Page 64 of Saltwater

“No. That’s what I kept telling Richard—no. It’s not about your family.”

It was a lie. But that didn’t matter anymore.

“Okay, so it’s about a family…” Marcus made a circular gesture with his hand like he wanted her to hurry up.

“It’s about a rich family who has, for years, through various means and crookery, managed to keep up appearances despite slowly losing every cent they had.”

“That’s it?” Marcus said.

“What? You don’t think that’s good?”

“No. Of course I do. People are always rooting for the rich to get fleeced. But that’s what Richard lost his mind over?”

“Sometimes,” Sarah said, taking a sip of her aperitif, “I think he lost his mind just because it was mine, and because it was good.”

Marcus snorted, but then was silent.

“What were they like—this family?” he asked.

“Old money,” Sarah said, “three siblings, two brothers and a sister, who are paralyzed on vacation abroad during a banking collapse. Instead of reaching a consensus about how to proceed, they argue, jealous of one another’s ideas. Because of the familial conflict, they’re unable to move any of their money until it’s too late. The crisis has exploded and they’ve lost everything. But they’re too ashamed to let their friends know, so they begin the long con to keep up appearances.”

“What part of it do you think Richard was most worried about?” Marcus asked, scooting his chair closer to hers as the sliver of setting sun finally cut under the awning and worked its way up his leg.

“What do you mean?”

“The financial crisis or the family infighting?”

Sarah almost laughed. “Both,” she said.

Sarah drained what was left in her glass and flagged down thewaiter for theconto.Otherwise, he would let them stay the whole night.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus said, covering her hand with his.

She wanted to shake him off.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

“Thank you,” she said.

They walked back to the villa as slowly as Sarah could muster, a zigging and zagging wander that took them from the window of agelateriato those of Ferragamo. She read the menus posted at the restaurants along the way, and paused, once they were on the Via Marino Occhio, at every vista that peeked between buildings.

“You have to face him, you know,” Marcus said when she stopped less than three hundred feet from the entrance.

“I just wish we weren’t here,” she said. “If we were at home—”

“The island.”

“Yes, the island just makes me feel…” She looked out across the Mediterranean, its vast expanse isolating. “Especially trapped.”

Marcus nodded.

“Forty-eight hours,” he said.

“Why are you being so nice about all this?” Sarah asked.

Marcus considered the question and sat on the low stone wall that lined the pedestrian street.

“Because it’s worse if we fight it. I know Richard doesn’t see it that way yet, but it’ll be easier in the end—for us, for Helen—if we keep it together. Keep it friendly.”

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