Page 47 of Unspoken Tides

“Janice?”

“Yeah. Maybe. She said that Janice and her father had too much control over her career, and she wanted to step away from both of them and make her own choices. That’s when her films got really exciting.” Stella’s blond hair flew wildly around her, and Hilary was reminded of a wheat field on a windy day.

Hilary’s heart thudded. “I never saw any of her films after Curious Agent.”

Rose perked up on the opposite side of the boat. “Really? None of them?”

“It hurt too much.”

Katrina nodded furiously. “That makes sense.”

The other Salt Sisters echoed this sentiment.

“Maybe it’s finally time,” Hilary said, furrowing her brow. Curiosity was getting the better of her. She knew that the world regarded Ingrid Salt as a singular talent—the sort that came around only every other generation, maybe. Now, the mother of Ingrid Salt needed to know just how good she was.

She braced herself for forthcoming pain, then laughed at herself. All she’d done her entire life was brace herself from pain. That hadn’t stopped it from hurting.

After sunset, Hilary drove home with the Porsche top down, made herself a big bowl of popcorn, and set herself up in front of the big screen. She’d decided on A Walk Through Time, the second film Ingrid had won an Oscar for. It was said her performance was incendiary. An article in The New Yorker explained that other actresses now copied Ingrid Salt’s mannerisms, hoping to become as good as she was. But Hilary knew it was futile. Ingrid had inherited Isabella’s genes. They were timeless and resistant to imitation.

Throughout the film, Hilary was frozen with fear. She hardly touched her popcorn.

Ingrid Salt was sensational. She mapped out the intricacies of a woman on the brink of a nervous breakdown in a way that echoed Isabella’s very real nervous breakdown. There were echoes, too, of Hilary’s own near-breakdown when she’d fought tooth and nail for custody over Ingrid—and failed. Hilary wondered if Ingrid had taken inspiration from that era. A blush crawled up her neck. She couldn’t look away.

It was the first time Hilary had seen her daughter walking and talking as an adult woman. It felt like time travel.

The last time Hilary had seen her, Ingrid had been seventeen years old and hot off the press tour for a teenage drama that seemed, to Hilary, inappropriate for a girl her age. Hilary had struggled to keep that opinion to herself. When she’d finally expressed her concerns, Ingrid’s eye rolls had been sensational.

By that time, Rodrick had twisted Ingrid’s image of Hilary so remarkably that Hilary knew her days with Ingrid were numbered. Even the way Ingrid looked at her in that hotel restaurant in Manhattan made Hilary feel as though she had three heads. Hilary ordered a burger; Ingrid drank a smoothie. Ingrid’s stomach rumbled, but Hilary knew not to push her to eat anything more. Ingrid was apt to send her away at a moment’s notice. She looked miserable and stick thin. At the time, Ingrid was dating a teen heart-throb pop star who was rumored to be cheating on her. Hilary longed to give her advice about that, too. But she was terrified of saying so. Although Hilary remembered what it had been like to be a teenager, she had no idea what it was like to be scrutinized so completely under the public eye. Once, she’d read an article that hyper-fixated on Ingrid’s body—and spent the entire day in bed, sobbing. Her baby! Her perfect child! The world was destroying her.

So in that hotel restaurant, they talked about easy things. About Ingrid’s wardrobe for the recent film. About Isabella Helin films. They talked about a vacation they’d taken when Ingrid was a girl before she’d gone to the boarding school. Before Isabella had died. Before Rodrick had cheated.

Briefly, Hilary told Ingrid about her best friends, the Salt Sisters. And Ingrid said, “I’m glad you have friends, Mom.” It was a moment of compassion that nearly killed her.

When Ingrid turned eighteen, Hilary sent her beautiful gifts. A silk dress. Very expensive boots. Flight vouchers to come to Nantucket to visit whenever she wanted. It wasn’t that Ingrid Salt wanted for anything. It was just that Hilary, being her mother, still wanted to provide.

But after Ingrid turned eighteen, she stopped taking Hilary’s calls for good. Hilary never learned why. But it was a bit like being raked over hot coals or thrown out of an airplane without a parachute. It was the very worst breakup of Hilary’s life even though she’d hardly had a relationship with her daughter in the first place. But this was Ingrid’s choice. She had to respect it.

Hilary had spent the past thirteen years pretending she didn’t have a daughter. The Salt Sisters had followed suit, never reminding her of her gorgeous, world-famous daughter until now.

After watching A Walk Through Time, Hilary found another of Ingrid’s films and watched that, too. She stayed up till dawn, inching through Ingrid’s filmography. She wouldn’t be done for days. She entered a sort of psychosis as she worked through Ingrid’s life, googling articles from various eras of Ingrid’s life to get a sense of who she was dating, where she’d been living, and what her hair and makeup had looked like. Unlike most other actresses in her generation, Ingrid hadn’t yet opted for plastic surgery. Many people on the internet called her “brave” for that. Ingrid didn’t understand. Ingrid Salt was perfect already. Why overdo it?

When Hilary finished Ingrid’s adult filmography, she rewatched Curious Agent. There on screen, her darling daughter pranced across the fake suburbs of Ohio. Hilary had selected every outfit she’d worn, even the bright yellow rainboots that splashed through fake puddles. Ingrid had loved them so much that they’d taken them home, where she’d worn right through them and wept when they had to throw them out.

Hilary met back up with the Salt Sisters for a barbecue and explained what she’d done.

“Every single Ingrid Salt film?” Katrina asked, her eyes wide.

“I didn’t do a whole lot else,” Hilary admitted.

There was a moment of silence. Even Robby recognized the seriousness of the situation. She was the newest Salt Sister, but she was now tuned in to Hilary’s needs.

Not since the early days of the Salt Sisters had Hilary felt so protected, so safe, so heard.

“You need to reach out to her,” Robby said, breaking the silence. “That People article was like an olive branch. Ingrid wants to talk to you.”

Hilary raised her shoulders. “She spent her whole life trying to get away from me.”

“She regrets it,” Stella said.

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