Page 99 of Saltwater

“So you don’t know that she was dead,” I say to my father. “You can’t be certain.”

I’m surprised that my father doesn’t realize that if they’ve kept these secrets from me, they might have kept them from one another as well.

“She was dead, Helen.” His voice is pleading. But no one can hear us over the music. “I can’t give you another story. She was dead, and then Marcus went to take care of it, and he decided it would be best if it looked like a suicide. So that’s what we did.”

It almost seems like a relief to him when he says it, as if he’s finished a marathon. Absolution is here, the daughter knows everything. I am the last piece of the puzzle. I wonder if they ever would have told me if it hadn’t been for the necklace, for Stan, for Lorna, for the reopening of the investigation.

The dancers troop back onto the stage of the amphitheater. They bow as an ensemble; two of them—the principals—step forward and receive rousing applause. As soon as they step back, I ask him, my voice calm:

“So you didn’t kill her because she was having an affair?”

He looks at me, his lips pursed, his eyes creased in the corners, and I realize he’s never known. Not in all these years.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Helen.”

I point to the play.

“Did you ever read it? Truly read it?”

It’s then that I notice Naomi is watching us. She’s turned in her seat, her hands gripping the back of the chair and her eyes black in the darkness. I can’t tell if she always wanted this, or if she’s horrified by what she’s set in motion.

“No,” he says. “Okay? No. But I read enough.”

“You didn’t,” I say. “Because if you did, you would have seen she was having an affair. It’s on the page. Naomi confirmed it. And someone—and I don’t think it was you—killed her for it.”

Naomi

July19, 1992

Capri

It was hard to knowthe best, most efficient way to kill someone. Neither of them had done it before. And it needed to happen quickly, before Renata arrived or Richard woke up. Sarah’s body was slumped outside, against the wall of the house, head lolled onto her chest. Blood marred the nest of gold snakes at her neck.

Seeing her like this, Naomi thought it unlikely that she would make it. She had already tried to look at the injury on the back of Sarah’s head, but the hair was too matted from the blood.

“You’re not going to let her live, are you?” Naomi asked Marcus.

She knew there was only one answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“I don’t think she’ll survive,” Marcus said.

Naomi looked from Sarah to Marcus and said, “Do you want me to go inside and get a knife? Something from the kitchen, something sharp?”

It was disgusting to admit, but some part of her was happy this had happened. Marcus could make up for his mistakes. He could choose her now. It was so simple. He had to do the right thing for them. For her. The thought of it made her feel warm and soft. Nostalgic, almost.

“Sure,” Marcus said, although he didn’t sound sure at all.

Naomi nodded and headed for the drawers in the kitchen, pulling each of them out until she found what she was looking for—a boningknife. The kind you might use to carve a bird. Long, sharp, perfect. She ran a finger down the handle and grasped it fully in her palm. The way the cool metal warmed against her skin made her giddy.

But when she crossed the foyer, before she could step back out into the dark garden, she heard it. A sound she would recognize anywhere—it was Marcus, whispering.To her.She stood on the threshold and listened. His words weren’t entirely clear, but they sounded something like:

“I’m so sorry. Sarah. I never wanted this. Neither of us ever wanted this.”

Through the darkness, Naomi could see the outline of his body, hunched over hers.

Was he holding her?

She ran her thumb across the edge of the knife just to test it. Sharp enough.