Page 55 of Trailer Park Princess

I use my key, the one Todd made a big show of giving me at a press conference about family unity, and the silence that greets me makes my skin crawl.

"Mom?" I call out.

My voice echoes through the marble foyer. Nothing.

"Mom? Where are you?"

I check the kitchen first. Empty, but there's an open bottle of wine on the counter, mostly gone. The living room's next, then Todd's study even though she's usually banned from there. Each empty room ratchets my panic higher.

Finally, I hear soft music drifting from upstairs. Mom always plays classical music when she's trying to pretend everything's fine.

I take the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering in my ears. Her bedroom door is cracked open, and I push through without knocking.

The smell of wine hits me first. It's so pungent it's like she's been bathing in it. Mom's sprawled across the king bed in her silk robe, the one Todd bought her in Vienna for their anniversary. She's conscious, sort of, her eyes unfocused as she hums along to the music.

But it's her face that makes my blood turn to ice.

A purple-black bruise blooms like a rose across her left cheekbone. Her eye is swollen nearly shut, and there's a cut on her lip that's still tacky with blood.

The sight knocks the wind out of me. He's never hit herfacebefore. He likes leaving marks that can be covered up, not the kind that could tarnish his reputation.

"Mom!" I rush to her side, my hands hovering over her face, afraid to touch and make it worse. "What the fuck happened?"

She blinks slowly, trying to focus on me. When she smiles, it's crooked and wrong. Like her face doesn't quite remember how to do it properly.

"Eleanor, sweetheart. You're here." Her words slur together, and I can smell the wine on her breath mixed with something chemical.

My eyes land immediately on the prescription bottles on the nightstand. Three of them, all different. I recognize the Xanax, that's her usual. But the others...

"Mom, did you take all of these?" I grab the bottles, reading the labels. Ambien. Percocet. "Withwine? For fuck's sake, you can't mix these, Mom!"

She waves her hand dismissively, nearly knocking over her wine glass. "Just needed to sleep. Just needed... needed to not feel anything for a while."

"We're going to the hospital." I pull out my phone, already dialing 911. "And then we're calling the cops. That fucking bastard?—"

Her hand shoots out faster than should be possible in her state, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "No. No cops."

"Mom, look at your face! He hit you! We have evidence. We can?—"

"No cops, sweetheart." Her voice turns sharp, desperate. The fog in her eyes clears for a moment, replaced by pure terror. "You know why, Eleanor. You know why we can't."

I do know.

I knowexactlywhy we can't call the cops, can't go to the hospital, can't leave a paper trail that proves Senator Todd Waterson beats his wife.

He has something on her. Something bad enough that she'd rather take his fists than risk exposure.

I've never been able to figure out what it is. Mom's past before she met my father is a mystery she's never wanted to discuss.

But Todd knows. And he holds it over her head like a guillotine, ready to drop the blade the moment she steps out of line.

Just like he holds her over me.

"Okay," I whisper, setting my phone aside. "Okay, no cops. But we need to get you cleaned up."

I help her sit up and she sways in my arms. The combination of pills and alcohol has her more fucked up than I've seen her in years. Not since those nights in the trailer when she'd come home from double shifts at the diner, too exhausted and broken to do anything but collapse.

"He's in Washington," she mumbles as I guide her toward the bathroom. "Important vote. Won't be back for... for a week."