“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.