My life continued back in Park City but I was only half in it. I’d always felt out of place around my nonathlete peers, but now I felt out of place around my teammates too. Everyone was sympathetic, but athletes are naturally self-centered and mostly very young, and my family’s drama was remote. And there was something I couldn’t articulate to anyone, even if they had been able to hear it, the dark cloud of fear that was creeping in, a nagging sense that there was something we were not saying.

For a while, my desire not to think too hard about anything else gave me an edge. I threw myself into my training, and somewhat to my surprise, I qualified for the team going to Turin. My focus had been shot for months and I came in twenty-fifth in super-G and eighteenth in downhill, miles away from the medal podium. Blair came home with a bronze medal in slalom and Luke with three silvers and a chip on his shoulder about not getting another gold.

In March, as the season was winding down, I came home for the weekend to celebrate Ava’s first birthday. My parents hosted the party at their house and the forced joviality of it all was excruciating. Ava looked exhausted and spent much of the time sleeping in Penny’s arms or in my mom’s. Her skin had a yellowish tint, and when one of Penny’s old buddies from the clinic asked about it, I heard her go into a lengthy explanation about some mysterious kidney issues Ava had been having.

A half hour into the party, I saw a very welcome face coming through the door: Emily. I went straight for her and wrapped my arms around her. I hadn’t seen her since Ava was first born.

“Sissy! I watched you in the Olympics. I was so proud.”

“I didn’t do as well as I hoped but . . .”