Page 21 of Saltwater

Naomi had slunk away from the edge of the pool. She had done it so slowly that Sarah barely noticed the space that had grown between them. Naomi, who hated conflict. Naomi, who would never ask something complicated, something personal, of Marcus, like she had asked of Richard.

“Sarah—” Marcus was standing behind her now, a hand on her shoulder.

She shook him off. She was tired of being the one who needed to be calmed. That was the thing about the Lingates: they had never met something or someone they couldn’t overcome. That now included her.

“I’m fine,” she said, standing. “I’m going to check on our coffee.”

But then, standing there, in front of all of them, she looked down at her suit, at the wrong texture on the outside, and pulled it down from her shoulders, shimmying out of it and letting it hit the pool deck.

“What the fuck, Sarah—” Richard said.

She stood naked and calmly turned it right side out before pulling it back on, leaving her breasts bare. It was Italy, after all.

“Give me a break, Richard,” she said, rolling her eyes behind her glasses at his prudishness.

“What if someone sees you?”

“Like who? Your brother?” She gestured to Marcus, who had assiduously returned to his paper. “Naomi?” When she looked at her, Naomi did her best to pretend that she hadn’t just been staring at Sarah’s nipples. “No one cares, Richard. Only you care how thingslook.”

Because, of course, it was true. Richard and hisconcerns,Richard and hisfears.It was those fears and concerns that had derailed her. It was those fears and concerns she found impossible to forgive.

—

Sarah and Renata stoodover the sink in the villa’s kitchen, silently drinking cappuccinos Renata had made for them. The entire room was a mishmash of brightly painted tiles and chipped surfaces, at least a hundred years of graceful, occasionally shabby, wear. Sarah appreciated that Renata didn’t pry. She was discreet.

That was her job.

Behind them, the yellowed wall phone rang, and Renata answered. She covered the receiver with her hand and said, “It’s Stan.”

Sarah took the phone from her.

“Are you coming tonight?” Stan asked.

The audio was scratchy, as if water had fried the lines. It probably had.

“Of course,” Sarah said.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner last night,” Stan said. “There were investors, and—”

“Stan, it’s fine. Really.”

Sarah could see him on the other end of the line, breathing a little too fast, sweat beading on his forehead. Marcus and Richard had known Stan since their teen years and enjoyed making fun of how earnest he was, how ambitious, how grasping. Two things that caused them secondhand embarrassment. But Sarah understood Stan. Shelikedhim. He was the one person in L.A. with whom things felt easy. Even if he followed the brothers around like a lost dog, which was how he ended up on Capri, aping their family vacation.

“All right,” he said, his guilt assuaged. “I wanted to see you, of course.”

Sarah let the comment hang between them. Richard liked to make fun of Stan for the way he looked at Sarah.He’s in love with you! It’s so obvious. Doesn’t he find it humiliating? I’m standing right here.

“Stan—” Sarah said gently.

Renata, Sarah could tell, was doing her best not to listen. Or to listen in the passive way that all the Lingate staff listened when they didn’t want to get sued.

On the other end of the line, Stan cleared his throat. “Anyway. Okay. I’ll see you tonight. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I mentioned to a friend that you were working again.”

Sarah had told Stan about the play. It was a premature decision. She had been excited. Too excited.

“Actually, I’m setting that aside for now,” Sarah said.

Renata soaped and rinsed their cups, and Sarah wished, just for a minute, that she would leave.

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