Page 10 of Maybe Some Other Time

He grunted, as if she caught him off guard.

He may be old now, but it’s the same belligerent look he used to get when he didn’t get his way.

It would have made Thelma smile if it weren’t for the fact that Robbie always acted like he’d rather be anywhere else than talking to his mother.

“I was a freshman in high school when he was shot.

Lost my first girlfriend shortly after. She kept saying she was too sad.

I never understood it. Sure, it was shocking, but what did the president's dying in Texas have to do with us in California?”

Thelma latched onto one thing from what he said. “You had a girlfriend already?”

“Well… yeah.”

There. The first sign of Robbie being a bit shy around her.

“How exciting. Who was it?”

He looked as if he didn’t think it safe to say. Because of who it was? Was it someone I know? Or was it because he still didn’t quite believe that this was really his mother?

“Gloria Stanton.”

“Gloria! Little Gloria!” Thelma laughed, imagining the little girl who lived down Hemlock Street being old enough to date her son! “How delightful.”

“Uh, sure.”

That was one of their better meetings. Shortly before Thelma was discharged from the FBI, however, they had one last get-together to go over how it would look for Thelma moving in with her son, who had done up his guest room to make room for her.

“You know, that last night…” Thelma waited until the agents had left the room, when it was just her, Robbie, and Megan, the latter of whom always listened to whatever she said with rapt attention.

“All I thought about was you. I left the house to go to the store to get you your milk. Your father said he would make toasted cheese sandwiches for us. I was looking forward to it.” She offered him a smile, lest she begin crying.

“He made excellent toasted cheese. Said he learned how in the war.”

Megan grinned; Robbie shook his head.

“Who cares about that?” he spat. “It was just another night. I barely remember you being gone for a few days because I was so sick. Highest fever of my life.”

Thelma bit back what she had wanted to say next. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to express. “I wish I could go back and stop myself from leaving the house. Even if it meant telling you no.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Megan elbowed her father, who grunted again.

“So, anyway…” He couldn’t look at her while he spoke, arms crossed and body slouched on the couch. “You’re gonna be sleeping in our guest room. Megan did it up. She can help you with, you know, women’s stuff. Shopping. Whatever.”

Megan finally spilled whatever she had been holding back. “I soooo wanted to tell Mom about this, but because they’re divorced, the FBI said I shouldn’t!”

“You’re divorced?” This was Thelma’s first time hearing about it. She had speculated where Megan’s mother was, but for some reason, death had seemed more reasonable than divorce. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well!” Robbie tossed his hands upward. “Becky always said I was too hard-headed! Couldn’t let go of something! She felt ‘restricted’ with me. Like I was ‘suppressing’ her in our own home.”

Megan furrowed her brows. “You make her sound nuts. To be fair, you are a hard-headed ass. I’m just better at dealing with you because nothing you say surprises me anymore.” She turned to Thelma. “I’m rubber, he’s glue.”

“Where’s your mother now?” she asked her granddaughter.

“Glendale. With her current husband.”

“Left me for a pocket-protector wearing lab tech!”

“Dad, she hadn’t even met Gavin yet when she filed for divorce. You’re thinking of Ulysses, her coworker. Whom she didn’t get with until she officially left you. Get over it, old man.”

“My, there sure is a story here.” Thelma attempted to change the subject, but the agents returned with more information for them to go over.

Two days later, Thelma packed up her meager things from the hotel room and followed Agent Ortiz to the main office, where she was officially released to her son’s custody.

She had asked Miriam to help her pick out an outfit.

The agent had been so patiently helpful with procuring period-appropriate clothing that matched the ‘50s style Thelma was accustomed to. “Pants are the main thing women wear now,” she had told Thelma when she came back with both jeans and linen pants for her to try on. “And shorts. But you don’t strike me as the type ready for that.”

Indeed, when Thelma perused the website for a local women’s apparel shop that the FBI had a charge account at, she blushed to see how short many of the skirts were and how low the shirts were cut.

Nice to know my garters are a thing of the past…

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to wear the kind of shorts she thought were more appropriate for her bedroom.

She now had a small collection of adorable and comfortable pajamas, but the day clothes were limited to jeans and a handful of blouses and plain T-shirts.

To Thelma’s surprise, however, Miriam had sourced some modern-day curlers that would get her the same effect as what she was used to. When she saw what Thelma had achieved by the next morning, Miriam grinned and declared she looked “much more like herself.”

Even now, dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a light jacket, Thelma bounced her curls in front of a mirror.

Her makeup had received plenty of compliments at counseling and night class.

Besides that, the only thing she still wore from the night she arrived was her heels.

The dress and undergarments were tucked in a suitcase that rolled behind her when she walked.

“Here are your new documents, Mrs. Van der Graaf.” Agent Wilcox handed her a folder containing a birth certificate claiming her birth year was 1990, an ID card with her photo on it, and a new Social Security card.

“Your name remains the same at your request, and your cover story is that you are Robert’s niece.

Granted the state of your daughter’s, ah… mind…”

Thelma furrowed the brows she had just immaculately groomed the night before. “Are you saying my cover story is that I am my own granddaughter?”

“It was the easiest cover we could come up with, and Deborah cannot fight us about it.”

Megan was the only one who heard that. “Whoa. They’re saying you’re my cousin. That’s wild! Aunt Debbie had no kids!”

“Well, she does now. Legally speaking.” Agent Wilcox cleared his throat. “Besides, a lot of women named their daughters after their mothers. Mine did.”

“Thank you.” Thelma tucked the folder beneath her arm. “I’m sure I will adjust.”

He nodded, relieved that she wasn’t making a scene. “We’ve provided your granddaughter with a Visa debit card to help you procure a more expansive wardrobe and whatever supplies you need to transition to your new life. She said she’s… quite excited to take you shopping.”

“How do you feel about getting your nails done?” Megan asked after cupping her hands around her mouth so she could be heard from across the lobby. “I know a great place!”

“That might be lovely.”

“As for procuring a job for you… we’ll be in touch. In the meantime, Agent Ortiz will be by every couple of days and will have a list of volunteer opportunities if you’re interested. We find that many of our chrononauts like to stay busy, and it helps ease them into modern society.”

He didn’t have much else to say to her that wasn’t already covered in the other literature sent “home” with her.

Wherever home is. She knew that Megan and Robbie lived only about forty-five minutes away, depending on traffic, but hadn’t heard of the street.

The only other things she knew were that her son was a retired corporate accountant who did extensive volunteer work on the side to, as Agent Wilcox quipped, stay busy.

And Megan was a college student who still lived with her father.

How will I fit into this?

They piled into the back of a large, unmarked car with Agent Ortiz at the wheel and Agent Thornwood waving at them through the window.

“Safe trip!” he called to Thelma. “Good luck!”

She waved back, but the car was already moving.

“Look at the size of this thing,” Thelma said to later break the silence.

She had her purse in her lap and the folder still tucked beneath her arm.

The seatbelt felt suffocating against her chest, but she got used to it in a few minutes.

Beside her, Robbie refused to look at her.

Across from her, Megan grinned. “I’m looking right at you!

You’re riding backward!” Thelma giggled.

“And the ride is so smooth. Doesn’t it smell nice in here? ”

“It’s just a van…” Megan said. “Guess you’re not too familiar with them.”

“They didn’t look like this a month ago.”

Robbie grunted.

Until then, Thelma had let her son stew in whatever emotions he experienced.

I’m sure this has been extremely difficult for him.

The shock, then whatever betrayal from the universe he felt for letting his mother disappear for so long.

But now? When they would be spending every day together?

When Thelma would be living in his house?

“How about I cook something for dinner?” Thelma looked between her son and granddaughter—and Miriam’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “I haven’t cooked in a month! I might be out of practice. Oh, how about Sloppy Joes? Is that still one of your favorites?”

Robbie’s shoulders tensed. Megan joined Thelma in her giggling. “Sloppy Joes?” the younger woman asked. “Definitely not what I thought you were going to suggest.”

“So, they’re still called that?”

“As far as I know.”

“What did you think I’d suggest?”

“Oh, man, where to begin? Jell-O spiked with tuna?”

Thelma’s nose wrinkled, concaving right into the center of her face. “Excuse me?”

“There’s this big trend right now where we take old recipes from the ‘50s and try them out. Y’all were wilding with the aspic!”