“Not even a little bit. Hey, Libs?”
I cocked my head and waited for him to continue.
“I liked what you said to Charlotte yesterday. To both of them. I’m sure it wasn’t easy, but Charlotte needs to hear that however unfair it is that she has diabetes, she has to take it seriously.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I just wish it hadn’t taken a couple of life-threatening moments to get to that point.”
“I know. But what you said to Isa was important, too—it was probably good for her to know we know she’s been on the back burner, and that we’re going to try to remedy that.”
“We’re?”
“We’re a team, remember?” He stood from the small table where he’d been sitting and strode over to the bed. Then he leaned in and kissed me. It was the best kind of messy, lingering kiss, and when he pulled away, we were both smiling.
“I love you, you know,” he said to me.
“I do,” I said. “I love you, too.”
“We’re going to get through this,” he added.
“What’s ‘this’?” I almost asked him about the phone call, but the girls had started to stir, and it felt like a conversation that was best had when they weren’t around. Especially because I intended to bring up our erotic embargo.
He gave me another smile, smaller this time but still reassuring. “This stage of life. It’s hard now, but it won’t always be.”
“Then it’ll get hard again,” I said, recalling the ‘chat’ Pedro and I had in the guesthouse.
“Maybe,” he said, and he bent to kiss my forehead. “But we’ll get through that, too.”
I almost told him I sure hoped he was right when I realized that was a reflex and wasn’t actually what I believed. “Yes, we will,” I said.
He grinned. “Welcome back, Libby.”
An hour later, Paul dropped us off at the hospital on his way to the airport. After the girls hugged him, Shiloh took them to Milagros’ room, so they could say goodbye.
“Lunch when I get back?” I said to Paul.
“How about a funeral date in Detroit?” he said.
I had to laugh. “Fine. Labor Day weekend?”
“Believe it or not, I think Charlie and I are free. I’ll text you.”
“Charlie?” I said, arching an eyebrow.
“He loved Dad, too. More later.”
“Okay, okay,” I agreed. “But we will talk more soon. Safe travels.”
“They’ll be safe, provided I take a sedative before jetting off into the sky. Love you.”
“Love you more,” I called as he sped off.
Once he was gone, I walked Pedro over to the small park next to the hospital. Ten minutes later, Shiloh and the girls reappeared and traded places with me. “How was it?” I asked.
“Kind of sad,” said Isa. “She’s really sick.”
I was tempted to tell them she was getting better, but I didn’t actually know that, and anyway, it wasn’t what they needed to hear. “She is,” I agreed. “It’s difficult to see.”
“I’m glad we got to see her, though,” said Charlotte.
I touched her arm lightly. “I’m so happy to hear you say that. I am, too. She really adores you both.”
“Yeah,” said Charlotte. “Oh, and before you ask, I just checked my sugars. I’m fine.”
I grinned and ruffled her hair. Maybe, just maybe, she had taken what I said to heart. “Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” she said with a smile, grabbing the leash from me. “Seriously.”
“I will, but nice try,” I told her.
“You want me to go with you?” Shiloh asked, giving my arm a quick squeeze.
I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’m good.”
Milagros’ eyelids were heavy when I walked into the hospital room, and my heart sank. Then she called to me. “Mija. I’m a little sleepy today. They’ve got me on the good drugs.”
I laughed. “I’m glad, and I won’t stay. I just wanted a chance to see you before we flew back. How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Eh, like someone who just had a wire stuck in her veins,” she said. The doctors had put a stent through her artery the previous afternoon. “But otherwise, full of life.”
“I’m so glad.” I smiled at her, but then my face crumpled, because this was not how I’d planned to see her, let alone leave her. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“Sure, until I call you two days from now. Then you’ll say to yourself, ‘Why doesn’t this old bat leave me alone?’”
“Never,” I said, taking her hand. “You mean the world to me.”
“And you to me, Libby. I’m so glad you found your way to my island all those years ago.”
She looked exhausted, and I knew I needed to let her rest. “I am, too,” I said.
“Come give me a hug before you fall to pieces,” she said, sticking her arms out.
My throat was tight, and I was about to cry yet again, because she was so small beneath the sheet; so fragile and, well, so mortal. “Goodbye, Milagros,” I whispered.
But a tiny voice in me said, This isn’t goodbye.
And to my surprise, a louder one said, Even if it is, you can handle it.
“Goodbye is for quitters,” said Milagros, squeezing me hard. “Hasta pronto, mija.”
I laughed and kissed her cheek. “See you soon.”
Hector followed Shiloh and me to the park to get Pedro. “Don’t worry, Libby,” he said as Charlotte scratched behind Pedro’s ears and Isa snapped photos of him with her phone. “We’ll take care of him.”
“I know you will,” I said, sniffling. Then I bent down to look Pedro in the eye. “Now, Pedro,” I said, “I want you to be extra good for Milagros. She’s recovering, so don’t bark too loud or go missing, okay? She’s going to need someone to help take care of her. Well, she has someone great to do that,” I clarified, looking up at Hector with a smile. “But he might need a little help from time to time.”
In response, Pedro licked my face. I laughed and wiped the slobber off my cheek before standing and surprising Hector with a hug. “Thank you,” I told him. “Milagros is lucky to have you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, looking bashful. “I’m lucky to have her.”
“True, but I still appreciate everything you’ve done,” I said, handing him Pedro’s leash. “Will you call us to let us know when she’s home safe, or if anything changes? And, you know . . .” I bit my lip, then added, “Tell me if anything happens to Pedro, too?”
He glanced down at Pedro and laughed. “This dog is going to live to be a hundred and two in dog years. But I promise to keep you posted.”
“Hector, gracias por todo,” said Shiloh, extending his hand.
Hector shook it, then looked at us both. “I hope our paths cross again soon.”
I could feel the tears rising in me again. “Me, too,” I said.
“Libby, we should probably get going,” said Shiloh.
“Right.” Our flight left in three hours, and it would take forty-five minutes just to get to the airport. I looked at Pedro, then knelt again and put my arms around his neck. “I’m going to miss you, buddy,” I whispered as his tail wagged. “Thank you for helping me get through this.”
“You okay?” said Shiloh, putting his arm around me as the four of us walked back to the hospital entrance, where our Uber was waiting.
“Not really,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to see if I could spot the dog one more time. I’m not sure why I bothered; Hector had already loaded Pedro into the taxi he was taking to the marina. But in the distance I could see a sliver of the ocean, shimmering and silver in the late morning light. So much had changed since the last time I’d been to Puerto Rico. The ocean was unaltered, though, and there was something comforting about that. I couldn’t see it, but I knew Vieques was out there in the distance, constantly shifting even as it remained the same. I let my gaze linger for a moment before looking at Shiloh. “But
it’s time to go.”
THIRTY
When we arrived at the apartment, I set my bags in the hall and walked from room to room. The kitchen, which I’d long said was too small for more than one person, was clean and lovely and well lit. The rug in the living room was wearing thin and stained from—well, from children—but looking at it made me remember the time Shiloh and I simultaneously decided there were no other contenders at the carpet store where we’d purchased it, right after we’d first moved in together. And our bedroom! How had I ever complained about it being cramped or loud? It was our own space in a solid brick building with a roof.
It was so very good to feel grateful without having to remind myself to do so.
As soon as the girls threw their things in their room, they asked if they could go over to Cecelia’s.
“Libs? What do you think? I don’t mind if you don’t,” said Shiloh, who was pulling clothes from his suitcase.
“Go ahead,” I told them. “But be back in an hour for dinner. Charlotte—”
“Already checked,” she said, holding up the finger she’d pricked to use a test strip.
“You’re the best,” I told her. “And, Isa?”
Isa paused in the doorway. “Yeah, Mom?”
“Bookstore tomorrow?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
As soon as they were gone I sat on the end of the bed next to Shiloh’s suitcase. “Hey,” I said, looking up at him. “Can we talk?”
He’d been about to pull out the last of his clothes, but he pushed the bag aside and sat beside me. “Of course.”
I took a deep breath. I’d thought about bringing it up on the plane ride back, but the girls had been in the same aisle as us, and besides, I hadn’t wanted to give the couple behind us something to talk about. “I want to know what’s going on with us.”
His face went kind of sideways, but he didn’t say anything.
“To be specific, I’m referring to us not having sex,” I said. “It’s been at least a month, and I just want to know what’s going on. Don’t just say you’re tired or you’ve been stressed. You know this is what happened with Tom. He was always ‘exhausted,’ ‘overworked,’ or ‘fried,’” I said, making air quotes around each word. “I’m not implying that you’re not attracted to women, but I do want you to know that I’ve been having major flashbacks to my divorce, and this has been harder on me than I’ve let on. And then you got that weird call on the beach, and you know that my brother’s getting a divorce, and—my mind is just going all over the place. I want you to tell me the truth, so I don’t have to keep guessing.”
“Crap,” he muttered.
“‘Crap’ as in you’re not into me anymore?” I said. I sounded offended, and maybe I was jumping to conclusions. But I was done beating around the bush.
He lifted his head. “I didn’t think about the Tom thing.”
“Yeah. Well. I have.”
He looked away, and I suddenly felt more afraid than I had when I’d been sitting in front of Dr. Malone waiting for her to give me my test results.
“Oh, Libby,” he said after a minute. “You really think I don’t want to sleep with you?”
I almost said no. I wanted to say no. But I lifted my chin and stared him straight in the eye. “Yes,” I said. “That is what I think. Because if you wanted to, we would have. I know I’ve been opaque about a lot of stuff lately, but I’ve been pretty darn clear about wanting to do the deed with you.”
“That call I got on the beach?” he said, putting his head in his hands. After a moment he raised it and looked at me. “That was my doctor.”
For all they’d done to keep me—not to mention my husband and daughter—alive, the very word doctor hit me with the same kind of panic beachgoers got when they heard someone say shark.
“What did your doctor want?” I made myself say.
Shiloh looked at me. Like, really looked at me—so raw and vulnerable that I was tempted to burrow under our covers before he could go on.
“I found a lump.”
The breath flew out of my lungs. “What kind of lump?”
His face was drawn. “The kind that showed up in my groin. I found it in the shower at the end of June.”
That was how he’d discovered he had leukemia in his twenties. “June,” I said quietly. “That was two months ago. Why didn’t you tell me?” But as soon as I heard myself say this, I knew why. “Were you afraid?”
He looked like he was going to cry. “I’m sorry, Libby. I know you’ve been having a tough time since Charlotte’s diagnosis. Then your dad died and . . .” He took my hands in his. “You were concerned about your own tests, and I didn’t want to give you one more thing to worry about. And every time we were going to be intimate, I thought about how I was keeping this thing from you, but . . . then I started thinking about the fact that I might have cancer again, and I couldn’t get into it. So when I say it isn’t you, I really mean that. It isn’t.”
“Oh,” I said. And then I didn’t say anything else for a solid minute, because I was too overwhelmed. Finally, I said, “I’m sorry you were afraid to tell me that. I know that since my dad died, I’ve been pushing everything hard under the rug and pretending I’m fine with all of it. But I’m trying not to do that anymore. I’m trying to get better with letting myself feel fear and shame and anger instead of just pushing them away.”
“I know,” he said. “I could tell by the conversation you had with the girls the other day, and when we were seeing Milagros.”
I bit my lip. “Then . . . is it cancer?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “I’m waiting on test results.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again as my eyes filled with tears. And I was. So incredibly sorry that my own self-protection had gotten in the way of my family’s ability to connect with me. Sorry that he was having to grapple with the possibility of having cancer—again. Sorry about all of it. “Are you okay?”
He looked at me with such tenderness that my heart broke. All that time we were on our trip and he was carrying around this terrible secret. “You don’t have to apologize for being a human, Libby,” he said. “No matter how you were going to take it, I should have told you. I guess . . .” He sighed. “I just didn’t want you to tell me it was going to be fine.”
I thought about all the people who told me that I was going to be fine after I was diagnosed with cancer. It turned out they were right, of course—but that wasn’t really the point. When someone insists that you’re okay and everything is going to be just dandy . . . well, it makes you feel like all of the fear and terror and sadness you’re experiencing aren’t legitimate. But they are. They’re as real as your own two hands, and it’s horrible to have to pretend otherwise.
“How can I help?” I said. “Do you want me to go with you to the doctor?”
He shook his head. “I wish I’d taken you, but I went in two days before we left. The doctor did an ultrasound and a needle biopsy. The results are in, but I haven’t called yet. I was waiting until we got home. I’ll call Monday.”
It was Saturday, but naturally I wanted to tell him to find out his doctor’s home number and call immediately. I wanted to tell him to break into the diagnostic center if that’s what it took to get rid of the uncertainty hanging over us like a slab of concrete dangling from a crane.
“All right,” I said. I sounded surprisingly calm for someone who wasn’t. It was entirely possible that his leukemia had returned. Or that it was another form of cancer. Maybe he’d have to get chemo and radiation. He would spend months out of work, and depending on the outcome, he might have to retire early. The medical bills might bankrupt us, and we’d have to sell our apartment and make all kinds of choices that would devastate the girls and our plans for the future.
Or maybe not, I thought suddenly. And damned if that thought didn’t feel like bumping into a long-lost friend.
“All right?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “We don�
�t know what we’re dealing with, but whatever it is, I’m here for you, and so are Charlotte and Isa and everyone else who loves you.”
He didn’t respond, but the worry had left his face.
“How intent are you on unpacking right now?” I said.
“On a scale of one to ten? I’m a two,” he said, cracking a grin. “How about we just lie here and cuddle for a bit?”
I smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”
THIRTY-ONE
The next morning, Charlotte asked if she could talk to me. “Real quick,” she said. “I know you and Isa are going to the bookstore soon.”
“Not for another half an hour or so,” I told her, gesturing to the newspaper that I was still in the middle of reading. It was a Sunday, and I’d just made the girls their favorite brunch—bagels and bacon. “What is it?”
She pulled up a chair beside me at the dining room table. “I think we should go back and talk to Dr. Ornstein,” she said, referring to her pediatric endocrinologist.
“Really?” I said. “What about?”
“Getting an insulin pump and one of those monitor thingies.”
My mouth hung open. When Dr. Ornstein had brought up a pump and continuous glucose monitor two appointments ago, Charlotte had recoiled at the idea of having the small device attached to her body via a port. She was worried it would be too easy to rip out when she was playing sports—but her bigger concern was that people would see it and know she had diabetes. Although I wanted to tell her it was nothing to be ashamed of, her doctor had gently reminded me and Shiloh that she would come to that conclusion on her own. Not as a result of us constantly hammering home that message. “I see,” I said, careful not to sound like I was pushing her. “It’s a big commitment, and we’ll need to make sure you still fit the requirements.”
“I know.”
“I asked her to do it,” said Isa, coming up from behind us. “I’ll even help her if she needs.”
I swiveled around to look at her. “Is that so?”
She nodded. “Vieques was scary. I cried the whole boat ride back to Fajardo because Charlotte was so shaky. I thought she was going to die. If she had that continuous thingy, we wouldn’t have to worry about her blood sugar tanking all the time.”
Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around Page 20