“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.”