Page 106 of Saltwater

But I don’t want what’s left of my old life. Freddy included.

We don’t order dessert.

After dinner, we walk toward the Gardens of Augustus. It’s late, nearly midnight, and I say to him: “They’ll be closed.”

He wants to go anyway.

When we get there, the gate is locked, but a man in a green jumpsuit meets us and lets us in. And as soon as we’re in the gardens, I realize that the stone pines are festooned with hanging lanterns. Lanterns that emit just enough light for me to see the bright pinks and yellows of the flowers, the tumbling vines, the face of the enormous cliff just beyond. I can even see the villa from here, its windows like eyes, peeking into the night. I should have been clearer at dinner. I turn to stop him, but he’s already begun.

“Helen Lingate,” he says.

He takes both of my hands in his.

“I love you. I know this week has been difficult for both of us, particularly for you. I’m sorry. But I want us to leave here with something to look forward to. Let’s agree that all of this”—he waves at the island—“however beautiful it is, doesn’t follow us home.”

He has no idea.

He gets down on one knee.

“Helen…”

The box comes out of the pocket of his shorts, red with gold foil. I’m amazed I didn’t notice it earlier.

“Will you marry me?”

Inside the leather box is a diamond. Cushion cut, the size of my middle knuckle. No halo of stones, no dross. Just a gold band and the diamond. He takes it from the box and looks up at me, his face wide and open. In it, I can see a life I thought I wanted once. One where the topography would never have demanded a map.

I say no.

—

Freddy tells me he’sgoing to leave the island in the morning. The box has already disappeared, the ring an annoyance. We part ways at the Quisisana, and I don’t know what else to do, so I give him a hug. It’s an apology, a goodbye. On both counts, it’s a poor one. He thinks I’ll change my mind, but someday he’ll realize I was right. And he will be grateful.

I walk back to the villa alone, and every part of my body feels loose, as if my joints are unhinged and all the connective tissue severed. I have survived. The one thing I thought only people like Lorna could do. Maybe I learned it from her. I’m grateful. Or I am, until I enter the villa and hear Naomi in the living room. Her low groan—ahowl, really—slinks down the hallway and meets me in the foyer.

She has decamped from her bedroom while I’ve been gone. When I reach the doorway, I see her sitting on the couch, a half-drunk glass of something clear next to her.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask.

She doesn’t look at me. We have avoided each other, but now her grief feels like it has spilled across the house, like I am made sticky by it when I get this close to her. She knew them so much better than I ever did—my father, my uncle. I don’t know what to call them anymore. Now that it’s too late to call either one of them anything at all.

I make my way to the Louis XIV chairs opposite where she sits. She is only capable of lifting her chin slightly. Whether from the drinking or her private cocktail of pills, I can’t be sure.

“It never should have happened,” she says, her voice slurred. “But it did. Because he was protectingme.”

“I’m sorry.” I say it because there’s no better alternative available, not because I feel it. There’s no point in reminding Naomi it was her jealousy that brought us here.

“Are you leaving with me tomorrow?” she says. “I haven’t packed.”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

“A permanent vacation?”

“Just a few extra days,” I say.

“Things seem to go your way, don’t they, Helen?”

I don’t respond. I don’t necessarily agree.

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