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She was a beautiful woman, although her face showed almost no expression, which was fine with her. She'd had her eyes done, an excellent face-lift by a plastic surgeon in New York, she stayed in shape, took terrific care of herself, and got Botox shots three times a year. She had married Fred thirty years before, and was fifty-one years old. Jean rarely saw her siblings anymore and had nothing in common with them. Jean had been a waitress in Modesto when he met her, from a dirt-poor family that had just lost their farm when her father died in an accident, leaving five starving kids and a widow who looked twenty years older than she was. They had money to burn, and Fred's humble origins were a dimly remembered dream now.
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Their palatial home in Hillsborough was testimony to his success, along with his plane, his Ferrari and Aston Martin, and Jean's stable full of Thoroughbred horses, which were her passion.
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Fred had invented software that had made him a fortune, and had gotten in on the dot-com boom right at the beginning. To those outside the close circle of friends, they appeared to have the perfect marriage. But even Brad and Alyson, whose children were much younger than the others', agreed not to bring their kids, and left them with an au pair at home.įred and Jean had been married the longest and were slightly older than the others. Fred and Jean Dawson's daughters were both married and lived in Chicago, having married brothers.
It was no longer an issue for Stephanie and Bill, whose children were dispersed and working in Atlanta and New York, for their first steps on their fledgling careers, and in Rome, where their younger daughter was spending her junior year abroad.
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It was meant to be an adult weekend, free of children and responsibilities. Their Presidents' Weekend was a date they never broke, and this year was no different. It was only a four-hour drive from home, and although Brad was an orthopedic surgeon and not an obstetrician, she knew he would see to it that she got the best care, if she gave birth in Tahoe over the long weekend. And since Brad was a doctor, she said she felt safe being there. It was a tradition they had observed for ten years, a sacred pact that none of them would break.Īlyson Freeman had come, even days before she had given birth to their last baby, their third child, two years before, refusing to miss the great weekend they always shared. The ski conditions were perfect, better than they ever had been for Bill, Stephanie, and their two favorite couples, the Freemans and Dawsons, with whom they spent Presidents' Weekend every year. The day dawned brilliantly sunny, reflecting the bright light on the crisp snow that had fallen the day before in Squaw Valley. Title.ĮBook design adapted from printed book design by Virginia NoreyĬover photographs: Claudio Marinesco (man) © Barry Winiker/Getty Images (Nashville) Country musiciansâTennesseeâNashvilleâ≏iction. Widowsâ≌aliforniaâSan Franciscoâ≏iction. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.ĭ ELACORTE P RESS and the H OUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
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