Page 49 of Unspoken Tides

Hilary put her hands on her hips and sighed. She’d been on her feet for five hours at that point, and she’d spent all that time craning to hear a familiar voice. She thought she might go crazy if she didn’t soon.

And then, a shadow draped over the inside of the trailer. She turned to find Max beaming at her, his hair a monstrous mass of curls. She yelped and ran for him, throwing her arms around him so that he could swing her in a big circle. She almost kicked a tech worker. She apologized profusely, still giggling. She wanted to cover Max with kisses.

“Get a room, you two,” the makeup artist called from her trailer.

Hilary placed her hands on Max’s cheeks. It had only been a few weeks since she’d seen him, but it felt like a lifetime. He seemed more Californian than he had, as though he’d drank one too many green juices.

“You’re back,” she said.

“So are you.”

“I never left,” Hilary said.

When Marty called to announce the film was back on, Hilary hadn’t waited more than a minute to call Max to see if he was coming back. He answered, “I already gave notice at my new gig. I’ll be there.” And then, he’d said, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

This time, Max didn’t bother renting a yacht or any other place to stay. It was understood that he would be staying with Hilary. He had his suitcases in his rental car, and they’d take them home tonight after another fourteen-hour shift. Marty could be heard over the crowd, telling everyone, “We can’t waste a single second. It’s going to be tight, but we’ll make it work.”

“Any idea who swooped in with the funding?” Max asked Hilary.

Hilary shook her head. “No idea. And Marty isn’t telling.”

“I love a mystery,” he joked, reaching into his backpack to draw out a big bag of croissants, which he’d purchased from an adorable bakery in Boston that morning. “Care for a snack?” Hilary had never been more ravenous in her life.

Max and Hilary sat at the edge of the costume trailer with their legs hanging down, ripping croissants with their fingers and gazing into one another’s eyes. Already since that phone call, Hilary had peppered him with I love yous. It always felt at the edge of her tongue. Around them, the set continued its setup, with more and more familiar voices calling to one another, creating an elaborate texture. Hilary realized she couldn’t take another twenty years off from the film industry. She adored it too much. The life and vitality behind the camera were her lifeblood.

“Have you seen Marty yet?” Hilary asked Max. A piece of croissant practically melted in her mouth.

“No,” he said. “And she’s staying mum about the funding.”

Hilary’s lips curled into a smile. She took another bite.

“I saw the article, by the way,” Max said.

Hilary eyed him curiously. Throughout their early days of dating, Max hadn’t mentioned Ingrid’s name once although he’d known Ingrid was her daughter.

“Have you ever worked on a film with her?” Hilary asked now.

Max bowed his head. He looked defeated. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.”

“Which one?”

“Dark November Rain,” he said.

Hilary remembered that one. Ingrid had mastered an English accent for her London-based character, a moody woman in her twenties who’d longed to murder her husband. It was one of Ingrid’s most unlikeable characters, and she’d played it masterfully. A femme fatale of the highest order.

“You were in London for the filming?” Hilary asked.

“Yes. It was my first time in London. That must have been, oh, six years ago?”

“Ingrid was twenty-five at the time. Yes.”

“Rumor around set was that she wasn’t speaking to her father anymore. I believe she’d just switched agents, too. But my goodness, she was kind to all of us on set. She was patient. Always said thank you. You don’t usually meet former child stars like that.”

Hilary laughed tenderly. She considered telling Max what a moody teenager Ingrid had been, then thought better of it. Who wasn’t a moody teenager? Who wasn’t ravaged by hormones and fears at that age? She didn’t want to betray her.

If she and Max were going to make this work, he had to understand that Hilary would love Ingrid from afar for the rest of her life. She would always carry it.

“Ingrid Salt.” The name flowed through the wind across set. “Did you see? Ingrid Salt? Is it really her?”

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