Page 13 of Saltwater

Now

My father, my uncle, Freddy,and Naomi are arranged around a table, at the edge of the cliffs, beneath a white umbrella whose fringe flutters in the breeze. Breakfast is usually served under the loggia, cocktails above the cliffs. The change is small, but it makes me nervous.

They’ve taught me that.

Any deviation from the norm should trigger a reevaluation, a cooling off, a stepping back. Vigilance preserves our privacy. New contractors are never allowed into the house, new employees are background-checked, new furniture is never brought in to replace the old. Fabrics are matched, cushions re-covered, piping assiduously maintained. No one understands how regimented it is. How safe that structure can feel.

Also, how terrifying.

It’s not that I haven’t considered leaving. When workers come to the house—the gardener, the cleaner, the cook—I look at their cars in the back driveway and wonder if I could slip into the trunk, hide in the trailer with the hoses. But they’d find me. And in any case, we’re family. It’s hard to explain what our family is like. Any family, really.

I pass the door to Renata’s house. Yet another place I’ve considered stowing away. But I’ve never been sure she would keep my secret. She prioritizes her own. The things she won’t say about thatnight, to me, to the police. Hiding me would bring them to her door, and she wouldn’t want that. She never wants to see them again.

Halfway across the garden, I break into a jog. It’s the nerves. They turn to watch me run, and when I reach the table, they’re looking at me, half-eatencornettiand slices of melon still in their hands.

“Has anyone seen Lorna?” I say, straining for breath.

“Is she not in bed?” my father asks. He stands, considers putting a hand on my back, but doesn’t. I can feel it hovering there for a second. We aren’t a family that touches.

“Her bed hasn’t been slept in. I don’t think she made it home.”

My father and uncle look at each other.

She’s left us.I can hear them both thinking it. And Naomi, at the far side of the table:I knew it.

I want to say to them:You’re wrong! It’s not that! I’m sure!But the truth is, I’m not sure.

“She’ll show up.” Freddy covers my hand with his. “Give her a few hours. Probably met a guy, got distracted on her way back from the club last night.”

“And if she’s not here by this afternoon?” I say.

“Maybe you should eat something,” Naomi says. She rings a silver bell.

They are supposed to be more worried. They are supposed to leave the table and rush to see Lorna’s still-made bed. They are supposed to be dialing her number and hearing it go straight to voicemail. Instead, Marcus pours the last of the coffee into Naomi’s cup and drops in a sugar cube because she likes it sweet. Freddy is checking his phone with his free hand. My father has already sat back down.

“Can I get you anything?” the housekeeper says.

She has come up behind me at the behest of the bell.

“A cappuccino,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“It sounds like you need it,” Freddy says, taking his hand back after patting mine.

I wish she were here now, I realize. To prove them wrong. Had they always assumed this would be the outcome?

I take a seat at the table and watch the housekeeper place the silver coffeepot, an emptied basket, and a plate of mostly eaten fruit onto the tray she has brought down from the house.

“And something to eat?” she says to me.

“No,” I say. I soldier on. “Would you mind calling Stan?” I ask my uncle. “Maybe he saw her.”

“How many times have you come home the next day on this island?” he asks me.

Every summer. Last night, if Freddy hadn’t been there. I can’t even count how many times I’ve been met outside of the villas or restaurants or clubs on this island. Nearly as many nights as I’ve spent here. Capri is the one place they allow it. They think, by now, they’ve conditioned me to know better. What could I do here, really? Hasn’t the worst already occurred? Or so they believe.

“This is different,” I say. “She would have texted.”

“You didn’t see her off?” Naomi asks, sipping her coffee, and I wish mine would arrive. My temples are throbbing, and my throat is dry. I reach for the carafe of water and spill some into my glass. I barely resist the urge to hold it to my forehead, my cheek.

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