Chapter 3
Rodrick had kept it a secret that he’d been the one to write the script. As soon as the document landed in Hilary’s inbox, she downloaded it to her e-reader, put on her reading glasses, and cozied up on the back porch under a scratchy blanket as the wind off the sound rippled through her hair. Although it was a script and not a novel or as “personal,” per se, she still heard Rodrick’s voice as she read through the first few scenes. Tears sprang to her eyes. As always, she thought he was brilliant. He should have had four times the career he’d had.
Not that Rodrick didn’t enjoy a marvelous career. He’d produced some wonderful films, many with Oscar buzz and wins. The first few, of course, he’d laughably cast Hilary as his female lead—until they’d both finally decided to pay attention to the reviews and take Hilary off all future bills. Wanting Hilary to be involved somehow—presumably because he’d been in love with her—he’d convinced her to pay more attention to her unique style and incredible attention to detail. After a brief conversation with a costume designer, she’d been hired for a low-tier position. Initial excitement about this next step in her career had collapsed soon afterward. During fourteen-hour days at work, she’d overheard multiple people discuss that she hadn’t earned the job and had been given preferential treatment. “She’s the producer’s wife and Isabella Helin’s daughter. I mean, she sucks as an actress, so they’re just looking for somewhere else to put her.”
It had kept Hilary awake at night. For a little while, she’d considered outright quitting. She dreamed up other opportunities and careers for herself. What could the daughter of one of the most famous women in the world do without feeling like a shadow?
Because Hilary had actual talent, the flippant talk from others in the costume department stopped soon afterward. People started paying attention to what she said and who she styled; nobody assumed she wasn’t worthy. Before long, she was in charge of the costuming division of Rodrick’s films. The career fit her like a glove.
And it was true that she often missed it. But it had been twenty years since she’d last worked on a film. Things had changed. The world was markedly different. Was she really up to the task?
Rodrick’s new script was about a very poor family living on Nantucket. The father was a fisherman, the mother was having an affair with his best friend, their daughter ran away halfway through the story, and the son attempted suicide. Around the time of the son’s attempted suicide, a horrendous storm swept the island and destroyed their home. They had to take refuge in the attic of an old Nantucket whaling museum—where they slowly rebuilt their love in the face of the horror of what they’d wrought. It was hinted at the end that the daughter would return and fully save them all—but it was never shown in the script. Not completely.
It was a terribly grim tale that spoke of the numerous hardships for people on Nantucket during that time. It reminded Hilary of her and Rodrick”s conversations during their long summers on Nantucket. The difference in tax brackets was perpetually widening, and “true” islanders seemed surprised that so much money had sprung up on the island, seemingly out of nowhere. They felt as though their land, their history, had been taken away from them by celebrities, politicians, and other elites. Rodrick’s story attempted to heighten that through the lens of one family—one ordinary father, one brokenhearted mother, and the children who were growing up in an ever-changing world.
Although the story was devastating at times, the script also showed off Rodrick’s incredible sense of humor. This was no surprise to Hilary. In the face of their numerous hardships together as a couple, Rodrick had always managed to say something that split her side. She’d hated this about him sometimes. “We’re being serious right now!” she’d cry to him midway through a fight as tears ran down her cheeks. “We have to work this out!”
They hadn’t worked it out, of course. Not ultimately. But Hilary was still left with the feeling that Rodrick was one of the funniest men in the world.
Hilary read the script all night and into the morning, eventually retreating inside when the wind off the sound became too frantic. She turned on the fake fireplace in the living room and continued to run through the lines. She tried to imagine who would play the lead actor and actress. Surely, with filming right around the corner, they’d already made those decisions. Her fingers tingled with excitement, imagining what they would wear.
She needed to know if she was going to leap into the film in just two weeks. She couldn’t wait.
After she reached the end, Hilary picked up her phone and called Rodrick. He answered on the second ring with a bounce in his voice.
“Rodrick,” she gasped, “you have to let me work on this film.”
Rodrick laughed gently. “I’m the one begging you, remember?”
Hilary smiled into the phone. It was almost as though he were here, sitting beside her in the dark as the fireplace roared.
“Who are they?” Hilary asked. “The main actors and actresses.”
“We have Brett Vanders for the father.”
“Oh! He’s incredible.” Hilary had seen nearly all of his movies. She remembered telling Stella that he was “the real deal” in terms of acting. He hardly had to say a word for you to feel the immensity of his emotions in a scene. Once, he’d been nominated for an Oscar based on ten minutes of acting.
“For the mother, we have Candace Grune. The children are newcomers. Stacy Binion and Nathanial Etterson.”
“Wonderful. I’m assuming someone has their measurements for me?”
There was a pause.
Hilary arched her brow. “Rodrick, what aren’t you telling me?”
“There was an incident with the previous costume designer.”
Hilary rubbed her temple, cursing herself for her lack of foresight. Of course, she hadn’t been the first pick.
“To be honest, I told her I didn’t want her to work on the feature,” Rodrick said. “Because I wanted to hire you instead. You can imagine how enraged she was.”
“You hired her and took it back?”
“The director jumped the gun before I gave the okay,” Rodrick said. “I was always planning on reaching out to you. I couldn’t very well make a film on Nantucket without you.”
Hilary filled her lungs and allowed a soft smile to play across her lips. “I can’t imagine you could.”
There was silence. Hilary could guess what was on Rodrick’s mind. She hated that it was on hers, too.
“The previous costume designer isn’t sharing the measurements nor her plans for the costumes,” Rodrick explained. “But I imagine that won’t be difficult for you.”
“I’ll measure them as soon as I see them,” Hilary said, her mind racing with all there was left to do now that she’d agreed. She hoped she wouldn’t regret it.
“And I’ll arrange for them to be on Nantucket in the next few days,” Rodrick assured her. “I want them to get the lay of the land, anyway. Our set guys are already out there, creating a 1970s Nantucket. You won’t believe how brilliant it’ll be, Hilary. I can’t wait to see what magic we create together.”
It was straight out of a romance novel, Hilary thought. Yet at the mere idea of Rodrick’s arms around her, his breath hot in her ear, their love as powerful as ever before, the edges of her heart cracked. She wasn’t sure she could take it. It was like staring too long at the sun.
“I can’t wait,” Hilary heard herself say, stretching her smile so wide that now, it felt fully fake. “I’ll be here to welcome them.”
Hilary fell into the chaos of the next week and a half. She met with the actors to take their measurements and get a feel for their personalities (both within the script and in real life), drove to Boston to hand-select numerous costumes, met with seamstresses who would ensure each costume fit securely, and generally pulled her hair out at the stress. But sometimes when she passed herself in a mirror, she paused and smiled at herself. A frantic energy sparkled in her eyes, one she hadn’t seen in decades. And with so much to do, so many people to meet, and all of Hollywood watching her (or so it seemed to her), she felt useful and vibrant.
Hilary and Rodrick spoke on the phone every second day. Hilary shared her visions for the costumes, asked questions about the script and the characters, and dug deeper into the mind of Rodrick, the visionary. Rodrick was tying up loose ends in Los Angeles and preparing to fly out to Nantucket in the coming days. He’d rented a house on the coast, just ten minutes from Hilary’s place (where, of course, they’d once said their vows and pledged their lives to one another). Hilary felt as though the edges of her life were fuzzy. It was like walking through a dream.
It was funny when Stella called her one afternoon and asked, “Where the heck have you been?”
Hilary was halfway home from another spontaneous trek to a costume designer in Boston, who was lending her a series of 1970s dresses for extras.
“I can’t catch myself coming or going,” Hilary answered honestly. “How are you?”
“Worried sick!” Stella said. “You’ve ignored all of my text messages the past few days.”
Hilary grimaced. She vaguely remembered flashing lights and vibrations from her cell phone. She’d thrown her phone in her purse and kept working.
“Are you in town?” Stella asked. “I’m in front of your place.”
“I’m almost home,” Hilary said. “Is there something wrong?”
“No.” Stella’s voice was drained of urgency. “We’re just having a Salt Sisters’ night tonight at my place. You’re the only one who hasn’t said yes or no.”
Hilary felt a stab of regret and another of guilt. She pictured all the Salt Sisters waiting for her somewhere, watching the door. She imagined one of them saying, “Hilary just isn’t there for us anymore.”
“I’ll be there,” Hilary said, making a quick calculation. If she went immediately to the Nantucket warehouse to drop off the costumes, called Rodrick quickly about another question she had, then took a shower, she could be at Stella’s by seven or eight.
“Great.” Stella’s voice was warm again. “Can’t wait to see you.”
Hilary sped through the rest of her day, her eyes enormous and her foot heavy on the gas pedal. By the time she threw herself in the shower and scrubbed down, it was already seven forty-five. And by the time she’d dressed, dried her hair, and done her makeup, it was eight twenty. As she headed to the Porsche, her keys jangling, Rodrick called again, and his voice made her heart tap-dance across her diaphragm.
She was back in Hollywood, baby. It was like she’d never left.
Hilary rang the doorbell of Stella’s home and waited with a bottle of wine in her hand. She could hear the Salt Sisters’ laughter echoing from the back porch, and when nobody came to retrieve her, she walked around the side of the house to say hello. She could see all of them from the base of the porch stairs, their earrings jangling and eyes dancing in the candlelight. Tina was telling a story that had everyone captivated. Hilary waited, straining to hear until Tina finished. And then, she cleared her throat.
“Hilary! You made it!” Stella hurried to make space for her around the glass porch table.
Hilary blushed as she slipped in beside Katrina and across from Robby. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“Stella said you’ve been really busy lately,” Gale said, furrowing her brow. “I hope everything’s okay?”
Hilary sensed their worry permeating the air. It was in the nature of the Salt Sisters to worry about one another and raise each other up. Hilary normally did the heavy lifting.
“I’m doing well. How is everyone else?” Hilary pushed back, not sure if she wanted to share yet. She could already imagine their fears; she could already hear Stella saying, are you sure you want to work with Rodrick again, Hilary? Think of your mental health. Think of all he put you through. Be reasonable.
“Tina was just telling us about a date she went on the other day,” Stella said.
Tina waved her hand. “Suffice it to say, it’s rough out there.”
Hilary’s heart felt warm at the thought of Rodrick coming all the way from California. She hadn’t asked if his wife was joining him. Most of her assumed he wasn’t married anymore. That was the nature of Hollywood marriages, she knew. They were always crumbling.
Then again, she hadn’t googled it. She hadn’t bothered to actually confirm or deny his marriage, wanting to fall into the beauty of her daydreams. That was potentially disastrous.
“Oh! Hil,” Katrina began, “we have a big question for you. Have you seen all the movie sets around the Historic District? It looks like they’re transforming some streets to another era. The eighties or seventies or something.”
Hilary’s stomach tightened. She reached for the open bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.
“Have you heard what they’re filming?” Katrina asked. “I figured if anyone knew, you would.”
Hilary wasn’t sure she was ready to share that, either. “I’ll look into it.”
“It’s so exciting!” Sylvie said. “I always love running into famous actors and actresses at the beaches around here.”
“Remember when we saw Matthew McConaughey at the grocery store a few years ago?” Rose said to Ada.
“I remember that you dropped the orange juice!” Ada said.
Robby snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. Hilary, I can’t believe you never told me who your mother is.”
The table went quiet. Hilary gaped at Robby as her heart pounded in her throat. It seemed that, in telling Robby about Isabella Helin, the Salt Sisters had forgotten the number one rule when it came to Isabella Helin— don’t mention her to Hilary.
All the color drained from Robby’s face. She pressed her hand over her mouth, then stuttered, “I’ve said something wrong. I’m sorry.”
Very quietly, Stella said, “We just told her, Hilary.”
Hilary swallowed and tried to smile. “It’s okay. It’s not like it’s a big secret.”
Robby continued to stutter. “I just can’t believe I’ve spent all this time with you, and you know so much about me, and I never knew this huge fact about you.”
Hilary wanted to point out that throughout their brief friendship, ever since Robby had entered the Salt Sisters, they’d done a whole lot of talking about Robby, about Robby’s needs, about Robby’s past. There hadn’t been space for Hilary’s. And she hadn’t shared it readily, either. Was it self-protection? Martyrdom? The blame wasn’t fully on Robby’s shoulders, surely.
“Excuse me,” Hilary said, standing up to disappear in the bathroom. She hoped that leaving and coming back again would reset the Salt Sisters’ conversation. She hated feeling all of their eyes upon her.
But when Hilary got to the bathroom and leaned against the door, attempting to regroup, she heard the shuffling of feet in the hallway, followed by a meek knock. “Hilary? Can I talk to you for a second?” It was Robby.
Hilary sighed and puffed out her cheeks. She had half a mind to make an excuse and drive home to tend to her massive to-do list. Maybe she didn’t have time for the Salt Sisters right now. Perhaps she didn’t need to explain herself.
Hilary opened the door and smiled out at Robby, whose eyes were glossy. She reached out to touch Hilary’s wrist.
“I really am sorry for bringing up your mother like that. It was totally crass,” Robby said. “I know we’re all in the Salt Sisters because we’ve had to carry a little too much along the way.” She sniffed, trying and failing to maintain eye contact with Hilary, whose eye contact never wavered. Hilary had learned never to drop her gaze from her mother.
Robby went on, “I know you founded the Salt Sisters for your own reasons. But you’ve just always seemed so strong to me. I forgot, I guess that you’ve had your own cross to bear. And I’m sorry.”
Hilary raised her shoulders and tried to smile. It was no surprise to her that the others in the Salt Sisters thought of her as the strongest. She’d wanted it that way. And just like her mother, when she wanted someone to think something, it was rather simple. Perhaps it was a manipulation tactic. But it was just how she’d chosen to survive.
“I just want you to know that you can share your story with me whenever you want,” Robby said, forcing her eyes to Hilary’s once more. “I want to help you in any way I can, the way you’ve helped me.”
The tenderness to her voice nearly made Hilary break. Her knees threatened to give out beneath her. She had to keep herself strong and solid; she had to keep her chin up. “I appreciate that. I do. You know, my mother was such a performer. She always put on a show for everyone, showing them only the cards she wanted to, manipulating them left and right. I adored her, and I was so frightened of her at the same time.” She paused, scrambling to understand why she’d given Robby even this much. “I never wanted to feel like I was performing my grief about my mother. And, I suppose, that means I stopped telling my story.”
Robby bowed her head. Hilary’s heartbeat quickened. She was surprised to feel that she’d just told the truth. She felt like melting butter.
“I completely understand that,” Robby offered. “But your grief doesn’t sound like a performance to me. Just please let us know if we can help in any way.”
Hilary thanked Robby, then cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry!” Robby laughed. “I’m keeping you from the bathroom. I’ll see you out there.” She turned and fled the hallway, leaving Hilary in the shadows.
Hilary closed the door and again leaned against the wood, staring at herself in the mirror. Suddenly, a rush of fear came over her. She realized that Rodrick was en route to Nantucket—the real Rodrick, the man who’d destroyed her. Very soon, she would be swept into the churning machine of being “on set” and forced to face the devastating losses of twenty years ago. If there was any time she needed to ask the Salt Sisters for help, it was now. But it went against the solid wall she’d built. She was strong; she could do this. She was fifty-five years old now. Trauma had been a part of her life in the distant past. But she was through with that now.
She smiled at herself in the mirror, reminding herself of her favorite phrase she’d coined for the group, “It’s sisterhood with a dash of salt.” Hilary was the salt in that equation. But she was only the salt because Rodrick had made her so.