “I can handle it,” I said.

  He exhaled audibly. “The damage to her heart muscle was pretty extensive, Libs. And the longer you wait after a heart attack, the worse it is. She probably wouldn’t have made it if we’d waited any longer.”

  “Thank you for being honest with me,” I said, touching his face; his usual stubble was now a short beard, and with the deep tan that he’d somehow managed to get in the middle of a storm, he looked as handsome as he ever had. “I don’t tell you often enough how much I appreciate you.”

  “Libby, you don’t have to,” he said, giving me a quizzical look. “I know that.”

  “I know you know, but—”

  There was a ding, and the elevator doors opened before I could finish.

  “You ready?” he said.

  I had been until he said that. “No,” I said, stepping off the elevator. “But I want to see Milagros, so let’s go.”

  Save for the beeping of machines and the sound of someone moaning down the hall, the floor was eerily silent.

  Then I saw Hector.

  He was bent over making a terrible wheezing sort of cry, and as soon as he lifted his head, I recognized the agony in his eyes.

  Because it was the same pain that my father had shown when he told me and Paul that our mother was gone.

  “No!” I cried. I started to run, but I’d only taken a few steps when a wailing sound filled the hallway. It took me a moment to realize that it was coming from my mouth.

  I didn’t even bother trying to stop myself. Shiloh was rushing toward me, but I held out my hand to indicate I didn’t want to be held or comforted. I was done pretending things were fine. It was time to face reality.

  I steadied myself and took several lurching steps past Hector into Milagros’ room. Tears blurred my vision, but I could see that her eyes and mouth were shut. At least she looked peaceful. But it was little comfort, because after all that, I hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to her.

  “Oh Milagros,” I said, taking her hand. Her fingers were still warm and her skin felt like crumpled tissue paper beneath my fingers. “Did I even tell you how much I loved you? Or that you saved my life—not just when I had that infection, but at least a dozen other times, just by being there for me?” I said, and now I was sobbing again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I loved you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you half as much as I should have.”

  But just as I bent to kiss her cheek one last time, her fingers tightened around mine and her eyes flew open.

  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 thin
k 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.