Page 53 of The Unknown

We spend the rest of the morning rehearsing. Just me, Violet, and Ronan on the edge of the cliff behind the main house. It’s the scene in which Mrs. Semple chats with Daisy while sketching her, right before they spot their boat adrift. Poor planning on Ronan’s part. It’s hard to pretend there’s a way off this island when, for the time being, I know there isn’t.

Also hard: trying to forget what Susie said she heard last night.

On top of what I heard, and how that same message was inexplicably spelled out on the parlor table this morning.

And the fact that neither Loretta nor Brad is back yet and that Julianne possibly thinks it was all Azra’s doing.

Hardest of all, though, is acting opposite Violet, who did indeed show up on time and off book. I feel like an idiot holding my script with one hand while trying to pretend I don’t need to peek at every line. As a result, my performance is stilted and weak. Especially when compared to Violet, who slips effortlessly into character. One second, I’m talking to Violet Wright, charming movie star. The next, it’s Ruth Hume Semple seated on a rock in front of me, saying lines lifted directly from Daisy’s diary as if they’re being spoken for the first time.

“What are your thoughts about Azra?”

I check my script. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Stop there,” Ronan says.

I tense up, humiliated. If I can’t get even one line right—during rehearsal, no less—there’s no way I’m going to be able to act my way through an entire movie. When Ronan kneels beside me, an arm around my shoulder, I’m certain I’m about to be fired. Instead, he says, “It’s okay to be nervous. And it’s okay to mess up. That’s part of the process.”

“We all do it,” Violet says, ignoring the fact that her line reading was flawless.

“Now, what do you think Daisy means with that line?” Ronan says.

“Um, that she doesn’t want to talk about it?”

Ronan smiles, his teeth as blindingly white as his oxford shirt. He looks both of-the-moment handsome and utterly timeless. The reincarnation of Cary Grant. I spend a millisecond wondering if Susie’s right about him being smitten before dismissing it. Ronan’s my director. It’s his job to pay attention to one of his lead actresses. Just like it’s my job to focus on what he’s saying and not the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Or maybe Daisydoeswant to talk about it,” he says, “but is scared to admit it. Remember, people don’t always mean what they say. Sometimes they mean the complete opposite.” He pries the script from my hand and, when I protest, says, “Don’t worry about the words. Focus on how you feel when saying them.”

We try it again, and this time I follow his advice, zeroing in on the way Susie acted in the parlor earlier. The bitchy front she put on when, deep down, she was also trying to understand what happened there last night.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” I say, adding a nervous spin, as if I’m worried Mrs. Semple will realize I’m lying.

“My dear, you must,” Violet replies with the perfect amount of maternal pressure. “There must be a reason Azra communicated with us.”

In that moment, everything clicks in a way that I can only describe as alchemy. I’m no longer Marin Keane, struggling-in-every-way actress. I’m Daisy Rue, frightened yet fascinated by what’s happening on this island and seeking comfort, information, and validation from the person who brought me here, all while pretending I’m not.

“And what reason would that be?” I ask Violet, who’s channeling Mrs. Semple so well I can’t tell the difference between them.

“Clearly, Azra has something to say.”

“I don’t care,” I say, when I do. I feel the desire to know more all the way down to my core, even though I remain frightened. “I don’t want to hear from Azra ever again.”

Violet nods, as if she understands the tug-of-war taking place inside me. Like she knows because she’s gone through it herself. “Sometimes we are forced to listen to things we don’t want to hear.”

Ronan stands, breaking the spell. “That,” he says, “was fucking perfect.”

Later, after Violet returns to the house, he stays behind, nudging me until there’s room for two of us on the rock.

“You doing okay? In spite of all this?” He throws his arms open, gesturing to the lake spreading out for miles beyond the vertical drop of the cliff.

“I’m worried,” I say. “We should have heard something by now.”

“I know. Hopefully everything is okay and Loretta’s on her way back this very minute.”

Ronan stares out at the lake, as if Loretta will appear if he looks for her hard enough. Because all that water reminds me of how isolated we are, I turn in the other direction, to the house rising behind us. From our spot on the rock, I can see the parlor’s ornate wall of windows. Faintly visible beyond it is the table where the séance took place.

“Who was Elise?” I say.

“A girl I once knew,” Ronan says with a nervous tug of his neckerchief. “Elise Haines. She was an actress. Well, an aspiring one.”