Chapter 12
Present Day
Acouple of weeks went by. Hilary hardly noticed the passage of time, so lost she was in romantic thoughts of Max—dreaming up a reality she’d never dared to with someone handsome and kind. Someone who actually seemed to like her. Nearly every evening after work, she joined him at his yacht or went out to dinner with him, or took him back to her place for fresh fish and very dry white wine, where they kissed beneath the rising moon and discussed whatever came to mind. Sometimes when Hilary looked at herself in the mirror, she no longer saw a fifty-five-year-old woman peering back at her. She saw a woman in the midst of self-discovery. She saw a woman shucking off her old skin.
On occasion, Hilary met up with some of the Salt Sisters. She made extra time for Stella, who was visibly hurt now that Hilary was pulling away. It broke Hilary to see it. She made sure to remind Stella just how much she loved her, to ask her questions about the goings-on of her life, and to buy her favorite wine when she knew she was coming by. But even still, she felt ill-equipped to tell Stella everything that was going on right now. She and Stella had a friendship grounded in tragedy. They’d always shared the terrible things that had happened. Now that good things were happening to Hilary, she didn’t want to jinx them by sharing.
More than that, how could she explain to Stella that she was so tired of carrying the Salt Sisters? That she never felt they were there for her in the same way she was for them? It made her feel whiny. She read a few articles about “boundaries” and how to build them but was reminded too much of her mother and their poisonous relationship and had to close every internet tab.
Things were going to be fine. Probably.
Impossibly, Hilary still hadn’t seen Rodrick since that first night of work. That felt like a storm approaching, apt to destroy everything, but she didn’t know why. Prior to that dinner, she and Rodrick hadn’t seen each other in many years. They’d been fine.
But as Max slept beside her late at night, she could hear Rodrick saying, “We need to talk about her, you know.”
Yes, Rodrick. Hilary knew. Hilary always knew. It wasn’t like she was ever far from her mind. Did he really think she’d forgotten? Did he really think Hilary had wrung her out of her mind?
She still hadn’t told Max that part of the story. She wasn’t sure how to bring it up.
The morning they filmed a scene between the son and father of the film—a scene that came immediately before the son attempted suicide—Hilary was in the costume trailer, up to her ears in alterations, feeling frantic. In the next trailer, the makeup artist and Stacy talked about another on-set romance that had nothing to do with Hilary, which warmed her heart. People had accepted her and Max as a couple. They weren’t interesting to them anymore.
That was what she’d always wanted to scream from the rooftops. She wasn’t interesting, like her mother. She was just Hilary. She was normal.
“There she is,” Max said from the opening in the trailer. He beamed as he stepped inside and swallowed her in a hug, bringing with him a fresh salty breeze.
Hilary kissed him and playfully swatted him away. “I have about five minutes to do fifty-seven things,” she said.
“It’s the big day,” Max affirmed, tugging his hair as he always did when he was nervous. “I’m off to find Marty. Do you need anything before I go?”
Hilary smiled and rose on her tiptoes again to kiss him. “I just want the day to go by quickly.”
They had plans to watch a film later, a Hitchcock classic with popcorn and their tired legs propped up. Hilary couldn’t wait.
As their kiss broke, Hilary flattened her feet and returned her attention to her mending. But when Max turned to leave, he froze in the middle of the trailer. Something was wrong. Hilary tried to peer around him but saw nothing but hanging clothes.
“Hey there. You must be Max.”
It was Rodrick. A shiver ran down Hilary’s spine.
“And you must be Rodrick.” Max sounded cool and easy. He stepped out of the trailer and brought his hand forward to shake Rodrick’s.
Hilary watched them from the shadows of the trailer. Rodrick assessed Max with beady eyes. Was that jealousy? Hilary had never seen him look like that before. A small voice in the back of her mind said, see what you put me through, Rodrick? See what it’s like? But she quickly squashed it. Her relationship with Max was far different from Rodrick’s with that actress. He’d stepped out of their marriage without telling her first. He’d stopped taking her calls.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Haven’t seen you around set,” Max said, his voice upbeat. Was there an insult in there somewhere?
“It’s my first time back in Nantucket for many years,” Rodrick explained. “I had to reconnect with the island.”
“It’s a magical place. I can see why you wrote the script to take place here,” Max said. “Coming here has certainly changed everything for me.”
Rodrick turned to give Hilary a pointed look. She felt as she had as a little girl when she’d gotten in trouble with Isabella. She felt exposed.
But why? Why did she feel like that? She was fifty-five years old! She and Rodrick were divorced!
Hilary tried to remember the last text messages she’d exchanged with Rodrick. Again, he’d told her they had things to talk about. Again, she’d told him she was “so tired” from her long days on set. She was avoiding him. And now, he was here to demand answers.
“Do you mind if I have a quick word with our costumer about today’s shoot?” Rodrick said, not bothering to look at Max although he spoke to him.
“You good?” Max asked Hilary.
Hilary nodded. “Go set up. I’ll be on set in a sec.”
Max disappeared around the corner of the next trailer, tugging at his hair. Hilary longed to go with him. Instead, she was cornered in her costume trailer by her ex-husband, who looked prepared to eat her. His hands were in fists.
“I keep inviting you over,” Rodrick said.
For a moment, Hilary pitied him. She cleared her throat. “I really have been so busy, Rodrick. I forgot how exhausting making a movie is.”
Rodrick was quiet for a moment. Hilary hated that her mind ran away with itself, showing her hundreds of beautiful memories between them. She hated that a part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him. She wondered when that would die.
Before Rodrick could say anything else, Marty Zhang’s assistant director called from the set. “Everyone! We need to get going!”
“I have to go,” Hilary said. “Maybe we can talk after the shoot? We could go on a walk.”
“Sure.” Rodrick palmed the back of his neck as his face grew blotchy. He looked like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “A walk,” he spat.
Hilary didn’t have time to analyze Rodrick’s behavior. She flew into the frantic shoot, fixing costumes, hurrying into the shot, and back out of it just in time for Marty Zhang to call, “Cut!” Sometimes she caught sight of Max behind the camera, and her heart glowed with recognition. This was the man she was falling in love with. This was her solid ground.
After Marty called cut at the end of the day, Hilary sped through her final chores and stepped into the dying light to look for Rodrick. She asked an assistant director, another cinematographer, and the lead actor if they’d seen him, and everyone said they hadn’t seen him since after lunch. Hilary felt a pang of annoyance. She’d given herself a pep talk and prepared herself for this “walk” with Rodrick, and now he was just going to hide away like it didn’t matter at all. He’d made such a big deal about it!
This was something her mother might have done, Hilary thought now. Make a big deal about something, and then make you feel like a fool when you make a big deal about it, too.
But Rodrick and Isabella weren’t similar people. Were they?
Hilary’s thoughts raced for the next half hour. She didn’t fully calm down until she was on the couch with Max beside her and a bucket of popcorn between them. The Hitchcock film was ready; night had fallen.
The only thing Max said before they turned on the film was, “Rodrick is pretty intense. Did he say anything that upset you today?”
“He asked to meet later and then disappeared,” Hilary explained with a shrug.
“That’s rude.”
“That’s my ex-husband,” Hilary said with a sigh. “He doesn’t deserve any more space in our day. Let’s start the movie.”
The next morning, their world flipped upside down.
Hilary and Max arrived on set at seven thirty to prep for the morning ahead. Hilary felt rejuvenated after a long night of sleep. She cracked jokes with the actors and tech workers, drank coffee, and even ate a few bites of a croissant. She was in a terribly good mood.
But when she buzzed through the trailers and stumbled into Marty Zhang, her face fell. “Marty? What’s going on?”
Marty looked lost. Her cheeks were hollow, her hair was unwashed, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. “Hilary? Hey.” She swallowed and rubbed her neck. “I need to talk to everyone. Everyone on set.” She repeated that louder a second time before the assistant director used a megaphone to announce it.
Hilary followed Marty Zhang to set as her heart pounded in her ears. What was this about? Had something happened to one of the actors? Did Marty need to quit? Once on set, Marty clasped her hands together and raised her chin. “I have some horrible news. As of this morning, the funding for this project has been ripped out from under us. We have no way to keep filming. I can’t even pay the people who showed up today.”
Hilary’s jaw dropped. Around her, the actors, tech workers, makeup artists, and assistants burst into angry conversations. Marty was talking to her personal assistant, but with all the chaos around her, Hilary couldn’t make out what was said.
How had this happened? It didn’t make sense.
Suddenly, Hilary’s mind’s eye filled with Rodrick—when he’d peered up at her in the trailer yesterday, his cheeks blotchy with jealousy.
But that wasn’t enough of a reason to pull funding for your film project. It wasn’t enough of a reason to ruin so many people’s livelihoods. It couldn’t be.
“Pettiness makes Hollywood go round and round,” Isabella Helin had said numerous times. “It’s our fuel.”
Hilary’s stomach was tied into knots.
After she returned to her trailer to start the endless task of sorting everything and returning it to the warehouses in Boston, Hilary began to cry quietly, wiping her tears on her sleeves. It seemed impossible that the best weeks of her life were now through. On the other side of the trailer walls, she heard the makeup ladies ask each other, “Why? Why is this happening? I just don’t understand,” in a constant refrain. Hilary felt the collective heart of the film players breaking. None of it seemed fair.
Suddenly, Hilary was overwhelmed with a primal rage. She stomped out of her trailer, locked it behind her, and headed for her Porsche. Those who watched her go muttered to each other, “What’s she up to?” Probably, she started another wave of gossip. She didn’t care.
Hilary drove to Rodrick’s house ten miles over the speed limit, her hands clenching the steering wheel. When she cut the engine in the driveway, she mopped herself up, set her jaw, and stomped up the porch stairs. It was unclear if anyone was home, but she rang the bell and knocked on the door for well over ten minutes before giving up. She imagined Rodrick sitting in his kitchen, listening to her as he drank a whiskey. She imagined he was smiling.
Was this really how he wanted to get his revenge?
Eventually, Hilary had to give up. She didn’t want to break in and spend the night in jail. It wasn’t worth it. Her hand tingled. She wanted to smack the door again.
When Hilary got back in her car, her phone was filled with messages from Max. He was back at the yacht. Would she join him?
Hilary sobbed openly on the drive to the harbor. When she got out, she found Max on the top deck with his shirt off, drinking a domestic beer. He looked tan and handsome and carefree. He looked like someone who would surely dump Hilary in five seconds flat and date someone else—a movie star, a volleyball player, or a flight attendant. Someone who looked better in a skirt. But when he saw Hilary come up the ladder onto his yacht, he popped to his feet, wrapped his arms around her, and held her until she stopped shaking. She hadn’t even realized how visibly sad she’d looked.
That night, they ordered pizza to the yacht and ate it under a full moon. Hilary explained her reasoning for why she thought Rodrick had pulled the plug, and Max shook his head with despondency.
“I can’t believe he would end the film just because we’re together,” he said.
“Rodrick is used to getting what he wants,” Hilary said.
“But you haven’t been together in years,” Max said.
Hilary raised her shoulders and took a cheesy bite of pizza. Overhead, a seagull cawed.
“I used to think Rodrick saved me from my mother,” Hilary said quietly. “But lately, I’ve been thinking that Rodrick was just a different version of Isabella Helin. He saw how weak I was with her and wanted to use me for his own reasons. People like that love power. And they love to be around people they can wield it with.”
Max shook his head. “It’s so hard for me to imagine doing that to you. To me, you’re a powerful and independent woman.”
“To Rodrick, I’m still that kid he met at the Oscars in 1990,” Isabella said.
Max cradled Hilary in his arms, and Hilary leaned against his chest and gazed up at the stars. She felt swallowed in his warmth.
“I was finally feeling good again,” Hilary said softly.
“Me too.”
They were quiet for a moment. Hilary sensed something weighing on Max’s mind.
“Marty said she can’t pay me for the past week of work,” Max said. “Not right away.”
Hilary bristled. “Oh. That’s awful.”
She knew it was like that for everyone. It didn’t affect her. She was Isabella Helin’s daughter. She was set for life—where cash was concerned.
“I could help you,” Hilary offered, turning around to gaze into Max’s eyes. She wanted to make him understand that the money didn’t matter to her.
But Max shook his head. “Money complicates everything. It messes up relationships. I’ve seen it too many times to take that risk.”
Hilary felt a sob rise up in her throat. He was right. She couldn’t argue with him.
“I’ll stay here as long as I can,” Max said, scooping her hair behind her ear and tenderly kissing her forehead. “But I’ll have to return the yacht soon. I’ll have to get back to LA to find more work.”
Hilary pressed her lips against his and tried to tell herself to live in this moment. It was one she wouldn’t be able to get back. She would return to it during particularly frigid winter mornings when all she would yearn for would be these strong arms and this heart.
It had all been a blessing. She would spend the rest of her life trying to remind herself it hadn’t also been a curse.