We Came Here to Forget

by Andrea Dunlop

  Penny produced a sonogram pic and we marveled at the sight of the two tiny beings cuddled into one another. Suddenly, I got tears in my eyes: the realness of seeing their little bodies in the picture. My nieces! I threw my arms around my sister.

  “Emma and Abby,” she whispered.

  “Their names?”

  She nodded, her eyes welling up now too. “Ugh, hormones,” she said, laughing. “Oops!” She looked startled. “One of them is kicking! Oof, little girl, I think you’re going to be an athlete like your auntie.”

  Penny took her hand in mine and laid it gently on the bulge of her stomach. And to this day, I swear to you, I felt that baby kick.

  I was in St. Moritz for the FIS World Championships six weeks later when we got the call. In anticipation of this being my big season, my parents had decided to take some time off from work and follow me on the final leg of the tour. It was a huge trip for them; they didn’t take extravagant vacations and had been saving up for it. I was having an early breakfast with them in their room at the Grand Hotel des Bains when the phone rang. In my memory, the moment slows and every tiny detail crystalizes: my mom picking at a flakey pastry from the room service tray, my dad’s unkempt bedhead, the fact that no one was alarmed when the phone rang. I thought it must be one of my coaches calling, so I picked it up. It took me a moment to realize that I was hearing the terrified voice of my sister. A dizzying array of facts came next. Penny had gone into labor, but it was far too early, so they were doing everything they could to keep the babies where they were. Jon was out of town on a job—wrapping up a final project in Arizona—and he was on his way back. Penny also mentioned the terrifying complication of preeclampsia—meaning her life, as well as those of the babies—could very well be at risk. Emily had taken her to the hospital and was there with her now.

  I went directly back to my room and began packing in a mad fury. Luke and Blair appeared at the doorway, ready to head to the base together; their downhill race was that afternoon.

  “Hey,” Luke said, alarmed at my tornado of movements, “whoa, what’s going on?”

  My voice sounded strangely calm and hard. “I have to go home.”

  Luke let out a disbelieving laugh. “Katie, what? Are you crazy? You have downhill in three days.”

  It was Blair who came to my side, made me put down the handful of clothes I’d torn from the hotel dresser and sit.

  “What’s going on? Are your parents okay? I thought you were with them this morning.”

  “It’s Penny,” I said, and at that moment, a huge sob came up. “She’s gone into labor.”

  Blair gasped, and Luke—never much for listening to the details of anyone else’s personal life, including mine—looked perplexed. He was agitated, thinking about his race, irritated by the intrusion.

  “Well, the babies will still be there later, you have plenty of time to go meet them before Innsbruck.”

  I looked at Luke aghast and Blair spoke for me. “It’s too early, Luke.”

  “I have to go home,” I said, my eyes dancing back and forth between the two of them. I was looking for their approval. I was mad with worry, but the idea of missing the race felt surreal—the race was tight, between Sarah Sweeny, Kjersti Larsen, one of the Austrians, and me, and a scratch would easily put me out of the running for a World Cup globe—and I needed them to tell me I was doing the right thing, that I had to go home. I didn’t want to leave, but the need I felt to get to my sister’s side was primal. “My parents are booking flights right now.”

  “Is Coach helping?” Blair asked. I nodded.

  “Katie! You can’t leave, you have races!”

  “Luke,” Blair said.

  “Penny will understand. And your parents are going, what are you going to do anyway?! Come on, Katie, this is too important.”

  Luke wasn’t wrong, just insensitive, and it wasn’t as though I didn’t know this about him. Luke was invincible and invulnerable. Luke pushed me to be my best, and usually, it was what I needed.

  “Luke, a word,” Blair said, practically shoving his brother out into the wide, plush hallway. I carried on packing, and a few moments later, Luke came back through the door and pulled me into his arms.

  “I’m so sorry, babe, I was being a dick, you know how I get during competition. I just don’t want you to miss your downhill, but there’s always next season.” He pulled back and kissed me, brushed a piece of hair that was stuck to my clammy cheek away from my face. “You do what you gotta do, okay?”

  I wish I could say I didn’t feel I needed Luke’s permission to go home, but his blessing helped me walk out the door. We all thought I was doing the right thing.

  “I can stay,” Blair said, “and help you and your folks get everything sorted out. Just say the word.”

  “No,” I said. “Oh my god, I’ll never forgive myself if you two miss your race, go on, get out of here. I’ll be fine, I’ll call from the States.” As I hugged them both and sent them on their way, the fact lodged itself deep in my heart that only one had actually offered to miss his race. I told myself it was because Blair was a tech skier, and downhill meant everything to Luke.

  The last-minute flights we were able to get were a nightmare of layovers and nonsensical way stations. Zurich to Paris, Paris to Amsterdam, on to Houston, and then finally to Spokane. At every stop, we called Penny for updates.

  Penny told us Emily had driven her to the hospital. Thank god she’d been there; the fact that this happened when not only her fiancé but also her parents—who rarely traveled—were far away seemed particularly cruel.

  When I spoke to her, Penny sounded shaken. “They’ve got me upside down, Katie,” she said with a little laugh at the absurdity of it all, “just trying to keep my little ones in there.” By the time we reached Houston, her water had broken, her blood pressure was skyrocketing, and the situation was growing more precarious by the moment. My parents’ faces were ashen as we boarded our final flight. I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt and quietly sobbed through a movie during the final leg. Because of the last-minute booking, my parents and I couldn’t get seats anywhere near each other. Thankfully, the stranger I was sitting next to handed me a tissue wordlessly. I suppose a person crying on a plane isn’t so strange. On every flight everywhere in the world, someone is likely to be on their way to or from a tragedy.

  By the time we touched down, it was all over. The babies didn’t survive. Emily had picked Penny up, and she was resting at home. Jon was still trying to make his way home, waylaid by his truck having broken down somewhere outside of Salt Lake City. It didn’t hit me until that moment quite how clearly I’d been envisioning those two little girls as a part of our family. I’d had to miss the baby shower but had wrung up a monstrous bill buying up half of Penny’s registry on Babies “R” Us. Babies make you project into the future, and without even meaning to I’d imagined twins—one like me, boisterous and physical, one like Pen, quiet and kind—running through the halls of our parents’ house, flinging themselves at me when I came through the door for visits. I imagined their girlish ringlets and their missing teeth, I wove them into my own visions of the future, imagining them one day wanting to try on my gold medal. Children of my own were still an abstract, distant thought, but the idea of being an auntie filled me with a kind of love I’d never experienced. I’d embraced it with my whole heart, and I felt the loss acutely now.

  Once we arrived, we went straight to Penny and Jon’s creaky little two-bedroom house in Hayden to pick Penny up and look after her until Jon returned. I’d last been here over the holidays, right before Jon had left for his new job. The place had been in a state of half-finished disarray: the scraggly yard untouched; a restoration of the kitchen cabinets underway but not yet completed; the second bedroom half-painted a calming shade of periwinkle, a roller still in its foil bin, the drop cloth spread over the carpet. I was surprised as we came in through the front door, calling Penny’s name, to find that the house was exactly as it had been, bu
t with an additional few layers of squalor, including the overflowing litter box of Penny’s cat, Noodles. It seemed every surface was covered with debris and clutter, and the kitchen smelled of neglect and spoiled food. Even as I took in the disturbing tableau I made excuses for it. Penny worked hard at her clinic job and she’d had a difficult pregnancy; suddenly, I was livid with Jon. How could he be so useless? What was wrong with him that he could only find work in Arizona? He’d abandoned her.

  That night, I slept beside Penny in the old trundle bed in her room. My mom had outfitted them with their old unicorn sheets, worn soft with age and replete with the homey, indelible smells of childhood. Penny was exhausted and a little wonked out on painkillers. My mom made us grilled cheese sandwiches and soup for dinner and we tucked ourselves into bed at 9:00 p.m.

  “I’m sorry you missed your race,” Penny said, her voice cracking. Noodles, who’d come with her from her house, pawed concernedly at her. “And you never even got to meet your nieces.”

  My eyes filled with tears, but I tried to be strong for my big sister, grasping her hand. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here right now. I’m glad I came. There will be other races, it doesn’t matter.”

  I had no idea what to say to Penny; the horror of what she’d been through was too immense. There was nothing to do but be there, and I was glad I was. Terrible as the circumstances were, I hadn’t felt so close to my sister in years. Back here with her, lying in the trundle bed that I’d spent so many childhood nights in, I remembered that though skiing often felt like the only thing that mattered, it wasn’t. True, the other things that mattered to me could be counted on one hand—my folks, Penny, Luke, and Blair—but they mattered more than anything, and maybe I needed to be reminded. I’d always been allowed to be self-centered because it was what I needed to make myself a champion, but this would not always be true. And I owed so much to my family, Penny too. I felt a rightness being there with her that night. Strange as it seems, I treasure this memory even now. It was a sad moment, but everything seemed so clear. Right and wrong still meant something.

  I called Luke and Blair at the hotel the next day, hoping to catch them between training runs. I’d sent them both an e-mail update already with the worst of it, but I was longing to hear their voices.

  Blair picked up.

  “Bomber, I’m so sorry. We’ve been thinking about you nonstop.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad I’m here. Kjersti won the downhill, I see.”

  “She skied well,” Blair said, “but you would have been better.”

  “I would have skied like shit, I would have been so distracted. Probably better this way. And congrats on rocking the giant slalom, B.”

  We all knew that going out on the course if your head wasn’t in it could lead to a catastrophic crash. Even on the best day, a tiny bobble could lead to disaster; we were always on the knife’s edge.

  “It’s never the same without you here,” Blair said. “But you did the right thing and I’m proud of you. You’re a good sister.”

  I heard Luke in the background.

  “Luke wants to talk to you. Take care, okay? Lots of love to the fam.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Babe!” Luke’s exuberant voice broke through the fuzzy connection. “Did you see?”

  He’d won his race, meaning his first World Cup globe was more or less a lock. “I did,” I said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Oh man, it was turny as shit, I almost blew out after the first gate.” He rattled off a recount of the race. Normally, I’d be happy to hear every detail, but my mind was a blur. After a few minutes, he seemed to suddenly remember the circumstances.

  “I’m sorry about your sis, Bomber,” he said. “It sucks. But she can probably have more kids though, right?”

  “Yeah probably. I hope so.”

  “Ah, Bomber, we gotta go. I love you, babe. I’ll see you soon.”

  Penny sweetly insisted that I didn’t need to stay very long, and my coaches wanted me back in time for Innsbruck. But I stayed for a couple of days, curled up watching bad movies with my sister while my parents were at work. We didn’t talk about what had happened; we were just quiet together. One afternoon while Penny was sleeping on the sofa, the landline rang.

  “Hello?” I said, picking up the old phone with its long cord that let my mom migrate from the kitchen to the living room while she was on it.

  There was a distinct pause at the other end of the line.

  “Sissy? Is that you?” The surprised voice was Emily’s, and the sound of it flooded me with warmth. “What are you doing at your parents’ house?”

  “Em! Yes, it’s me. I’m home with Pen today, didn’t she tell you I was coming?” I wandered toward the living room, leaning up against the little archway that separated the two spaces. I gazed at my sister sleeping on the couch, Noodles curled in the crook of her legs. Penny already looked younger than me—with her baby face—and when she slept, additional years seemed to melt away.

  “No!” Emily said. “I didn’t know Penny was over there. I was just calling to check on her. I only tried here because no one answered at her place. How is she?”

  “She’s doing okay. I mean, she’s exhausted obviously. And the pain pills are making her a bit loopy, but that might be for the best. God, Em, it’s so good to hear your voice.” Between the jet lag, the multiple flights, and the stress, I wasn’t much less exhausted than my poor sister.

  “You too! I miss you. You’re such a good sister to come all the way home from Europe. Aren’t you in the middle of your season?”

  “Yeah, and my parents were with me in St. Moritz, as you know. The first time they’ve ever been to Europe and this happens! They’ll probably never get on another transatlantic flight as long as they live. But there was no way we weren’t going to come home right away, especially with Jon not here.”

  There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. “Where did Jon go?”

  “He’s still on his way back from Arizona. His truck broke down outside Salt Lake. Didn’t Penny tell you?” Where on earth did Emily think Penny’s fiancé had been while she was taking her to the hospital in preterm labor?

  Another pause, so long it was eerie this time. “I haven’t talked to her in a few days, the last I heard she was headed home from the hospital. But wait . . . wait. Jon took her, he was there with her, she told me. She said he held her hand through the whole thing, that they said goodbye to the twins together.”

  Now I was silent. I peered again at my sister’s serene face, her eyelids fluttering in sleep. I felt a chill run through my body. At the time, I would have told you it was exhaustion, overwhelm, and confusion all happening at once. But looking back, I know. That feeling was the devil walking into the room.

  Liz Is Losing It

  PENNY AND I never looked much alike, with our different coloring and opposite body types. When we were kids, we’d often ask strangers to choose who among she and Emily and me were sisters, and people chose Penny and Emily every time. Emily—according to my mom, who still checks in on her Facebook periodically—appears to be doing well, is dating someone new, looks happy. Despite how different we look, every once in a while—like now, as I finish my makeup in the tiny, dimly lit bathroom of my little San Telmo apartment—I’ll be looking at my own face and feel a flash of recognition so intense it stops me cold, an unwelcome reminder that, no matter our differences, Penny and I are made of the same stuff.

  Tonight, I’m going to Edward’s Belgrano mansion as an invited guest rather than a party crasher. Gemma tells me to come early to hang out with her while she helps get ready for guests. She answers the door, and I follow her into the main room, where I only now notice a stunning portrait of a dark-eyed woman hanging above the massive fireplace; it’s flecked with gold and seems to shimmer before my eyes. Gemma notices that I’m transfixed.

  “Do you like it? It’s new. Or it’s new here at any rate. I convinced Edward to have his family buy
it four years ago when it came up at Christie’s; Klimts are so rare.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say dumbly, an understatement.

  “Edward does enjoy having me around to help him spend his money. Come on back, let’s have some champagne before everyone else gets here. Do you know about Klimt?”

  I shake my head. I’d been in plenty of rich peoples’ homes before—a perk of being connected with the trustees and the Duncans—but I still felt like a kid in a museum. None of the ski fans in our milieu were particularly into art though; back then, I was the prize commodity.

  “He was an odd duck,” Gemma continues, opening the vast gleaming fridge in Edward’s kitchen and pulling out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. “Viennese. And quite the pervert actually, obsessed with the female body—naturally—and something of a recluse. No café society for that one. He had dozens of extramarital affairs, but he rarely left the house or even put pants on.”

  “Living the dream.”

  Gemma laughs. “Indeed! I’m only hoping to save Edward from the same fate. He spends entirely too much time in his bathrobe if I’m not here.”

  We wander back into the living room and stand near the fireplace. For a moment, we both stare at the Klimt.

  “Edward has the right house to pull it off too. Sadly I’ve never owned any property that would support something as flashy as a Klimt.”

  “Your knowledge of art is impressive,” I venture.

  “Well, yes, I specialize in impressive. Pedigree, credentials, lineage. All of the things I was raised to believe in. But it’s all useless in the end isn’t it? Or rather, its usefulness is limited to a very small radius. And I assure you, I’m currently very far outside of that radius. And the irony is, I thought I wanted out.”

  “Buenos Aires seems like a good place for an . . . art dealer?”

  She smiles, throwing back the rest of her champagne.

  “Curator.”

  She slips back into the kitchen and returns with the bottle.