Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (dar e dil novel online reading .txt) 📕

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.