Page 27 of Unspoken Tides

“Wait. Who is that again?”

“I swear, Charlie. I have no idea how you ended up being an actor. You don’t know anything about Hollywood lore,” the actress said.

“Suffice it to say, Isabella Helin had a reputation,” the makeup artist said in a stage whisper. “She always had an on-set affair.”

Hilary’s cheeks burned with shame. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from correcting the makeup artist. The truth was that Isabella Helin had only had on-set affairs AFTER Larry cheated on her. Her reputation had been a direct result of a broken heart. A direct result of a horrible man’s lack of respect.

Instead, Hilary reared up and slammed the trailer door. Maybe this way, they’d think she’d just returned from somewhere else.

“Oh no,” the actress whispered.

“Keep it down,” the makeup artist said. “She’s back.”

Hilary sat on the floor of the trailer for the next few minutes and tried to get her bearings. For the fifteenth time that week, Rodrick wrote her, asking if they could meet. She responded as she always did, “I’m so busy with work. Maybe sometime this weekend?”

Hilary didn’t want Rodrick to think she wasn’t grateful for the chance at a fresh career in the film industry. But she also definitely did not want to see him.

Besides, it was true what everyone on set was saying. She was smitten with Max, and Max was smitten with her.

Despite the similarities of their faces, Hilary wasn’t Isabella Helin. She wasn’t on a euphoric high that would ultimately crash when Max broke up with her. (She would be sad, of course. But she wouldn’t destroy herself with drugs or alcohol as a result.)

She was living, she told herself. She was opening her heart to beauty. She was allowing herself to be surprised.

And there were no surprises left with Rodrick. Their story had been a disaster.

Chapter Ten

July 2004 - Nantucket Island

It wasn’t until week two of Hilary’s time on Nantucket that she fully realized Rodrick had been right. She was lonely. But she couldn’t admit it to anyone. There was no one around to tell.

It was three o’clock in the morning, and she was up and pacing the living room that still smelled, impossibly, like her mother. Her mother hadn’t been to Nantucket in years. It felt like some kind of cruel trick. A storm raged outside, the winds ripping against the big house, and a fire roared in the fireplace, its vitriol matching hers.

Rodrick had begun filming the Shakespeare retelling in San Francisco just last week. If she were there, rather than here, she would be surrounded by actors and actresses, makeup artists, and designers. She would be having conversations about plot and character, about scenes, about costumes. She would be hemming a pair of trousers or fighting with an actress about what she needed her to wear. Ultimately, she would think about other things besides herself, her mother, and her broken heart.

That was the thing about marriage, wasn’t it? You had to learn to admit when you were wrong. Hilary and Rodrick had been married fifteen years already. But there were always new kinks to work out. New dramas. That was life.

It was only midnight in San Francisco, so Hilary took a chance and called Rodrick’s hotel. It rang and rang and rang, but nobody answered. This wasn’t entirely a surprise. Rodrick often stayed out late with the other producers or the director, hanging around San Francisco, drinking and eating exquisite Asian food. That was another thing: Hilary had no appetite, and she wasn’t sure when she’d find it again. Everything tasted like sand, even the freshest fish she purchased from the fish market. She was painfully jealous of what she imagined to be Rodrick’s ravenous appetite. She could picture his platters of food.

By morning, Hilary convinced herself to fly back to California and stay with Rodrick in San Francisco. What else could she do? She would apologize to him for being so cold, for not accepting his love, and for blocking him out. She packed her suitcases and called the airline to book herself an immediate flight, watching the seagulls purr through the ocean winds as the phone rang. This was the right thing. Rodrick was her family. He loved her. And she loved him.

“Good morning. This is San Francisco Airlines. Isabelle speaking. How may I help you?”

Hilary froze. She was speechless.

“Excuse me? Is anyone there?”

What were the chances that the woman’s name was Isabelle?

Hilary stuttered. She felt like she’d been punched.

“Would you like to book a flight? Do you have a question?” Isabelle, the airline operator, asked. She didn’t show a shred of annoyance, which was proof she wasn’t in any way related to the real Isabella. The woman who still had a death grip on Hilary’s life.

She suddenly heard her mother’s voice in her head. You really think Rodrick will take you back after this? He thinks you’re pathetic.

Hilary hung up the phone and let out a primal scream. She imagined that the windows rattled, that the house shivered in its foundation. But the reality was far different. Not a single person heard her. She didn’t affect the world at all.

She now allowed herself to imagine a different reality awaiting her in San Francisco. She pictured herself locked away in Rodrick’s hotel room while he gallivanted across the city. She imagined trying to work in the costuming department even though another head costumer had been hired.

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