Page 20 of Unspoken Tides

Max smiled and sipped his wine. Hilary wondered if the only reason he’d asked her for a drink was because of who her mother was. Probably, she guessed. But the wine was crisp and good, and the breeze was cool across her face. Isabella Helin was her perpetual ghost. She’d long since accepted that.

“What do you think of the script?” Max asked.

Hilary eyed him uneasily. “I really love it.”

“Same. It’s been a while since I worked on something so gut-wrenching and depressing. I can’t imagine the film will make much at the box office, though. Maybe it’ll go the way of Manchester by the Sea. That had great staying power. Did you see it?”

“Of course.” Hilary had seen every Oscar-buzz film since she’d been conscious of films. “I cried all the way through.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see it again,” Max admitted, rubbing his chest. After a pause, he said, “My mother died in a house fire when we were kids. Had I known what that film was about, I don’t know if I would have watched it.”

Hilary inhaled sharply. It was one of the most horrific things she’d heard. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Max’s eyes glowed with the soft orange light of the sunset.

“Have you ever written a script?” Hilary asked.

“A few at film school,” he said. “I don’t think any of them were very good.”

“Is anything good at film school?”

He laughed. “No. Student films are never good, as a rule. But ever since I graduated, I’ve been a cinematographer nonstop. It’s extremely competitive. I had to prove myself. Force them to take a risk on a nobody. I’m still a nobody, of course.”

“But you’re a nobody with a yacht,” Hilary said.

Max beamed and leaned forward so that his elbows were on his thighs. Again, Hilary ached, wondering if he was seeing her or her mother across from him. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, saying, Keep the audience guessing. Never show them your cards.

“You’re good at this, you know,” Max said. “Very professional. And the costumes are extremely believable. I heard someone say you’ve been out of work for a few years.”

“Twenty.”

Max whistled. “That’s more than a few.”

“Time has a way of slipping.”

“You’re telling me,” Max said. “I’m fifty-six years old. Most of the people I work with are under thirty-five. It’s alarming. In my head, I’m the same age as all of them. To them, I’m ancient.”

“You’re just experienced,” Hilary corrected. “They respect that. Especially because you’re a man.”

“Ageism in Hollywood is much rougher on women, I’ll give you that,” Max said.

Hilary considered talking about her mother, who’d seen turning forty as a death sentence. But she kept it to herself.

“Do you think you’ll keep working after this?” Max asked.

“I don’t know. If another gig comes to Nantucket, sure. But my life is here. I don’t like to leave for long.” Hilary remembered the Salt Sisters, gathered together without her, and her smile faded. “But look at you,” she said. “It’s just you, your boat, and the open sea. You can go wherever you please.”

Max’s dimples deepened. “There aren’t so many more places I need to go. I feel like I’ve seen and done it all. I just want peace. Creativity. Good wine. Laughter.”

Hilary couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Do you have a partner out in LA?”

Max’s eyes were shadowed. “I had a partner for many years. We never married or had any children, but we were very happy. But a few years back, we decided to end things. It was mutual but devastating. Dividing up our stuff like that. Giving up on our plans.”

The ache of his words went all the way through Hilary’s body. “It’s one of the hardest things I ever had to do.”

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