Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around Pagán, Camille (best novels for teenagers .txt) 📖

looking pointedly at the bathroom, where the girls were getting ready, to make sure he understood that this really, really wasn’t the time to talk.

His eyes washed over me. “I guess we should go to bed,” he said after a moment.

I nodded and headed to the bedroom. Good, I thought. I hated that I was glad the day was nearly over—but I was. I’d never been big on my own birthday, and Christmas had been anticlimactic since my mother had gotten sick (though I was sure to throw on my elf hat and a big, eggnog-guzzling grin every year, so my girls didn’t inherit my secret holiday humbug). Yet clearly, I had given my cancerversary—and really, the entire vacation—too much significance. No wonder I felt like a child who’d expected Santa to gift her a real live pony, only to find a lousy toy horse under the tree.

After I’d changed into my nightgown, I returned to the sunroom to tuck the girls in. Isa was already snoring softly, and Charlotte, who was lying on her stomach, had an arm slung over Isa’s back, just like she used to do when they were babies. As I kissed the top of their heads, it occurred to me that they had barely argued all day. Maybe they’d leave this vacation on better terms than they’d started. Someone had to.

Shiloh was in bed when I let myself into the bedroom. “Sorry,” he said quietly as I slipped beneath the covers and pulled them up to my chin.

“For what,” I said, but as soon as I heard how wooden I sounded, I felt terrible. Were we acquaintances running into each other at a coffee shop, or two people who’d vowed to love each other through good times and bad, so help us God? “No, I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Today has been tough.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “I knew we couldn’t swim in the bay anymore, but I didn’t think to mention it to you.”

“Telling me wouldn’t have changed anything,” I said, blinking up into the darkness.

“I know, but still. And I’m sorry about taking the kayak so far from you guys. I didn’t realize how long I’d been gone, or that we wouldn’t have another chance to go off on our own without the rest of the group.”

“It’s fine.” For a brief moment I considered asking him about the phone call. Then I realized I didn’t want to know. Not tonight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not try for a big talk when we’re both tired and cranky.”

I waited for him to tell me it was okay, or at least say goodnight. But the next minute passed in silence, then the next, and I realized that even though I was right beside him, I was alone—again.

The worst part was, I didn’t even know how we’d gotten here. Everything I’d tried to do to feel like myself had been a spectacular failure. But the past twenty-four hours had made me realize that this just wasn’t all on me. It took two to talk turkey, as my father, who’d been famous for mangling aphorisms, had liked to say. Something was amiss with Shiloh, too.

I squeezed my eyes shut. What if that “something” was that he’d fallen out of love with me? As Paul had reminded me, it happened.

It happened all the time.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for my hand. “Can we start over tomorrow?”

I opened my eyes. The alarm clock on my nightstand read 12:02; it was already tomorrow. I opted against mentioning that we’d already missed our shot, lest that turn into another conversation I didn’t want to have.

“Okay. I love you.” And I did. Wasn’t that what was most important?

“I love you, too,” he said, leaning over to kiss me. But his lips were on mine so briefly that I almost wondered if I’d imagined it. Then he rolled over to face the wall.

My husband’s back was barely visible through the bit of light streaming in through the shutters. I stared at it for a very long time, trying to convince myself that this was all unfolding exactly as it was supposed to. As I’d learned the first time I’d been in Vieques, sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can bounce back to where you’re supposed to be.

But as I finally closed my eyes for the night, I had a terrifying thought.

What if this wasn’t rock bottom at all, but rather the very beginning of our fall?

I was dreaming. Shiloh and I were at Tom’s apartment in Chicago, and Charlie was sitting at the end of the dining room table. “Hey, Libby,” he said when he saw me. “You should probably know that Tom’s the friend who took me to Fire Island. He’s why Paul and I are divorcing.”

“You can’t do that,” I said, turning to Tom. “You already broke up our marriage. Don’t break up my brother’s.”

“Sure, I can,” said Tom. “You of all people should know that happy marriages never stay that way. That’s life, Libby.”

But now Shiloh’s voice was pulling me back to reality. “Libby, wake up.”

Good, I thought, only semiconscious. I don’t want to have this dream, anyway.

“Libby.”

“Hmm? What is it?” I must have been even more upset than I’d realized if my subconscious was sending my ex-husband to inform me that a happy long-term marriage was an oxymoron. But I was mostly alert now, though I felt like my head was filled with wet sand.

I pushed myself into a seated position and glanced at the clock. Four in the morning! “Is Charlotte okay?” I said, already scrambling out of bed because if Shiloh was waking me at this hour, it had to mean she was in trouble.

“She’s fine,” he said, but I realized then that he was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts and looked like he’d been awake for more than a few minutes.

“What is it?” I said, wondering if he was so upset about our fight that he’d