He felt it, connected to it as it raced and peaked and slowed.
Later he walked down the hallway with marble floors the color of her eyes. She was everywhere. His fingertips ran along the wall beside him, counting the ripples of the tile. Cool and smooth.
Thirteen years ago …Second Week of November
Monday: Literature paper due.
Tuesday: Math study group for final. Visit at three (Mom: volunteering at hospital). Was late. Didn’t go over well. Didn’t believe me, but I think I fixed it. Don’t want to feel like this anymore. Wish it was like it used to be.
Wednesday: Application due. Visit at noon (Mom: volunteering at hospital). Sociology class meeting at gallery. Was I not supposed to pretend I didn’t know he was there? Did he expect me to just walk away from my class and run up to him for a hug? There are times when I just don’t understand what’s going through his head. I wish I did. I don’t want to upset him, but I can’t figure out how not to.
Thursday: Exams.
Friday: Lunch with Emma.
Saturday: He didn’t show up until forty-five minutes after he said we were going to meet, then acted as if he was on time. In a really good mood. Too good?
Sunday: Packing was harder than I thought it would be. I’m not ready for this holiday season. Is it ever going to be normal?
Chapter One Now
“But he knows the answer,” Sam insists.
“I’m aware of that,” I say.
“It’s right there. Literally right in front of him.”
“I know,” I reply. “Give him a second.”
“We’ve been standing here for an hour,” Sam points out. “That’s a lot of seconds.”
“Three thousand six hundred,” Xavier clarifies. “But we’ve actually been standing here for an hour and twelve minutes, which makes it four thousand three hundred and twenty.”
“How does he know that? Can he use the cornstalks as sundials?” Sam asks.
Xavier held his phone up over his shoulder to show the display of the time in bright green across the black screen.
“Has he figured it out yet?” Dean asks, coming up behind us with a bottle of water.
He lifts the bottle to his mouth, and I stare at it longingly. Another bottle appears from his back pocket, and I sag with relief. Dean notices my expression and tosses it over to me.
“He figured it out an hour ago,” I say, taking a refreshing gulp.
“An hour and twelve minutes,” Xavier says. He glances at his phone. “Thirteen minutes.”
“He figured it out an hour and thirteen minutes ago,” I say.
“Then why are we still standing here?” Sam asks.
I hand him the bottle and he takes a sip.
“I’m in an emotional quandary,” Xavier says.
“See,” I say, holding my hands out to him. “It’s a quandary, Sam.”
“The question says, ‘The First Thanksgiving was celebrated in Plimoth, Massachusetts in November of Sixteen Twenty-One. True or False?’,” Xavier reads from the weathered pale blue sign in front of him.
“Yes,” Sam says. “It’s true.”
“No,” Xavier says, shaking his head. “But yes.” He nods.
“And there’s your quandary,” I say.
“Drink this,” Dean offers, taking another bottle out of his other back pocket and putting it in Xavier’s hand. “Are you doing okay? I have peanuts.”
Xavier’s hand shoots out from his side and Dean reaches into another pocket to pull out a bag of peanuts. He rips the top open and hands it to Xavier as Sam walks around me toward Dean.
“What else do you have in there?” Sam asks.
My cousin rummages through his pocket and pulls out one of Sam’s favorite candy bars and hands it to him. He then offers me a bag of roasted chickpeas but puts them away when I shake my head.
“The first reference to a time of thanksgiving in what would eventually become this nation was from Virginia. Settlers were sent to Berkley Plantation from Bristol, England in September of Sixteen-Nineteen. It took more than two months before they got to the Chesapeake Bay. Then there were storms, and it took another week to finally get to shore. They recorded falling to the knees and calling out to God in thanks. I would probably do that, too, if I was sent as the backup team for a group best known for something called the ‘Starving Time’,” Xavier explains.
“There sure are a lot of facts rattling around in that head of yours,” Dean notes. “You have all the pie pieces.”
Xavier holds up his hand. “Peanuts.”
“No, pie pieces. Like in Trivial Pursuit,” Dean tells him.
Xavier shakes his head. “Never played it.”
“No?” I ask.
“No. So, no pie.” He glances over at Dean. “Incidentally, there was also no pie at the first Thanksgiving.” He lets out a sigh and opens his arms toward the sign in front of him. “Which brings me back to this.”
“At least this time his facts aren’t about people dying,” Sam points out, taking another huge bite of his candy bar.
I’m pretty sure he’s still trying to get over the walk with Xavier down the haunted trail in October.
Xavier leans back just slightly, as if he’s trying to close the space between him and Sam.
“It’s called the ‘Starving Time’, Sam. Lots of people died.”
“Why no pie?” I ask.
Dean sends me a withering look. “Emma.”
“No sugar,” Xavier says. “Or eggs. Or milk.”
Dean stares at him for a few seconds, then looks at me. “Actually, that wasn’t that bad.”
“The crew that landed in Berkley had oysters and ham, more because they had to than anything, but they said that every year the date of their arrival should be marked with a day of Thanksgiving to the Almighty, and they kept up that tradition for two years,” Xavier says, then sighs. “Then the Powhatan attacked and slaughtered more than three hundred of them. The settlement was subsequently abandoned.” He looks over at Sam. “Oh, there you go, Sam. More people dying.”
Sam’s face twists up into an expression somewhere between a cringe and a smile. “Thank you, Xavier.”
“So, clearly, this statement is false. However, the capitalization of First Thanksgiving is a specific
