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Alyssa
I wake up groggy from surgery, glad to see I’m in a private room. Blinking my eyes open, I see Isaac sitting next to me, wearing what must be clothes the hospital provided–ill-fitting sweats. He smiles and takes my hand. “How are you?”
“Tired,” I mange, but I also smile. He must be terrified to be here. “What day is it?”
“The day after Thanksgiving,” he whispers. “You were only gone a short time. The rest of the day, you were in surgery and resting.”
My mouth drops open. All those months spent in the past were only moments here.
When the nurses come and check on my IV and ask me if I need anything after surgery, the only thing I can think of is my family.
As if reading my mind, the nurse says, “Your family is waiting to see you. Shall I let them in?”
I nod, and only a moment passes before the door bursts open, and my mother’s voice fills the room. “Oh, thank God!” She rushes to my side, her hands carefully framing my face as she inspects me. My dad is right behind her, his eyes full of relief, while James and Chloe hover at the foot of my bed.
“You scared us half to death,” Chloe says, trying to laugh.
“I’m okay,” I promise, even though my throat feels tight. “It looks worse than it is.”
“What happened?” Dad asks.
I glance at Isaac beside me, and my family seems to notice him for the first time. “A bullet from the woods hit my shoulder, and I lost control of the car. A hunter must have accidentally shot at the road, I guess. We went off the road and into the water.” The lie tastes strange on my tongue, but it’s the only version of the truth they can believe. “Isaac here pulled me out. If it weren’t for him….”
Mom’s gaze follows mine to him. “Yes, we met earlier,” she says with a fond smile. “Thank you again for saving our daughter.”
Isaac smiles. “I did what anyone would’ve done. I’m just glad Alyssa is okay.” His voice is soft and kind, and my heart twists at how out of place he looks surrounded by electric machines and fluorescent light. I make a quick explanation to my family members of this man I love, who has to pretend to be practically a stranger, at least for a while. They seem to believe that Isaac and I met before the feast, and he just happened by when the accident occurred and was able to jump in and save me.
Dad moves to shake his hand. “Well, you’re a hero in my book.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mom fusses over me again, shifting my blanket even though it doesn’t need adjusting. James keeps glancing at Isaac like he’s trying to figure out who he is and where he came from. I can’t answer that question right now and sound even half sane, so I just breathe and take in the moment. I’m finally home with my family.
And then it hits me, the silence where Danielle’s loud laugh should be, and my heart sinks.
“There’s something else,” I manage. “Danielle was with me.”
Chloe’s head snaps up. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
I stare at my hands. “I don’t know. They can’t find her.”
The words hang heavy in the room. Mom presses her hand to her mouth. Dad lowers his head. Even James turns away. Chloe sits down in a chair and sobs. My parents murmur about going to help with the search, but they ultimately determine to spend some time with me first and let the emergency workers do their job.
Conversation is light, centered mostly about how I’m feeling now, not how it was in those moments of terror revolving around the accident. The machines keep their rhythm, steady and cruel, as if the world hasn’t just split in two.
When my family leaves the hospital to allow me to rest, they say they’ll plan a search for Danielle and that they’ll be back to see me in the morning. I am so grateful to be back with them, and I love them more than I can put into words. I make a silent vow to myself and Danielle to spend every second of the rest of my life appreciating and loving the people around me.
A few days pass in a haze of antiseptic, soft voices, and the slow rhythm of recovery. My shoulder heals better than I expect, the stitches neat beneath the bandage. Isaac stays in my room as much as he can until they finally release me. The doctors call me “lucky.” I know it’s something deeper than luck.
For days, authorities search for Danielle. But of course, they never find her. Before I’m even dismissed from the hospital, she’s presumed dead.
My father drives the minivan, with my mother in the front, and I sit in the back with Isaac, my siblings in the way-back. No one has questioned why Isaac and I are inseparable, and I’m glad for it. As we drive, I think about all the changes coming my way. A new car, a new roommate in Isaac, everything he’ll need in order to acclimate to our world. It’s a lot, but we’ll take it one step at a time.
The first place we go isn’t home. It’s the park by the harbor, where a memorial is being held for Danielle. Candles glow in the cool evening air, their light trembling across rows of faces. Everyone’s bundled in coats, holding small white roses. Chloe printed a photo of my best friend, one from college, where her hair’s wild from the wind, and she’s laughing at something I said. I can’t breathe when I see it.
People take turns speaking. They talk about how bright she was, how funny and kind. No one knows that four centuries ago, she carried a child, that she spent her days smiling at Henry by a fire in a version of Plymouth that hasn’t existed for hundreds of years. To everyone here, her life was cut short. They’ll never know the happiness she truly experienced, and it hurts my heart that I can’t tell them.
Isaac stands beside me, his expression unreadable but his hand warm around mine. I can feel his grief as much as my own. He’s lost so much, too.
When it’s my turn to step forward, I can barely speak. “Danielle was my best friend,” I manage, my voice breaking. “She was brave, impossibly selfless, and she loved harder than anyone I’ve ever known.” I pause, swallowing hard.
A tear slips down my cheek, and Isaac squeezes my hand. The candles blur through my tears, and for a heartbeat, I swear I see her, standing in the glow, smiling, the wind tugging at her hair like it is in the picture.
Then, she’s gone.
When her father steps up to speak after me, her mother at his side, I am thankful that they at least showed up to this. Their tears make me wonder what might’ve been if they’d shown her the love she deserved before we slipped back through time.
After the vigil, we walk back to the van in silence, the air heavy with sadness, salt, and smoke. The sea stretches dark and endless behind us.
At my house, everything feels so modern and bright. The heat hums through the vents, the lights come on with a switch, and Isaac looks at his surroundings as if my home is full of magic.
I brew tea while he studies a photo on the mantle of Danielle and me on the beach last summer, our arms around each other, both smiling at the camera. He glances at me. “She was always so happy,” he says quietly. “No matter what.”
“She was.” My voice catches. “And I think she still is.”
He nods, the only person alive not questioning what that means.
I sit beside him on the couch, and for the first time since we came back, it’s quiet. The world feels strange and too fast, but he’s here, solid, real, and warm beside me.
After a while, he teases, “Do you still want to marry me?”
I tilt my head, smiling up at him. “Of course I do. Also, you have no idea how incredibly sexy you look in these new clothes,” I whisper. “You’re unfairly handsome.”
His cheeks flush, that familiar shy smile playing at his lips. “Unfairly?”
“Yes, it’s unfair to all the other men of this time. You’re so ridiculously hot.”
He leans down and kisses me. When we stretch out together, his arms still wrapped around me, I feel completely safe. I fall asleep there beside him, loved and certain that this is exactly where I’m meant to be–here and now… with him.
By morning, life is feeling a bit more normal. The sky is deep blue outside my kitchen window, and sunlight pours across the table where Isaac sits, awkwardly but curiously eating a bowl of cereal.
As I butter toast, a thought sparks. I look up at Isaac. “Do you remember what Danielle told us about the cave on my grandfather’s land?”
He nods slowly. “A place she wanted us to find.”
“Let’s go find it!” I say, dropping the toast and picking up the keys to a rental car my parents took care of for me.
An hour later, after grabbing a shovel from the hardware store, we’re driving down the old coastal road, the wind roaring through the cracked windows. I know this road by heart. The cliff side is overgrown, but I recognize the slope of the land, the jagged rocks, the curve of the inlet.
We climb down the narrow path until we find the cave’s mouth, half-hidden by vines and dirt. The air is cool and damp inside. Isaac digs until he hits something solid, and my heart jumps.
We clear away the rest of the dirt, and there is a large chest, weathered but intact, the iron hinges streaked with rust but still holding. The initials carved into the lid are faint but unmistakable: D.W.L.
“Danielle Whitman-Lewis,” I gasp.
Isaac and I lift it together. It’s heavier than I expect. We load it carefully into the car, fill in the hole, and drive home.
At my house, Isaac sets the chest on a sheet I’ve spread out on the living room floor. The latch creaks as I open it. Inside are bundles of letters tied with ribbon, small hand-sewn baby clothes, and sketches. The scent of time itself seems to rise from the old ink, linen, and memories.
I unfold the first letter. Henry’s handwriting is rough but steady.
To my friend Isaac, who taught me that courage is not the absence of fear but the choice to keep going despite it.
I can’t read the rest aloud. My throat clenches, tears burning behind my eyes.
There are letters from the Connor children, written in careful script, telling of harvests, marriages, and new babies. Danielle’s handwriting appears again and again, and I can hear her beautiful voice across the centuries. One letter reads, We have lived a long, full life. We never forgot you. I hope you are with your family and Isaac; happy, whole, and loved.
At the very bottom lies a thick stack of pages, neatly bound. The first line makes me hold my breath in awe.
The guides Samoset and Squanto were more than just guides to the pilgrims. They guided a time traveler named Alyssa, who walked between centuries and helped save a colony that was never meant to survive without her. A story by Danielle “Big Fan” Whitman-Lewis.
“This is a manuscript. Danielle wrote a book about us!”
Isaac and I look at each other through tears.
“She told our story,” I whisper. “She wrote it all down.”
He nods, his voice rough. “Then, we should finish what she started.”
I smooth a hand over the cover, the paper fragile beneath my fingertips. “We’ll publish it,” I say. “The world should know who they were and about our lives back then, even if they think it’s all make believe.”
The chest sits open between us, full of the lives we left behind. Somehow, it feels less like we left our friends in the past and more like they’ve finally come home.