Page 20 of Saltwater

“He and Helen should play together soon.”

“Yes,” Renata said, picking up a few of the empty plates, “I would love that. He would love that.”

During the years that Sarah had been coming to the villa with Richard, she and Renata had grown close. They were both pregnant at the same time, both young mothers. Both navigating an unfamiliar environment—money.

Renata had left Ciro’s father two months before the baby arrived, and Sarah wondered if Renata knew what a blessing that might have been.

“Next year,” Sarah said. It was almost a whisper. But she could seethem, their two small children, tottering around the garden, picking up rocks and watching for lizards. She didn’t mind lying to the others, but she hated lying to Renata.

Sarah watched Renata make her way across the lawn and into the kitchen, while Marcus read theFinancial Timesand Richard a novel. Naomi swam up to where they were sitting and crossed her long arms on the pool deck, freckled and pale. They couldn’t have been more different—Sarah, dirty blond and very tan, and Naomi, petite, with dark hair and eyes, her skin like milk.

“Do you really think bringing a four-year-old to Capri is a good idea?” Naomi said.

It was Sarah’s first time back on the island since Helen’s birth, and despite enjoying herself, Sarah missed her daughter so much it felt like a low-grade fever. An illness she couldn’t shake off. She wouldn’t return to the island without her. Helen would love the villa and its balconies and birds; she would love the pool and the fruit Renata brought in each morning. She would love playing with Ciro.

“It would be a different kind of trip,” Sarah said.

She didn’t want to point out that Naomi, who had never been interested in motherhood, might not understand.

“But if you have another,” Naomi said, “you couldn’t really bring an infant.”

The trip had been too complicated, the sleep too elusive, to bring Helen before. But there wouldn’t be another baby. And if she had been paying attention, Naomi would know this, too.

But Naomi had never been good with change. She preferred to paper over the cracks. She and Marcus had met in high school, and when Sarah looked at the framed photos that lined the bookshelves of their house, she noticed that Naomi’s hair was still the same length, her lips still the same coral color, her preference for silk scarves—all of it the same.

“Maybe you and Marcus should give parenthood a chance,” Richard said.

“She doesn’t want to share me. Isn’t that right, Nom?” Marcus looked up from his paper and smiled at Naomi.

“It’s true,” she said. “I would be terribly jealous of a baby.”

Richard was always complaining that Marcus didn’t have children.How can he understand adult responsibilities,he liked to say,when he’s never had to give something up?Richard was angry his brother wouldn’t cede him this win, wouldn’t admit that Richard becoming a father made them equal. Finally. Richard was responsible now. Couldn’t Marcus see that?

Sarah had always found it strange that Marcus, who was otherwise so committed to the stewardship of the family name, was so uninterested in producing another generation. Perhaps it was a reaction to their father’s overinvestment in it.It’s important to have boys! You must not stop until you have boys! And more than one! Two, at least.That’s what Richard’s father had said to her when they told him she was pregnant. But then, he didn’t live long enough to see the birth.

Without looking up from his novel, Richard licked his finger and turned the page. “Children are hard,” he said, setting the book in his lap. “I’m not sure you two are up for sacrifice. And it’s not that I don’t love Helen. God, I love Helen. But I’ve been tired for three years.”

At this, Sarah resisted the urge to laugh.

“You’re tired?” she asked. The question, innocent.

“Of course,” he replied.

It felt like he was daring her to become upset. So that Marcus and Naomi could see it.I told you. She’s so problematic, my wife.

“You don’t have a monopoly,” he continued, “on being the parent who gets to be tired.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It must be so exhausting trying to find the time to meet friends for coffee. Or funding film projects that never happen. Or rewriting the same short story for the thirtieth time. Or—”

“Everyone gets to be tired when they have a young child,” Marcus said, folding his paper with what felt like finality.

But Sarah didn’t want him to keep the peace.

“I’m tired!”she said, pointing a finger at her chest, her voice hitching despite her best efforts. “I’m tired. And I’m the one who, even though I’ve beenrun raggedfor three years, managed to getsomething new written, something I was excited about—” She swallowed. There was no point in continuing. Her husband had made the family’s position clear. And she was a member of the family.

“There are other avenues open to you,” Richard said. His voice was flat, lifeless.

It was a lie.

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