Page 11 of Unspoken Tides

Very quietly, Stella said, “We just told her, Hilary.”

Hilary swallowed and tried to smile. “It’s okay. It’s not like it’s a big secret.”

Robby continued to stutter. “I just can’t believe I’ve spent all this time with you, and you know so much about me, and I never knew this huge fact about you.”

Hilary wanted to point out that throughout their brief friendship, ever since Robby had entered the Salt Sisters, they’d done a whole lot of talking about Robby, about Robby’s needs, about Robby’s past. There hadn’t been space for Hilary’s. And she hadn’t shared it readily, either. Was it self-protection? Martyrdom? The blame wasn’t fully on Robby’s shoulders, surely.

“Excuse me,” Hilary said, standing up to disappear in the bathroom. She hoped that leaving and coming back again would reset the Salt Sisters’ conversation. She hated feeling all of their eyes upon her.

But when Hilary got to the bathroom and leaned against the door, attempting to regroup, she heard the shuffling of feet in the hallway, followed by a meek knock. “Hilary? Can I talk to you for a second?” It was Robby.

Hilary sighed and puffed out her cheeks. She had half a mind to make an excuse and drive home to tend to her massive to-do list. Maybe she didn’t have time for the Salt Sisters right now. Perhaps she didn’t need to explain herself.

Hilary opened the door and smiled out at Robby, whose eyes were glossy. She reached out to touch Hilary’s wrist.

“I really am sorry for bringing up your mother like that. It was totally crass,” Robby said. “I know we’re all in the Salt Sisters because we’ve had to carry a little too much along the way.” She sniffed, trying and failing to maintain eye contact with Hilary, whose eye contact never wavered. Hilary had learned never to drop her gaze from her mother.

Robby went on, “I know you founded the Salt Sisters for your own reasons. But you’ve just always seemed so strong to me. I forgot, I guess that you’ve had your own cross to bear. And I’m sorry.”

Hilary raised her shoulders and tried to smile. It was no surprise to her that the others in the Salt Sisters thought of her as the strongest. She’d wanted it that way. And just like her mother, when she wanted someone to think something, it was rather simple. Perhaps it was a manipulation tactic. But it was just how she’d chosen to survive.

“I just want you to know that you can share your story with me whenever you want,” Robby said, forcing her eyes to Hilary’s once more. “I want to help you in any way I can, the way you’ve helped me.”

The tenderness to her voice nearly made Hilary break. Her knees threatened to give out beneath her. She had to keep herself strong and solid; she had to keep her chin up. “I appreciate that. I do. You know, my mother was such a performer. She always put on a show for everyone, showing them only the cards she wanted to, manipulating them left and right. I adored her, and I was so frightened of her at the same time.” She paused, scrambling to understand why she’d given Robby even this much. “I never wanted to feel like I was performing my grief about my mother. And, I suppose, that means I stopped telling my story.”

Robby bowed her head. Hilary’s heartbeat quickened. She was surprised to feel that she’d just told the truth. She felt like melting butter.

“I completely understand that,” Robby offered. “But your grief doesn’t sound like a performance to me. Just please let us know if we can help in any way.”

Hilary thanked Robby, then cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry!” Robby laughed. “I’m keeping you from the bathroom. I’ll see you out there.” She turned and fled the hallway, leaving Hilary in the shadows.

Hilary closed the door and again leaned against the wood, staring at herself in the mirror. Suddenly, a rush of fear came over her. She realized that Rodrick was en route to Nantucket—the real Rodrick, the man who’d destroyed her. Very soon, she would be swept into the churning machine of being “on set” and forced to face the devastating losses of twenty years ago. If there was any time she needed to ask the Salt Sisters for help, it was now. But it went against the solid wall she’d built. She was strong; she could do this. She was fifty-five years old now. Trauma had been a part of her life in the distant past. But she was through with that now.

She smiled at herself in the mirror, reminding herself of her favorite phrase she’d coined for the group, “It’s sisterhood with a dash of salt.” Hilary was the salt in that equation. But she was only the salt because Rodrick had made her so.

Chapter Four

Hilary had never worked for a female director before. Even twenty years ago, during her final film before an immediate and swift retirement, Hollywood didn’t call on female directors. They weren’t respected; they weren’t given Academy Awards. Of them, Isabella Helin herself had said, “A woman behind the camera? No thanks.” But that had been a different time.

Hilary was initially flabbergasted to learn that a woman was directing the Nantucket film about the fisherman’s family. When she arrived on set the first day to meet the director in the flesh, she was even more surprised to learn that the woman director was twenty years younger than Hilary, Chinese American, incredibly opinionated, and very good at her job. Hilary was accustomed to male directors who “phoned it in,” especially when they felt they were doing the production a favor by putting their name down as director. But all women directors still had something to prove.

“I’m Marty Zhang,” she said, shaking Hilary’s hand.

“Hilary,” she said. “Pleasure to meet you.” She bit her tongue before she said something like, I’ve never worked with a woman director before! She didn’t want to seem older than she was.

“It’s a pleasure to work with you,” Hilary said. She stood at the back end of the trailer, which was filled with costumes for the main cast members. A few of the other costume workers were fixing things up and putting extras into costumes, all working diligently, knowing they were on the clock.

“I heard a rumor that you live here in Nantucket,” Marty said.

“I do. For the past twenty years now.”

“You’ll be of great help to us,” Marty said. “And, of course, I’m a big fan of your previous costuming work. Rodrick told me how hard you’ve been at it the past few weeks since you took on the job. We can’t thank you enough.”

Hilary glowed at the recognition. She wondered if Marty knew that Rodrick and Hilary had once been married. At the same time, she knew that because Marty was a woman, it didn’t matter to her at all. She wouldn’t look down on Hilary the way a man might have. She wouldn’t think, “Your ex-husband got you this gig because he felt sorry for you.”

Hilary had already met the main cast members during the week prior to the first day of filming. She was impressed with their professionalism and their ease with costuming and measuring. Candace, who played the mother, practiced her New England accent with Hilary whenever she saw her, knowing that Hilary lived out here and, therefore, understood the accent better than most. “You’ve got it,” Hilary had told her the last time she’d seen her.

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