Page 100 of Saltwater

Twenty years. That’s how long they had been together. She was as much a Lingate as anyone who hadn’t been born into the family could ever be. But still, she knew there would always be an imperceptible divide.

When you marry into a family like that,her mother had said at their engagement party,you’re signing up for more than a husband.

She had been a little drunk. Her mother had always hated the fact that the Lingates, although perhaps not richer, were better known, had older money. It was the kind of money her mother had always wanted, even as her father was developing strip malls up and down the state. They were profitable, yes. More profitable than the Lingates’ holdings, at least by the third generation. But they weren’t storied. They were impossibly new and deeply, irredeemably gauche.

Naomi, at the age of fifteen, hadn’t really taken the family into consideration. She hadn’t fallen for Marcus’s name, only for his hair, which grew thick and floppy across his forehead. For his tall, broad body that even in high school looked adult size. He was affable in the way that only truly rich young men are—with a nearly impossible casual confidence. She had fallen for the way he didn’t smoke cigarettes like the other boys, but would occasionally have a cigar that hebrought to parties. It wasn’t that Marcus Lingate was old money that attracted her; it was that he wasold.Mature. Refined. Even back then.

“I have it,” she said, breaking up their vigil. “Do you want me to do it?”

She would. She wanted to. It was Sarah’s fault, after all. If only she and Richard had stayed away. If only Marcus hadn’t told them to come to L.A.

“No,” Marcus said, taking the knife from her. “I can handle it from here. Why don’t you go inside?”

Naomi crossed her arms, pinching her fingers against the points of her elbows, worrying them. She licked her lip. She didn’t want to leave him alone with her. She could already see it: the way he might pick her up and carry her off, the way he wanted it to be Naomi who was on the ground. Maybe always had.

“No,” Naomi said.

“Please. Let’s not argue, not right now.” His voice was high and thin. “We don’t havetime.”

It didn’t matter, Naomi realized. It didn’t matter if they ran out of darkness. What mattered was that Marcus did the right thing. He needed to make iteven.

“How can I trust you to handle it?” Naomi said. She reached for the knife, her hand a pale dart in the darkness.

“For fuck’s sake, Naomi,” Marcus said, wrenching the knife away.

“She ruined our life, Marcus.” It came out as a hiss.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “This is Richard’s mess.”

“You think I don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“About the two of you? You think I don’t know you well enough to know how you look at her? I’ve seen it, Marcus. I’ve fucking seen it. Back when you looked at me like that.”

Naomi’s voice cracked. It was bound to; it had been cracking in private for months. And to think of everything she had done for him. The secrets she had kept.The money.

Marcus held up his hands.

“Nom,” he said, “I love you. It’s always been you. Througheverything. You know that, right? It was just passing between us. A season.”

When he said these things, it was like she was a teenager again. It was embarrassing how eager Naomi was to lap up his words. To let them heal her. She didn’t want to be like this. She wanted to be like Sarah. She wanted to be able to say that she didn’t need him, that she wanted things outside of him, outside of their family. But then, where had that gotten Sarah? Had it helped? Had it made a difference?

“You have to promise me,” she said. “It ends today.”

“It ended a long time ago, Naomi. When Helen was born. It ended then.”

“What about—”

“I promise. When Helen came, that was it. We’re a family, okay? And yes, I promise you. I also promise you it hasn’t happened since and never will.”

There was an urgency to the way he said it, like he was worried she wouldn’t believe him, really, truly worried. Like if she didn’t believe him, he would be forced to do something drastic to convince her.

“You’ll do it for me, then?” She didn’t mean it to, but her voice came out a singsong, childish and high.

“Naomi—” He stood. Took two steps toward her, pulled her in close. And even if it made her hate herself, she let him. She wanted this to be about them, only about them. Not about Sarah or the things he had done in the past.

“Do you promise this is the end?” she asked.

---