Page 14 of Unspoken Tides

Hilary didn’t stick with therapy for long. She liked going back and forth between Nantucket and Los Angeles too much to create any sort of realistic schedule with her therapist. But she still remembered something the therapist had told her early on. “Your mother may be a narcissistic personality type. The damage to children of narcissists can be startling. I suggest we start from the beginning and go through every stage of your relationship with her. This way, we can chart things that might activate your trauma response.”

Trauma response? Hilary had been too frightened to continue. She didn’t want to stare too hard at her own darkness for fear it would kill her.

The therapist also told her, “You need to end your relationship with your mother immediately so she doesn’t do any more damage.”

But how could Hilary abandon Isabella Helin? It was impossible.

Now, Rodrick said, “We should get our own place in Nantucket so you don’t feel indebted to her. I know how much you love it there, but we need to separate ourselves. Maybe that’s the only way to really repair your relationship with her.”

“But Rodrick, we were married there,” Hilary said, adjusting her pillow beneath her head and kneading his shoulder. “I don’t want to give that place up.” She sighed, then switched the subject to the upcoming film. Rodrick’s eyes brightened. He never grew tired of his work.

Hilary breathed a sigh of relief. She was off the hook—for now.

That evening, Rodrick suggested they order delivery and eat in bed while watching films.

“I made dinner reservations,” Rodrick said, “but I don’t feel like sharing you with anyone.”

Hilary laughed as he retreated downstairs to find the menus of the local restaurants. Pizza, Chinese, Thai, Mexican—they ordered a little bit of everything for a massive feast and sent one of their drivers out to pick everything up. Hilary considered the thousand-count sheets beneath them, knowing that her mother would never have allowed such a smorgasbord on her luxurious bed. But Hilary wasn’t her mother. She opened her life to fun. To love.

When the food arrived, Hilary donned one of Rodrick’s old T-shirts from his metal band days and sat cross-legged in front of a very spicy Chinese dish with broccoli and chicken, clacking her chopsticks together. Rodrick put Good Will Hunting, one of Hilary’s favorites, in the DVD player. He then leaped onto the mattress beside her, nearly toppling the pizza box to the floor.

Hilary allowed herself a moment of genuine joy. This gorgeous life was everything she’d dreamed of.

“I did miss you in Nantucket, you know,” she said, kissing his ear.

Rodrick’s eyes glowed. He picked up a big piece of garlic chicken with his chopsticks, said, “I missed you, too,” then brought the chicken to her lips. Just before she had a chance to eat it, he took it back and ate it for himself, cackling.

“Hey! Not fair!” Hilary cried, shaking with laughter.

“You snooze, you lose,” he said.

Just then, the house phone rang, echoing metallically from the kitchen to the living room to the bedroom. Hilary watched the pale blue landline on the bedside table quiver in its cradle.

“Don’t answer it,” Rodrick said. “We’re busy.”

“Right.” Hilary watched the phone longingly until it quieted. Two seconds after it quit, it rang again. “But what if something is wrong, Rodrick?”

Rodrick grimaced.

“What if it’s something to do with the movie?” Hilary suggested.

Rodrick reached for the remote and paused the film. “Go on.”

Hilary dropped her chopsticks, wiped her hands on her napkin, and answered the phone. “Hello? Salt residence.”

“Hilary, hey. It’s Quinn.” Quinn was Isabella’s longtime agent.

“Oh. Hi, Quinn.”

Rodrick gave Hilary a harsh look, which meant get off the phone now.

“What’s up?”

“I have some bad news. Are you okay to talk?” Quinn asked.

Hilary’s heartbeat quickened. She got out of bed, wanting to take the news standing up. There was a Chinese food stain on her left breast.

“Your mother had an incident at home last night,” Quinn said.

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