Page 19 of Maybe Some Other Time

Chapter nine

From the Depths of the Chest

P auline was waiting for Thelma and Jo after class, and for once, Thelma wished she was relegated to the backseat of someone’s car so she could be alone with her thoughts.

Thelma was the first dropped off since Van Nuys was along the way to where Jo lived.

She gathered her purse and the canvas tote full of notes she had been sent home with from the FBI building.

After thanking Pauline for the ride, Thelma stood on the porch to Robbie’s house and wondered why the lights were off inside—something she didn’t notice until Pauline’s headlights had disappeared down the road.

Right. They’re both gone tonight. Robbie said he was out with friends from out of town, and Megan was staying at her “friend’s,” although Thelma had a feeling they were closer than just friends.

Will I get to meet that girl?

Thelma had her own key now, but she hesitated letting herself in.

The night was lovely, wasn’t it? Maybe she’d leave her tote bag by the door and wander into the small backyard where she could sit beneath the dark sky and pretend she didn’t hear any of the faraway traffic making its way through town.

She was about to turn the corner of the house when another set of headlights flashed in her direction. It was Gretchen coming home next door.

“Oh. Hey.” She got out of her large truck and tossed something into the back.

Somewhere beneath the unflattering jacket and dirty work pants was a woman who had lightly flirted with Thelma back in the department store dressing room, the last time they exchanged more than a few words of greeting.

She was flirting with me, right? Thelma bit down on her lip before remembering there was no one else around to watch them. “Did you just get home?”

Thelma approached the fence. Well, someone’s watching me. That someone was Fiddles, who perched in the darkened living room window, the curtains half-obscuring his tabby body. “Yes. You?”

“Uh…”

“Oh, my goodness, what am I saying? I clearly saw you come home.” Thelma held her tote bag up as she covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I just got back from class, and…”

Gretchen glanced at the tote bag. “What’s that? You’re taking night classes?”

“Mm, yes.” With her purse strapped across her chest—as was fashionable now, she found—Thelma held her unmarked tote bag against her torso. “Trying to complete my degree,” she lied. “I’ve got so much history to catch up on.”

“I see.”

With the crickets chirping nearby, Thelma caught the vibrations between her and Gretchen and said immediately what came to mind. “Would you like to come in for some tea? I’m not used to being in the house by myself at night.”

Gretchen’s eyes widened in the modicum of light shining from her front porch sensor. “With me smelling like this? Robert would kick my ass. Last time I stopped in for something, I tracked mud into his living room, and I never heard the end of it. Is that man always bitching about something?”

Thelma attempted to hide how crestfallen this information made her. “Yes, well… yes.”

She turned, ready to say goodnight. Go inside and lick my wounds. It truly had been a long day. What did Thelma think she was doing, inviting the neighbor over? For what reason? Her own curiosity?

“You wanna come over here, instead? I’ve got tea too.”

Thelma couldn’t scurry around the fence quickly enough.

She had yet to be in Gretchen’s house, which was much cozier looking than Robbie’s and somewhat larger in square footage.

Megan had told her that there were the same number of bedrooms and bathrooms—three and two, respectively—but the Stewarts’ had a larger living room and kitchen.

All Thelma cared about was the dark green siding and bright white trim.

Compared to Robbie’s black house… well, it wasn’t good for staying cool, that was for sure!

“Ah…” When Thelma entered, she was instantly smacked with the air of a woman who both knew exactly what she wanted while not knowing how to get it.

Gretchen had probably kept the house mostly as it had been left to her when her parents passed, because why update the furniture or rip out the carpet if it worked for her?

As if I know the difference. Everything looked modern to Thelma.

Even a house trapped in the late ‘90s. “What a lovely home.”

Gretchen turned on the lights and removed her jacket, eyebrows arched on her forehead.

My goodness, she’s so fetching like this.

That was plaid flannel beneath Gretchen’s jacket, and her hair was the playful kind of shaggy that reminded Thelma of the girls at school who cut their hair short, regretted it, and couldn’t wait for it to grow out again.

Except Gretchen seemed the kind who would get it cut again as soon as she could. But she was busy. Wasn’t everyone?

“You’re way too kind.” Snorting, Gretchen turned on the kitchen light. “I’ll make decaf. I don’t like the herbal stuff.”

Thelma perused the living room while the kettle was put on the stove, and Gretchen searched for two clean mugs in her cupboards.

A crocheted blanket was thrown over the back of a well-worn couch in front of the big TV hung on the wall above the fireplace.

Work boots of all shapes and dark colors were strewn along the wall by the front door.

Pictures of old family, of scenic settings around California, dotted the dark gray wall lined with a baseboard heater.

Thelma’s fingers ran atop a big, comfortable-looking armchair that lightly rocked from her touch.

It was only then that she realized an old cat looked up at her.

“That’s Barry,” Gretchen said. “He’s an old man. Doesn’t do much and takes care of himself while I’m at work.”

Thelma said hello to Barry, the fluffy black cat who yawned, stretched, and went back to sleep on top of a pullover sweater. “I’m guessing he’s the real reason you didn’t want Fiddles messing with your stuff.”

“Barry likes people just fine.” Gretchen poured hot water into two mismatched mugs. “It’s other cats he despises.”

Thelma joined her in the kitchen, hanging her purse over the back of a dining chair before helping herself to the cleanest side of the table.

It wasn’t that Gretchen’s place was dirty, but it was cluttered, with old breakfast dishes still stacked on the other end as if she had been in a hurry to get out the door earlier.

The kitchen counter was likewise a hodgepodge of canned goods, sealed snack bags, and stacks of more dishes that barely left a trail to the microwave, toaster, and stove.

Yet the sink was suspiciously empty and wiped clean.

And the little succulents lining the kitchen window above the sink were well cared for.

There was dust on the ceiling and probably on top of the cupboards.

The attentive housewife in Thelma wondered when the last time the floors were mopped and the carpets vacuumed.

Megan was so embarrassed when I started doing both twice a week.

Robbie hadn’t noticed how disgusting his carpets were.

Did it really kill these people to turn on the vacuum at least once a week?

But this wasn’t Thelma’s house. She had been in worse.

She knew what it was like to visit friends and family in two-room “shacks” with dirt floors and blankets for glass windows.

Most of those wives were often too tired after working, cooking, and taking care of children to clean much.

“Always count your blessings,” Thelma’s mother used to say before they returned to their modest home in the middle of town.

“Next time you whine about your creaky bed, think about your friends who share a bed with all their siblings.”

“Oh, thank you.” Thelma was snapped out of her memories when Gretchen brought back a mug of tea and offered some sugar and cream. Thelma helped herself to a little cream. “Do you really live here by yourself?”

Gretchen sank into the chair next to Thelma’s, mouth slightly open.

“Uh, yeah. If you don’t count Barry, I mean.

And I mostly adopted him because one of my friends works at a cat shelter and needed to get his fat ass out.

She made it sound like life and death.” She stirred some sugar into her tea.

“You ask me, it was her death on the line because she couldn’t stand him. ”

Thelma giggled. “It’s a lot of house for one person.”

“That’s what my extended family says. They want me to sell while the real estate is boiling hot.

And, to be fair, I’m getting cooked by the property taxes every year.

But the location can’t be beat, the mortgage is paid off, and I’m handy enough to take care of most of the problems myself.

Or I know guys in the industry who will give me a break if I give them breaks on stuff I know.

Like I suck at electrical. Don’t ask me to fix your electricity. We will all die.”

“I’ve never learned how to fix things. Never was a tinkerer.” Thelma avoided the string from the tea bag as she sipped. “Spent my whole life… cleaning, I guess. I’m good at cleaning.”

Gretchen glanced around her kitchen after hearing that.

“Don’t worry. I’m not thinking about it.”

“Good news for me, then. So, what’s in the bag?”

Thelma held the tote bag of printouts closer. “Just my history reading. I take classes near West Hollywood.”

“Oh, really? I’ve got friends in West Hollywood. I’m down that way all the time.”

“It’s a lot… gayer than I remember.”

Gretchen stared at her, big hazel eyes boring a hole right into Thelma’s soul. “Gayer?” she gasped through a drink of tea.

“You know. Homosexual couples. Especially men.”

“Yeah, I know what gay is.”