Day 6, late morning

My watch buzzed after twenty minutes and startled me awake. I rubbed my eyes and hissed in unexpected pain. There were bruises and cuts all over my face. When had that happened? I squinted at the sun and checked the compass to be sure I was reading the direction correctly.

North.

Why was I headed north?

“Hello, sleeping beauty.”

I nearly shit my pants.

“Izzy‽” Where was I? When was I? I tried to keep panic from over taking my features. “Sorry, must have dozed off there.” I checked the compass again. North. Why was I going north with Izzy? I groped for my notebook, sometimes I left myself notes if I had long lapses in memory. Shit. Where was that damn book?

“I made you something.” She interrupted my search.

“Oh? Is it my birthday already?” For the record, that was a real question. I had no idea when in the calendar we were, could have been Christmas for all I knew. I kept searching around the helm for a clue. Where was that damn notebook? Or my phone? If I could power up my phone (assuming we were in the modern times) I could at least see the date, maybe it was Christmas.

“Uh. I suppose I will owe you a birthday present soon, so yes. It’s an early gift. Ta da!”

I didn’t get it. She was holding out a jar of something. Looked like it was for cooking. I gave her a smile, sure she’d inform me about the recipe soon, then continued looking around and wondering just where the hell we were. If we were out for a birthday cruise we couldn’t be more than a day or two from land. Izzy never agreed to go on long trips with me. We’d booze cruise it out for a day and then return to land like some boring yo-yo.

Izzy was still holding out the jar. That’s when I also spotted the plate of food she’d brought up for me. Ah, it must go on top.

“Is it a sauce or something? A dip? Should I pour it on the–is that chicken?” I reached for the jar but she yanked it away.

“No silly! It’s for your legs.”

Ice shivered down my spine. What did she know? Was it some innocuous sisterly bonding exfoliating treatment or did she know about the burns? She patted my leg.

I jumped up at the touch. Son of a bitch! What did she know‽

And then a cataract of memories rushed through my brain. Izzy had seen my scars. We were a few days out from the mess that was my last trip to Bermuda and my sister had seen my scars. I clutched at my pants and panicked.

“Will you sit?” She put the jar under my nose as if for me to smell it. My brain was reeling. “What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s nice.” My lips spoke on autopilot. I couldn’t smell anything. Smelling required breathing and my chest was currently paralyzed. I was frozen on this deck and unsure if any of my muscles worked or ever would work again.

“Sit down, Anne!” Izzy pulled at my arm and sat me down next to her. If I could have refused her I would have, but she was insistent and I was not firing on all cylinders. “Let’s see if it works, okay? It’s better if your skin is wet, but still. Give me your foot.” Before I realized what she meant by that she lifted my leg and pulled off my boot.

She’d already seen them, I tried to remind myself, she’d already seen me. My stomach rolled and my chest splintered in pain. I inhaled sharply and held my breath, ready for any reaction from her as she saw the damaged skin. My scars were tight and dry today, I must not have taken care of them before dressing last time. I didn’t know what was in that jar but if it might bring relief…I had to trust her. She wouldn’t hurt me. She peeled off my sock, my heart sprinting out of my chest.

“Man, this looks so uncomfortable.” She commented as she opened the jar and warmed the concoction between her hands.

She wasn’t wrong, I was extremely uncomfortable for a number of reasons. I locked my muscles in place as Izzy voluntarily touched my calf. I winced at her touch, not because it hurt, but just because she was touching me at all. And then I couldn’t resist. It felt wonderful. If the ointment and her hands hadn’t felt so immeasurably pleasurable I would have jumped off the side of the ship and breaststroked myself the rest of the way to Greenland to escape this moment. The rich concoction eased into the hardened tissue and I sighed with the physical relief of it all.

“You made me this?” I closed my eyes as the oils and whatever else Izzy had used coated the scar tissue. She was only working the skin near my ankle and already it was heaven. When I was home Graham would help me with the scars. Angelica was talented at making salves and before bed or in the morning before we dressed, he would help me treat and wrap the scar tissue…which inevitably led to more pleasurable activities. He’d cared for me -

I stopped those thoughts in their tracks. No good could come from thinking about him. I needed to be here, not miles away.

I opened my eyes and watched Izzy openly touching my skin; the second person throughout all of time who’d ever touched those scars. She wasn’t running. She’d made me something to help. My eyes grew warm and I tried to wipe my face with numb fingers before she saw me losing my composure over a little oil and lotion.

“Thank you for the pictures,” she said.

I nodded but wasn't sure what pictures she was speaking of. I was focused on the ointment. No one took care of me. I took care of others. No one thought about me. Yet here, Izzy had thought about me and made me something to feel better. I swallowed hard and wiped my eyes. Izzy continued her ministrations. Pictures? I wondered briefly what pictures she was talking about but was too overwhelmed with how pleasant my scars felt and put the non sequitur out of my mind.

“When did you start time traveling?” she asked.

My god, my skin felt amazing. I rotated my ankle, I could move it so much easier than normal. Often the skin was so tight it could restrict my joints. I wiped at my face again.

“I was thirteen. Summer before freshman year. Those were some crazy times.” I took the jar from Izzy, entranced with the softening skin. I’d never felt my scars so soft before. There had never been a time before where I’d touched or looked at my scars without hatred. A weight dropped away. The sun felt inviting and warm and I realized I was hungry. The plate Izzy brought up smelled good and tasted better. It was fish, not chicken like I'd first thought.

“Is that when you found the Fountain?” It took a moment for her words to register.

“No, that happened a number of years later.” I took a dab of ointment to continue working farther up my legs. Even this tiny break from the normal condition of my legs eased the strain on my thoughts and I felt warm and lighter than I had in months. I kept eating the fish too, I was hungry.

“Senior year of high school?”

“Junior, I think.” The wind shifted momentarily and I watched to see if I’d need to trim the sails. It shifted back and the sails remained taut. I continued working my scars.

“You said that water, the Fountain, heals you. Does it do anything more?” Izzy asked. I looked up at her. She had her serious face on. I had promised her answers and the Fountain wasn’t new to her. It felt like one of the safer topics we could cover.

“There are layers to it. The stuff I keep in the flask is kind of like first aid.” Horrible horrible first aid with consequences of the bodily fluid variety. I grimaced just thinking about it.

“Does it stop you aging?” Izzy’s voice was calm enough but her feet were clearly longing to pace the deck.

I screwed the lid back on the ointment. Shit. This was a tricky subject. I kept my eyes on the jar in my hands. Where was that phone? I had her wedding pictures. Those would distract her. The cabinet was empty when I searched it.

“I mean, you look the same in all your pictures.” She pulled my missing phone from her pocket and swiped through a variety of pictures. “All of mine too.” She handed me my phone back. Andrews smiled up at me, his face lit by bonfire, whiskey, and excitement. “Graham Andrews,” Izzy’s face soured at having to speak his name, “said you’ve been together twenty years but you are turning 25 in a few days and you’ve only been traveling for ten years.”

I clicked the phone off. I had to be here, not miles away, not pining for a friend, a man I had no right loving in the first place. Izzy’s math was solid. She needed to know this answer.

“Yes. It stopped me from aging.” The priests had taken me captive, burned their mark into my flesh, drilled into my skull and saturated me with that cursed water. I had never looked a day older after that. I turned the phone back on and drowned myself in Graham’s face.

“So how many candles should I put on your cake?” she asked.

What was she talking about? A cake? Graham looked amazing. He was happy in this picture, safe and frozen on this phone. Maybe I could have stayed, had a few more months with him. Maybe I could have kept him from St. George's next summer. Maybe I could be allowed to change just that one small moment. My eyes stung and Graham’s face blurred out of focus.

“30? 40? 45?” Izzy was trying to guess my age.

“I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” I’d told Graham and the young lieutenant the same thing. It was true. I jumped around too much to follow a calendar and all I had was a close approximation.

“You must have some idea,” she scoffed.

“I’m closing in on my third century.” I clicked the phone back off and stowed it under the wheel. He was gone. No, that was wrong. I was gone. I’d left. I’d left them all. How was I any better than Maui? Better than my father? How was I better at all?

“Your third century? Centuries? Centuries?!” Izzy’s exclamation fished my consciousness back onto the deck with her. Focus. Cake. She wanted to make you a birthday cake.

“Yes…sooooo will we have enough candles?” The joke fell flat. I was never good at the comedy. Dying is easy. Comedy is hard. “It’s still me.” I would be who I always was for her, she would never have to know me as anything different. “You don’t have to worry.”

Izzy retreated back to the kitchen. I felt like I was forgetting to do something. I double and triple checked the sails and the rigging and all looked good. I brushed off the feeling that I ought to be doing something important. Izzy’s questioning just had me rattled. I pulled out some embroidery from the box beside the helm and my notebook tumbled out from the folds of fabric. I tossed it up by the compass. I really could have used that earlier. The wind was fine, no signs of squalls. I busied myself with tacking the outline of a filigree and leaf/flower pattern on the rose pink silk.

An hour or two later I set my alarm for my twenty minute nap.