Chapter 1: Spiral descent

Killington, VT

November 12, 2000

My mother's hand was as cold as ice. She looked so pretty in her designer teal dress, salon-perfect hair, flawless makeup, and serene expression - one I had very rarely seen; she seemed so sublimely at peace.

She'd chosen an elegant ebony coffin with gleaming brass fittings. The soft rose pillows effortlessly set off her dress. Leave it to my mother to be perfect, even in death admonishing me for not being like her.

I swallowed painfully and blinked back a fresh stream of tears. I wanted to scream for her to get up and stop playing this cruel prank on me. Even seeing her like this, I couldn't accept that such a vibrant woman could have breast cancer. It boggled my mind that she hadn't checked herself regularly.

Setting her hand down gently, I stepped away from the casket to stand next to a large wreath of flowers done in a wrap of cardinal and straw. Those were the colors of Chi Omega. One of the few things we shared. Her sorority sisters would be out in force at her graveside service but had chosen to leave the funeral to the family.

I used my thoroughly soaked tissue to wipe my swollen eyes. I couldn't - wouldn't - start sniping at her again, even if she wasn't here to snipe back. I'd give anything to have one more chance to argue with her. Even if only to hear her express, politely and condescendingly, her profound disappointment that I couldn't be more like her.

God knows I'd had tried to be like her, to be that same vibrant, perfect woman. Even though she didn't think us anything alike, I knew we shared at least one trait: stubbornness. This is why we were here instead of Tennessee. Her family was from Tennessee, but she'd put her foot down in her will, and things were going to be done her way. The funeral would take place in town near her beloved Vermont chalet. At least I assumed it was because of her will, since I wasn't privy to its contents.

The rest of the family had raised hell, but nonetheless, here we were. They hadn't stayed for the whole first day, but they'd be back in force tomorrow for the second day of viewing. Then we'd have the funeral on day three, and she would fly back to Tennessee for burial. After that, I'd have to stay yet another day with Conrad since Mother named us both in her will. As her most recent husband, I expected he would walk away with everything she'd treasured and that pissed me off. I couldn't stand him.

The tears flowed again, refusing to obey me. Some part of me said it was okay to cry, but another part warred with that notion. With a sniff, I realized that was pride. It's another trait I shared with my mother, who'd taught me how to make it an art. Pride argued that I couldn't be seen losing control like this in public, even at my own mother's funeral viewing. I had to maintain appearances.

I laughed humorlessly through the tears. The all-important family pride. Doing what the family expected had certainly worked well for me so far, hadn't it? All that trying to live up to other's unrealistic expectations had gotten me was two divorces and a distant - and sometimes barely civil - relationship with my parents. Ever since I was a teenager, I'd tried to be just like my mother, and tried to be exactly what my father expected me to be. I'd succeeded far beyond my wildest dreams of success. What was that old saying? "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it."

I'd called both of my closest friends as soon as I'd found out that my mother had died, but both Gina and Margot were out of the country with their families. I'd left frantic messages for them to no avail. I felt all alone and badly needed to talk to someone I trusted.

I almost swore at Conrad again. He'd called my assistant yesterday to pass on the news about the funeral. No one had even told me she was ill, much less dead. If Daddy hadn't called to coordinate our schedules I probably would've missed the first viewing. Conrad hadn't mentioned the viewing at all, damn him. When I'd called him back, he'd blandly insisted that my assistant must've misunderstood. The lying bastard.

Through the haze of my grief, a cold, arrogant voice said, "If you're going to carry on like this, please take it to the ladies' room." Conrad was back for another go at me. He seemed to go out of his way to screw with me these days. Fine. At least the fury inside me pushed away the pain for a little while.

The tears dried up as if by magic and I was clearly able to see the bastard standing in front of me. I could see what attracted my mother to him; he was tall and handsome - the perfect piece of arm candy. Knowing my mother, he was probably good in bed, too. The thought of them together sent a wave of revulsion through me.

"Tell me, Conrad, do you even know why people have viewings for the dead?" I asked acerbically.

"Certainly not to carry on like some common piece of trash," he sniffed, "caterwauling on and on. She was my wife and I won't have you disrupting the solemn decorum that she wanted."

I considered taking the massive wreath that Hans and Kat Werner had sent and bashing him with it. Actually, I was reaching for it when I yanked myself up short. It'd taken a lot of years and experience for me to think about the consequences before I acted. It still didn't come naturally to me.

I frowned at Conrad's smarmy smile. He and I had cordially loathed one another since my mother married him four years ago. Well, that was partly a lie; we'd never been cordial, but this was out there even for him. Why attack me like this here, of all places?

Movement at the doorway gave me my answer. He wanted to embarrass me in front of someone that mattered. Daddy walked in with his wife, Melissa. I spared Conrad a glare of pure hatred and schooled my features. I wasn't going to disappoint Daddy.

"I'll grieve as I see fit. This isn't over, asshole," I snarled in a low voice.

Sweeping past Conrad as though he weren't there, I went directly to my father and let him take me into his arms.

His awkward embrace was both comforting in its familiarity and saddening in its brevity. We'd never been more than strangers who just happened to occupy the same house and gene pool. From the earliest moment I could remember, I knew that he was uncomfortable with children, even his own. My father's shows of affection had always been brief and awkward and that never changed in all these years.

I received a perfunctory hug and kiss from Melissa, but her eyes didn't reflect the sorrow on her face. I sometimes wondered how a woman like her had taken Daddy in. She was only ten years my senior and something of a cosmetically enhanced Barbie doll.

On the other hand, we were enough alike to disturb me. After marrying two men for their wealth and power, I couldn't very well deride her for doing the same, now could I. The fact that they were still married after almost eight years told me that at the very least she was better at handling a philandering husband than I was. Even with her good looks, I knew Daddy too well to expect he'd stopped playing the field. I wondered if I would be her in ten years. If I were, would it finally make him happy?

"I'm so glad to see you both," I said, my voice astonishingly steady. "Thank you for coming."

"Where else would we be, darling?" Daddy said in a gruff voice. "You need your family around you at a time like this." His glance at his Rolex ruined the effect of those wonderful sentiments.

I almost laughed aloud at such an honest gesture from the man that sired me, the man whose love I'd worked so hard to get as a teen. He was also amazingly like both my ex-husbands. One would think I'd have learned something by watching my mother deal with him, but in the end, I'd ended up marrying men just like him.

Mentally, I shrugged. Why complain about it? What else was there? All men were alike, weren't they? Certainly, I had never met or been with anyone who'd make me believe otherwise, though some of my friends seemed genuinely happy in their marriages. Gina came to mind. She was genuinely in love with her husband. I didn't like him at first, but he made her happy, so I'd grown to like him over the years.

"Why don't you and Melissa go say your good-byes?" I said with my best hostess face on. "I'm sure you're exhausted from your flight and want to get out to the chalet to rest."

"We should speak to a few people first." With a smile, Daddy led Melissa to speak with the now solemn and visibly grief-stricken Conrad. It would be awkward for both men, I hoped.

Immediately, I felt guilty for being such a bitch. I always managed to be a bitch about something and then feel badly about it later, though thankfully I managed to keep my mouth shut more often than not these days. It was my worst flaw; I'm certain both of my ex-husbands would agree.

With a sigh, I grabbed my coat, walked out the front door of the funeral home, and looked at the sky. Lead gray clouds hung low above me, promising a good storm tonight. I felt some satisfaction that the weather matched my mood so well.

I shook myself. I'd had enough of this wallowing in self-pity. There'd be time for that once I was away from this place and away from Conrad. Part of me longed to go back to the chalet; I wanted to reacquaint myself with the bar. Another part of me wanted to go back inside and be with my mother. I knew that part of my dark mood was simply a result of being tired.

After standing there for a little while, I thought I could be in the same room with the rest of them again. The viewing ended in half an hour. The relative lack of viewers told me that I hadn't been the only person that the self-centered asshole had failed to inform in a timely fashion.

Just before I turned to go back inside, a taxi pulled up and a ghost from my past - one I'd hoped never to see again - climbed out and paid the cabbie. I wanted to run back inside. Hell, I wanted to grab the taxi and tell him to head for LA, but I was rooted to the spot. Like a rabbit frozen in fear and unable to run from an advancing snake, I watched him approach with his bag over his shoulder.

"Hey, babe," Rod said with a grin. "Did you miss me?"

I stood in shock for a moment and then I ran back into the funeral home. I slammed the door in his face, holding it closed with my back, trembling. He'd been my boyfriend in high school and college; we'd broken up and gotten back together countless times over those years. I'd finally dumped him for good when I realized that if he were what a boyfriend was "supposed" to be, then it wasn't enough for me. Rod was a total asshole and serially unfaithful, screwing anything with boobs and a pussy. And let's not forget the cocaine in unlimited quantities. He'd been handsome and rich, a member of my social caste. I'd allowed society's expectations to either keep us together or keep getting us back together for far too long. What in hell was he doing here?

When Rod knocked on the door, I yelled back as calmly as I could. "Go back into whatever hole you crawled out of!"

"Come on, babe, be reasonable," he pleaded from outside. "I just came to pay my respects to your mother and talk with you. How can that hurt?"

How can that hurt? He apparently had a different set of memories than I did. Combined with my family's own dysfunctions, the entire tumultuous relationship with him had set the tone for every relationship of mine that followed. While I couldn't blame him for my mistakes, I didn't have to like what he'd done to me.

I was trying to find the lock on the door when Daddy, Melissa and Conrad came out, probably attracted by my yelling.

"Did you say Rod, darling?" Daddy asked. "Open the door and let him in."

Gritting my teeth, I opened the door and stepped back. Rod walked in with a smile for everyone. That was his way. He was the golden boy. No one ever believed he did, or could do, the kind of things he did, and he got off easier than OJ Simpson.