Chapter 5
Chapter Five
I t was often beyond Gale how she’d managed her career so far. The Oscar she’d packed in her suitcase was proof that she’d done something right along the way. She’d written a script that the Academy and the American public had fallen to their knees for. That was twelve years ago, when she and Peter had flown out to Hollywood to attend the Academy Awards, wine and dine with Gale’s film colleagues, and soak up the California sun before returning to gray and dismal Providence. It had been the most exciting night of Gale’s life.
Gale had majored in creative writing at the University of Rhode Island with an aim to write short stories for a living. Her professors soon clued her in on the horrible news: you can’t make money with short stories because nobody wants to read them. Being nineteen, Gale rebounded from this news and pivoted. She wrote a screenplay, entered a screenplay competition, and—weirdly—won.
Gale still remembered calling Evelyn to tell her she’d won the contest. By then, Evelyn had moved full-time to Nantucket to pursue a life of loneliness or, as she called it, tuning into herself . Evelyn hadn’t reacted well to the news. “I still think you should re-think this writing thing,” she’d said. “You have brains, Gale. You can do something that makes you real money. What about engineering? The medical field?”
“There’s loads of money in the film industry,” Gale had told her mother. She’d wanted to hang up on her, but instead, she’d remained on the phone and listened to her mother explain all the ways Gale’s life could go wrong in the future.
Why hadn’t Gale remembered that?
Now, Gale was behind the wheel of her car, sitting in the driveway of her mother’s beach bungalow, feeling pathetic. She had the heat on full blast but couldn’t stop shivering. For the tenth time that day, she dialed Evelyn and waited for it to hit voicemail.
“Mom, I’m worried about you. You said you’d be home when I got here.” Gale hated how shivery her voice was. “I’m on the island. Headed to Hilary’s. Call me when you get this.”
Gale threw her phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine. It was seven thirty, and temperatures had dipped to fifty-seven degrees. It occurred to her that her mother was watching all the calls come into her phone and laughing to herself. Maybe she was trying to teach Gale a lesson about “fending for herself.”
Under her breath, Gale muttered, “Mom, I’m forty-six years old. Give me a break.”
But in her mind, she thought, Mom, I need you so much right now. Why aren’t you here?
Gale drove fifteen minutes to Hilary Salt’s beach mansion in the rich part of Siasconset. She rang the bell on the iron gate out front and waited impatiently, squeezing her steering wheel hard until the gates swung open and let her in. Hilary breezed out of the front door wearing all white linen and looking bohemian and beautiful. When she hugged Gale, she brought a wave of earthy tanginess and cedar and coconut—perfumes that Gale remembered from her trips to Hollywood and various film sets around the world. It was a perfume that actresses used. And because Hilary’s mother was one of the most iconic actresses of the twentieth century, Hilary knew the ins and outs of looking, smelling, and seeming perfect. The difference between Hilary and those other actresses was that Hilary didn’t know she seemed that way. She was anxious. She second-guessed herself. She was real.
Gale had met Hilary because she’d written Isabella Helin’s final film. The film had bombed at the box office but garnered critical love and eventually led to another screenplay and another after that. Gale and Hilary had met on-set during one of Isabella’s minor breakdowns, and while Isabella had “powdered her nose” in her trailer, which mostly meant crying and calling the man she was seeing at that time, Gale and Hilary had shared a sandwich and bonded over their love for Nantucket Island of all places. Both dreamed of settling down there “when they were old and gray.”
Hilary had ended up here after her mother’s death and her husband’s affair.
But Gale wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Hilary about her husband’s affair yet.
Hilary led Gale to the beautiful veranda that stretched out like a dream over the back of her mother’s mansion. A few other women in their forties were stationed in the dying light, drinking rosé, chatting, and eating charcuterie. Gale had the feeling of entering an exclusive spa. Hilary made brief introductions. “This is Ada, Tina, Rose, and Katrina. Stella’s coming by soon. I think you met her last year?”
Gale half-remembered a gorgeous, leggy blonde who’d laughed openly and talked about her love of dogs.
“How long are you here this time?” Hilary asked Gale, filling a glass with wine and handing it over. “And did you bring your beautiful daughters with you?”
Gale felt her eyes fill with tears that she quickly blinked away. Too much time had gone by since Hilary asked her questions, and the women Hilary had called “part of the Salt Sisters” had turned to look at her. Women like them had seen things. They recognized the heaviness of Gale’s silence.
Gale took a breath. “I might be here a bit longer than normal.”
Hilary furrowed her brow. Nobody said anything. They expected Gale to go on.
“My husband and I are taking some time apart.”
Why can’t I tell them he cheated on me? Why is it so hard to admit? Am I trying to protect him? Or am I embarrassed?
Hilary sat down beside her and clinked her glass to hers. “Nantucket is the perfect place to breathe.”
The other Salt Sisters nodded in agreement. Their eyes glinted with empathy. None of them begged for the juicy details of Gale’s life. They were happy to let her sit with them. They were happy to listen when needed or supply light chit-chat when she had nothing better to say.
“The thing is,” Gale began, her voice wavering, “my mother said she’d be home to let me in this afternoon. She hasn’t shown up.”
Hilary’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”
“Are you worried?” Tina asked.
Gale took a staggered breath. “I never know whether to worry when it comes to my mother.”
Hilary nodded in understanding. Her mother had been a handful, too. But at least Isabella had been a movie star. She had an excuse. My mother is just a secretive diva for no reason.
“You can stay here as long as you want to,” Hilary said. “Plenty of the Salt Sisters have crashed over the years.”
“Crashed isn’t the appropriate term,” Rose said. “I stayed for a long time after my divorce. I’ve never lived such a luxurious life! I can only recommend it. You should see how many types of cheeses she keeps in the downstairs fridge.”
Gale felt her smile widen. It hadn’t occurred to her to reach out to Hilary for help after she found out about Peter’s affair. Her instinct had been to fall into her mother’s arms. But when was the last time her mother’s arms had been open to her?
Gale remembered the definition of insanity: that it involved doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. Maybe Mom will show how much she loves me this time.
“You can sit out here and work on your screenplays as much as you want to,” Hilary told her, spreading her arms wide as though she painted the pink sunset with her fingers. “It would be an honor to host you.”
“Screenplays!” Katrina cried. “How romantic.”
“What are you working on right now?” Tina asked.
Gale never spoke about her projects in the middle of them. It was hard for her to bring her ideas into the world like that. Talking about them tainted them.
Hilary came to her rescue. “She likes to keep that to herself,” she said with a smile. “But you should see some of the magical ones she’s written. My favorite was Tycoon Season. But I loved Umbrella Sky and Lost Winds. ”
“You wrote Tycoon Season ?” Another woman appeared on the veranda. Her glowing blond hair swept out behind her, and her eyes were buggy and excitable. It was Stella. “I love Tycoon Season. I’ve seen it like twenty-five times. Maybe more.”
Gale threw her head back, dizzy with all this attention. Peter had more or less forgotten she was a successful screenwriter or tried to forget so hard that he’d managed to. He spoke about his commercial-writing capabilities as though he was a world-renowned poet. Her Oscar had been dusty in the corner of her study until she’d shoved it in her suitcase.
“You snuck in!” Hilary stood to hug Stella and pour her a glass of wine. “You remember Gale? She’s been over a few times.”
“Of course. And now I know she’s my hero!” Stella laughed and sat down on Gale’s other side. “I have a thousand questions for you.”
“Let’s not bombard Gale,” Hilary warned. “She’s had a hard day.”
“That’s right. What should we do about your mother?” Katrina asked.
Gale waved her hand. The tension in her shoulders loosened with a third sip of wine. “That’s Mom,” she said. “She always keeps me on my toes.”
Stella snapped her fingers. “Before I forget, I have a question for Tina.” She swirled around to look at the other woman.
“Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?” Tina touched her heart.
“Not at all. But you might be.” Stella laughed. “I told Lucas I’d ask you to plan an event for him. Something for the Historical Society.”
“Of course! I’d do anything for Lucas,” Tina exclaimed.
“I told him he was island royalty,” Stella said. “He seems to forget that we all think the world of him.”
“Royalty. I totally agree,” Tina declared.
“But I haven’t told you the catch yet,” Stella said.
Tina winced. “Uh-oh.”
“It’s on June seventeenth,” Stella announced.
Tina’s jaw dropped. “What’s the scope?”
“Street festival,” Stella described.
“Stella! Come on. Do you know how many permits I have to get for something like that?” Tina grimaced and filled her mouth with wine. “Do you know how long I need to market something like that online to get anyone to come? Three weeks is literally nothing. It’s five minutes.”
“Come on! It’s Nantucket. People are always around,” Stella proclaimed. “People will come out in droves, especially if it’s right in the Historic District. Tourists will run right into it and think it’s just another magical Nantucket event.”
“Did you already tell him I’d do it?” Tina’s face was ashen.
“No. I’m not the worst friend in the world. I just said I’d ask,” Stella assured her.
Tina chewed her lower lip and gazed out across the water. Gale’s heart went out to her. She sensed how much she wanted to do it; how much she wanted to say yes.
And then Gale heard herself say something impossibly stupid. “Do you need help?”
Tina turned to look at her, startled. “You have a screenplay to write,” she said.
Gale didn’t tell Tina or any of them the truth—that since she’d discovered Peter’s affairs, she hadn’t been able to write a word. Never in her life had she struggled from writer’s block. But here it was. And it was ruining her life far more than Peter’s affairs. Maybe.
“I have time,” Gale said. “I left all my responsibilities back in Providence. Helping you would take my mind off everything.”
“I couldn’t ask you to,” Tina stuttered. “I shouldn’t even say yes.”
Hilary’s smile was enormous. It looked just like Isabella Helin’s on the big cinema screen. “She says she wants to, Tina,” she said. “I could see you two working well together.” She chuckled, then added, “If I’m wrong, don’t blame me.”
Tina walked to the table and sat across from Gale. She set her jaw. Gale had the strangest sensation that Tina was appraising her. Her instinct was to get out her résumé and pass it across.
“Three weeks,” Tina reminded her.
“We can help here and there, too,” Hilary added. “Just put us to work.”
Tina’s eyes flashed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I think it sounds fun,” Gale continued despite having doubts.
“That settles it,” Hilary announced, clasping her hands. “And Gale?”
Gale raised her glass. Her heart thumped so powerfully that the wine shivered in her glass. She had the sudden and desperate sensation that she didn’t want to leave these women’s sides. She wanted to bond with them, know them. She considered her few friends back in Providence and asked herself if she’d ever felt so cozy with them. They were the mothers of Anna’s and Piper’s friends and had therefore been in her midst due to necessity. Had she actually picked them for herself? Besides, she was reminded of how little she’d ever been able to tell them about her mother and Peter’s inability to accept her success in her career.
Would I have left Peter long before this if I’d just been paying attention?
Questions swirled.
“I want to ask you to join us,” Hilary said firmly.
“Is this a cult or something?” Gale quipped.
The women on the veranda giggled and glanced at each other.
“We’re just a community of women who’ve been through hell and back again,” Hilary said. “Death. Divorce. Disease. Bankruptcy. Failure. These events have plagued our lives. But we’ve all found a way through.”
“With good conversation,” Tina said.
“Plenty of wine,” Katrina added.
“Empathy,” Stella offered. “I think that’s the key to all this.”
Gale’s heart ballooned. She raised her glass higher. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll be a Salt Sister,” Hilary said. “For as long as you decide to stay on Nantucket.”
“Say you’ll stay forever,” Ada teased.
Gale’s smile widened. For a moment, she considered promising these gorgeous and soul-affirming women that she would be with them for the rest of her days. It was almost like a spontaneous marriage, an elopement without a second thought.
But just then, her phone buzzed on the table.
MOM: Where are you? I just got home.
It was time to go.