Page 70 of Her Dark Lies
I put a hand on her arm. “She’s interviewing Jack’s parents.”
“Yes, Mrs. Reed—”
“Jack, I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s Trisha. You can call me Mom if you want.”
The coy smile, the slow blink, damn it, she is completely toasted. Drunk Trisha equals chatty, flirty, overflowing with Southern charm Trisha, at least until she tips over the edge into misery and anguish. Even when she drank regularly, she was only a good drunk if she stopped at three or four. Anything more and she devolved rapidly. This feels like much more.
It’s my fault. We shouldn’t have served champagne at the brunch. I should have known better than to put temptation at her right hand.
“Trisha,” Jack amends. “Let me call Fatima and have her show you the way back to your room.”
“Oh, I think Claire can do that, can’t you, dear? Surely you’ve discovered this old place’s secrets.”
I am already pulling on my shoes, relived to have a chance to scoot my mother away before she says something truly mortifying. “Sure, Mom. Let me grab a flashlight and I’ll get you back there. Brian’s probably missing you.”
Jack puts a hand on my arm. “Claire—”
“No, really Jack, it’s fine. I think I know where their rooms are.”
I hope he can tell by my tone that I need to be alone with my mother. Sure enough, he takes the hint.
“Yes, darling. Down the hall, turn left, and you’ll find the entrance to the guest wing. I’ll wait here for you, all right?”
I blow out a grateful breath. “I’ll be right back. Come on, Mom. Where’s Brian? I thought you two were taking a tour?” I maneuver my mother down the hall, a hand on her elbow, tugging her along like she used to do to me when I was a child and she had to pull me away from the candy display at the grocery. Trisha seems not to notice my urgency, prattling on in her drunken sing-song voice.
“Oh, Brian’s in bed, the lazy bones. He made his excuses and went to the room, left me to do the tour by myself.” Lord knows how much of this is true.
She prattles on. “I can’t believe the lights went out. Such a bad storm, so glad we got here. When’s this rehearsal dinner now? Tonight? I can’t believe that woman changed the schedule on us, I mean, it’s just not done—this is a wedding. Have you decided what to wear? If you want me to, I could do your hair in a French braid. Though Jack probably has servants who are hairdressers. Oops!”
We turn the corner by the staircase and Mom goes down, a flurry of curses streaming from her mouth. I shut my eyes and count to ten. I remember this version of my mother all too well, and it is in turns heartbreaking and frustrating. Trisha is suffering from a disease. I know this. I know my mom doesn’tlikebeing an alcoholic. But why, in the name of God, has she chosennow,of all times, to start drinking again? What will Ana and Brice think?
Something’s happened,I remind myself.Something’s wrong. You know she hates this.
“She didn’t drink like this until after dad died. You caused her to be like this.”
I don’t blame Harper for those harsh words. They’re true, after all.
“Come on, Mom, up you go.” I put a hand under her arm, feel something ominously sticky. I flash the light on my hand and gasp. Blood.
“Mom? Are you okay? Did you cut yourself when you fell?”
“No. I just...can’t...whatisthis?”
Trisha is still tangled up on the floor. I shine the flashlight and see a lump of spotted fabric on the floor beneath her. My heart kicks up a notch.
“Mom, stop moving. Give me your hand.”
She complies and I yank her upright.
“You don’t need to be so rough,” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Mom, stop. Now. Jack? Jack! We need you!”
My voice is shrill in the dark. Moments later, Jack comes running.
“What’s wrong? I heard you calling—”
I point to the floor, hit the spot with the light.
