Page 39 of Maybe Some Other Time

That was new. “What’s his fault, honey?”

“You went away because he was tr…” Debbie swallowed. Before Thelma assumed the words were gone, her daughter defiantly spat out, as if she refused to forget, “Trouble.”

“Oh, honey.” Thelma did her best not to be flustered as she thought of something to say.

“I didn’t go away for any reason. Certainly nothing you two kids did.

It was completely out of my control.” She lowered her hand to Debbie’s lap.

She’s so frail… Thelma’s teeth grazed her bottom lip as she tried not to think about it.

“When I left that night, I absolutely intended to come back as quickly as possible.”

Debbie vacantly stared at her before starting to eat again. Thelma sighed.

Is that what Robbie thinks? Was Debbie a reliable narrator?

Either it was the dementia screwing up facts, or it was such a core memory that it refused to dissipate among the twisted neurons in Debbie’s brain.

A brain I made… While Debbie ate, Thelma gazed wistfully at her.

Fingers threaded through Debbie’s thin hair in a tender attempt to clean her up.

Yet wasn’t it futile? Debbie was gaunt in the cheek, and her V-neck sweater hung so loosely on her bony frame that Thelma assumed her daughter had already lost quite a bit of weight.

From what she understood on the nursing side, Debbie didn’t eat much.

She preferred her Coke and candy in her room to substantial food.

“She only really eats her lunch when you’re here,” the director said a month ago, when Thelma checked in. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

Even then, Debbie often left plenty of food on her plate. Something that Thelma would have chided her for back in the ‘50s. Now? Any nourishment was worthy of praise.

My daughter is too sick for me to take care of… Thelma held back a hiccup as she crossed her legs in her chair and stared at the fake floral centerpiece on the table. It was dusty. When was the last time these table linens were washed? My son would rather I stay dead.

What was a mother to do? Be grateful that she still got to see her children at all?

Before, I would have said yes… But she also knew that the time travelers who succumbed to depressive, suicidal ideation the most were those who came forward well beyond their children’s lifespans.

Even Pauline had been candid that knowing all of her siblings were dead almost killed her.

She had been taken in by a great-nephew who only knew her name from police reports.

Now she lived separately from him and didn’t talk to anyone in her family.

She had disappeared back into the LA ether.

Be grateful. Count your blessings. When Thelma went to sleep that night, she would kneel by her bed and thank God for giving her the chance to say goodbye to her children.

Being steadfast meant accepting she would now outlive them.

At least she had Megan… and the others in the group who would probably take her in if necessary…

Thelma caught sight of another visitor there to see her father.

A tradeswoman’s build, coupled with short hair and a sweatshirt, reminded Thelma of Gretchen, who still said curt hellos whenever they bumped into one another in the driveway, but had not asked her out again. To be fair, I didn’t ask her, either.

The only one who knew about the date back in June was Crystal, who agreed with Thelma that it was probably much too soon for her to be dating, let alone someone who didn’t know she was from the ‘50s. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to feel passion…

Well, the passion had “fucked her up,” as Megan would say.

“Robbie’s sick,” Debbie reiterated. “He told me last time.”

Thelma broke free from her entangling daydreams. “Excuse me?”

“He told Ms. Otto.” She referred to the director of the home. “Because money. For me to live here.”

This was too much detail for it to be a fabrication of her misfiring brain. “Thank you for telling me,” Thelma said. “That’s a good girl.”

Debbie grinned. “I did good?”

“Yes. You did very well. ”

Debbie inevitably lost interest after lunch.

Thelma followed her for a walk around the hallways for a while, stopping to pet the fat tabby cat who called this place his home, and eventually went with her into her room.

As Debbie lay in her bed and ate some of the candy Thelma brought, they put Bonanza on the TV.

Since it premiered in the Fall 1959 season, Thelma had never heard of it until discovering her daughter was a big fan and always watched reruns during her afternoon nap.

It’s not too different from Gunsmoke. Thelma sat in her daughter’s rocking chair as Debbie gradually drifted off to sleep.

As the characters played out their dramatic storylines using 1960s filming technology, Thelma wondered what it would have been like to sit with her family on Saturday nights.

Robbie and Bill would have loved it. Thelma also always got caught up in the storyline, too, allowing herself to watch one full episode before checking on Debbie and tidying up her room.

There were always sweaters and socks strewn about.

Thelma neatly folded them and put them in her daughter’s dresser, just like she would have when Debbie was five.

It wasn’t fair, was it?

Linda stopped in to check on them when Thelma stood, sweater dangling in her hand and gaze resting on her daughter’s dozing body. “Everything okay?”

Although she knew the nurse was there, Thelma still jumped. “Oh…” She hurried to finish folding the sweater before closing the dresser drawer. “It’s been a long day.”

Linda’s courteous smile was anything but friendly, but Thelma was used to that by now.

Gone were the days when she would wonder how to best ingratiate herself with another woman in her community.

Those were the old rules. What was the point now?

Even Megan confirmed that women were less concerned with appearances than in the ‘50s. It was no longer about who looked the best, who acted the best, or who was the best mother: although, if asked a few months ago, Thelma would have never seen her “old” life like that. It’s just how it was.

She instinctively knew the rules and followed them.

Wasn’t that why she married Bill? Had children in her early twenties?

Became a well-known lady on Hemlock Street by thirty?

In a way, she had done that for her children.

Poor Debbie. The little girl who missed the mother she only vaguely remembered so much that she kept many of Thelma’s things, organized the family photos, and would have predictably named her own daughter after her mother.

If anyone earned the right to meet her mother again, it was Debbie.

But it was the fact she was in this state that made her so easy to accept Thelma as she was—impossibly young, fresh-faced, and eager to please.

For you, yes.

Linda announced someone was coming in to wipe down the bathroom, and Thelma could either stay or leave, but she wouldn’t be able to leave until the cleaning was done once it started.

She announced she was departing imminently and donned her jacket, but before she followed Linda out the door, she softly said goodbye to Debbie by sitting on the edge of her bed and lightly singing “You Are My Sunshine,” their favorite bedtime song when Debbie was little.

This time, Linda escorted her toward the entrance, past the heavy security doors and the receptionist’s desk. When she saw the Impala parked beneath the tree branches, she opened the front door for Thelma. Soon, they stood alone on the front sidewalk leading to the parking lot.

“I’ve seen pictures of her, you know.” The nurse removed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She stood a few feet downwind of Thelma as she lit up. “Found out she went missing in the ’50s and looked into it. It’s uncanny.” Smoke blew from her lips. “You’re identical to her.”

Thelma didn’t ask who Linda was talking about. What was the point?

“Strong genes,” she said instead.

“The getup really is something. You know, nobody told us Debbie had a daughter until you showed up with her brother one day. Not unusual around here, but…”

Thelma let those words dissipate alongside the cigarette smoke.

“It’s impossible, right?” Linda leaned in, peering at Thelma’s face. “People don’t magically come back from the dead. I’ve seen enough death around here to know.”

Shoulders back and chest puffed out, Thelma said, “That would imply I’ve died. Which, I have not, as you can plainly see.”

“You’re even the age her mother was when she disappeared. You’re wearing the same outfit and driving the same car. You tell me, what’s going on?”

Thelma should have left well enough alone. She had all the plausible deniability in the world. Time travel isn’t possible. Ghosts aren’t real.

“A miracle,” Thelma said. “Debbie prayed for many years. Let her have this.”

She kept her purse close to her body as she headed toward the Impala.

The only reason her blood flowed so loudly through her body was because her heart was anxious enough to charge her adrenaline and get her ready to fly down the boulevard at the first sign of Linda catching on.

To what? This is impossible. Thelma hesitated outside her door, looking back at the nursing home entrance and seeing Linda still standing there, smoking.

What kind of ghosts had this woman seen, anyway?

Thelma kept it together on the drive home to Van Nuys.

Since taking control of the Impala, she could no longer simply park it in the garage if someone else was home.

Today, Robbie’s car was in the garage. Megan wasn’t home yet, so Thelma maneuvered the car into the least imposing spot in the driveway.

She made sure Gretchen wasn’t in the yard next door before shutting off the engine.