Page 44 of Maybe Some Other Time

Chapter eighteen

Mulberry

S he was still on cloud nine that next Wednesday when she reported for duty at the library alongside Robbie, who always marched on ahead of her and got right to work on his Westerns display.

This time, Thelma couldn’t care less as she popped into the back, greeted her fellow volunteers and the staff who were paid to be there, and received tasks from the head librarian on duty.

Today, she was shelving. Perfect for her constant daydreaming about Saturday night, especially when she returned some of the steamier Romance novels to the shelves.

I bet Gretchen is a better lover than any of these fine gentlemen. Thelma could barely keep her giggles to herself as she shoved some Nora Roberts where they belonged. The way she touched me… She almost dropped a particularly heavy book. Goodness.

While they hadn’t “gone all the way” Saturday night, they had ended up back home in Gretchen’s house, sharing kisses in between late-night tea.

This time, when things got heavy, Thelma didn’t panic—she was asked if she was all right repeatedly, but Gretchen’s undershirt groping was fun this time.

Their clothes stayed on, but the intent was there.

When Thelma finally returned home next door, it was with fluttering eyelashes and a promise for another date “soon.”

And a lot of quiet touching of herself in her bed, even though she was home alone for most of the night. But there was too much pressure she had to let off! Before she blew!

The only thing keeping her from fully indulging in the idea of falling in love again was, well, reality.

All she had to do was glance at her son standing behind the front counter and be reminded that things were weird.

Thelma had begun her relationship with a lie.

A big one. I’m not what she thinks I am.

Thelma hadn’t been raised in a cult. Her children were inaccessible as she had last seen them.

Bill was dead because he grew old—but he hadn’t been old when Thelma married him.

Then there was the truth about Robbie. That was her son.

The DNA test—something straight out of science fiction—couldn’t lie.

That test is the only reason he begrudgingly believes in time travel now.

Thelma often held in what she really felt about the situation.

That, if Robbie would simply listen to her, talk to her…

she would just be grateful to have him in her life for as long as they were both around.

Because she had to deal with that reality as well.

Robbie was almost seventy. Thelma counted her blessings she got to see her baby boy again when so many other chrononauts didn’t.

But they couldn’t have a relationship if he kept shutting her out.

He doesn’t even have to call me Mom. He can call me Thelma.

She had told him as much when returning from Lake Tahoe that summer, but it meant nothing.

“Excuse me!”

Thelma jumped when she realized a patron had been trying to talk to her. “I’m sorry!” She had been staring at her son from across the room, another Nora Roberts book hanging from her hand. “What was it that you needed?”

The woman wanted to know where to find the sociology books. Thelma took her to them in the 300s section across the way, and after dropping her off, happened to turn around and find the LGBT nonfiction section on the other side of the aisle.

She knew it was there, of course. She had even read through a couple of books when she first started coming here with Robbie and Megan. But what bowled Thelma over was seeing Sandy Westmore’s book Dyke Culture Through the Ages.

How crass of you, Sandy. Thelma pressed her lips to contain her self-admonishing smile as she pulled out the hefty nonfiction book and placed it on top of Nora’s still in her other hand.

“A lot of young women today are blissfully unaware of what it was like back then,” Sandy opined in the foreword.

“Sneaking kisses behind the neighbors’ backs, commandeering underground bars and hoping the cops wouldn’t bust you, and realizing that the best girl you’ll ever know is going to marry a man and have his kids. ”

Thelma glanced around before continuing to read.

“I’ve been in many relationships over the decades.

I’ve flirted with handfasting ceremonies and moonlight commitments in front of friends and family, but I always dreamed of getting married in a little Lutheran church not too far from where my best girl lived.

Because I wanted to marry her. It was true back then, and it’s still true to this day.

I’m sorry, Molly. I’m sorry, Teresa. I love you both very much, but Thelma Erickson had my heart and never let it go, even after her disappearance. ”

“Dear Lord.” Thelma closed her eyes and inhaled, remembering Crystal’s exercises.

“Maybe it’s because I never got closure.

It wasn’t that I moved away and said goodbye.

It wasn’t that she broke up with me. I was one of the last people to see her the day she disappeared.

I remember her smile, her clever jokes, and the best cucumber sandwiches and iced tea any dyke has ever had.

Thelma didn’t smoke. She didn’t curse much.

She believed in God and was devoted to her 1950s suburbia.

But none of these Good Girl things were mutually exclusive to her loving me in return.

She never second-guessed it. She told me she loved me and kissed me that day like she wasn’t going anywhere.

But I’ll always wonder… did she disappear willingly?

I accused her husband. I thought maybe he found out about us.

You have to understand, her husband was a “good man” through and through, but appearances were everything back then.

I had no way of really knowing what he would be like if he found out that his perfect housewife was having a lesbian affair from her college days.

But over the years, I don’t think he did anything.

I think he was telling the truth about being home with the kids while she headed out.

But that just opens another Pandora’s box…

Did Thelma leave? Go somewhere? Start over? End her life? Had I contributed, somehow, to her disappearance? At the time, I didn’t think it was possible for someone so seemingly happy to do that to herself, but since then, I’ve unfortunately known plenty.”

Thelma closed the book before getting sucked into more. It didn’t help that someone else was coming up to ask her a question.

She almost forgot about it by the end of her shift, when Robbie wordlessly came to collect her from where she had collected some of the Hold books for pickup.

They piled into his SUV, Thelma buttoning up her sweater and checking her makeup in the visor mirror. She had taken to putting her purse in the glovebox when in the passenger side, and popped it open before Robbie could stop her.

Out popped a large bottle of ibuprofen that clattered to the floor. Apologizing, Thelma bent down to pick it up. Robbie wound himself up trying to close the glovebox, but forgot to unbuckle his seatbelt.

He couldn’t stop Thelma from seeing the stapled hospital documents falling into her lap.

“Shit!” he cursed, hiding his face behind his hand as he leaned his elbow against the driver’s side door. A reader like him knew he got his speed of literacy from his mother, and Thelma had already read the bulk of Sherman Oaks Cancer Clinic’s report on her son’s prostate cancer prognosis.

“Robbie!” she cried. The papers crumpled in her lap as she whipped her head toward him. “What is this! How long have you known? When were you going to tell me?”

“What does it look like!” No matter how loudly he shouted, Thelma was not intimidated by a boy whose diapers she had changed. “What business is it of yours, anyway. Put it back!”

“What business is it of my…” He couldn’t be serious! “Robert William, you have cancer, and you think it’s not my business?”

“It’s just prostate cancer!”

“Cancer is cancer! They don’t have a cure for this yet!”

“Yeah, they do, it’s called getting fucking surgery and chemo!”

“Watch your mouth, Mister!”

“No, I won’t watch my fucking mouth, because I’m not a little boy whose mother can boss him around! I’m the one with the cancer, ain’t I? I’ll say ‘fuck’ all I want!”

Well, he had her there.

Thelma’s spine remained erect in her seat as Robbie continued to mutter and fussed with the ignition.

Cool air blew at them from the fans, but it wasn’t enough to subdue the anger they both felt for very different reasons.

He thinks I don’t get to know about this…

It was one thing to wonder how to tell his own daughter, who had enough going on in her busy life, but his mother?

The woman who relied on him for money and housing?

Well! At least she could drive again, because she would be hauling his ungrateful bottom to his appointments, now wouldn’t she?

“Cancer…” She sniffed. “My daughter has early-onset dementia, and my son has cancer! What is this world I’ve come to?”

“One where we’re old and somehow still alive.”

“You’re only seventy!”

“I feel ninety!”

“ I’m supposed to be ninety!”

“You think I don’t fucking know!” Robbie huffed.

“Look, every guy gets this kind of cancer eventually. I just got it a little earlier. They found it through a routine checkup. So, let’s thank America for that.

My prognosis is whatever. Only reason I’m bothering is because I don’t fancy dying a cancer death after seeing what it does to other old and sorry bastards.

Also, Megan isn’t old enough to handle something like the house by herself. Even with her mom around.”

“Does Becky know?” Thelma had never met her, but she felt like she knew her from all of Megan’s talk.

“No! Why the hell would my ex-wife know?”

“Because she’s the mother of your child you are potentially leaving behind.”

“Yeah, yeah…”