Page 55 of Maybe Some Other Time

Chapter twenty-two

Milk

N ovember gave way to December, and Thelma couldn’t recall a more melancholy holiday season.

Everyone was sore. Megan and Emma were having some falling out—during finals, no less—and Robbie was more reserved and withdrawn than usual.

He spent more nights out with his old buddies that Thelma had barely met.

And with the sun setting so much earlier at that time of year, Thelma likewise spent a lot of time at home, alone.

Alone with her thoughts that threatened to send her over the edge.

Nobody was melancholier than Thelma, who struggled with nosy, so-called independent journalists knocking on their door and harassing her so badly at the library that she went on break from volunteering.

One of the only things that made me feel connected to the modern world.

She also stopped visiting Debbie without either Megan or Robbie with her, neither of whom wanted to go, especially if Thelma dressed up.

No point in that. Well, Debbie enjoyed it.

But at what cost to everyone’s sanity? The director of the memory care facility swore they conducted an internal investigation and fired the nurse responsible for leaking photos of Thelma, but it wasn’t enough to make her feel comfortable.

My poor Debbie… The only solace was knowing that Debbie couldn’t remember day to day, let alone that her mother was supposed to visit every week.

The group and history classes were the only tethers to the world that Thelma could cling to with all her strength.

Crystal watched as Thelma curled up on the couch and cried after confessing what had happened during Thanksgiving.

The group assured her that it was always difficult if someone caught on to time travel, let alone what you did if you fell in love with an “outsider.” But in Thelma’s case, Gretchen had completely disappeared.

Granted, it had been a stressful day. They all had to go down to the FBI office, where those in the know were given stories to parrot to journalists, and poor Gretchen was put into an interview room by herself and given the rundown about time travel by Agent Thornwood.

The last Thelma saw her, Gretchen ran down the hallway.

She refused to answer any of Thelma’s texts, and she stopped trying after two days.

But it was lonely. And Gretchen’s avoidance meant she was gone before dawn broke and didn’t park her truck in her driveway until well after dusk. Thelma didn’t go over to talk. She was too busy spiraling with her own drama.

The FBI highly recommended she get out of town for a couple of weeks.

Pauline and Ethan knew of a cheaper cabin not too high up in the mountains.

Pauline was able to join her for a few days, but not for long.

By then, Thelma had made herself at home in the two-bedroom cabin that was surrounded by evergreen trees and talkative critters.

I feel like Snow White up here. She had access to streaming services that she and Pauline played all of their favorite ‘30s movies on, from Katharine Hepburn to Bette Davis. No news. Hardly any phone service. Megan was back in Van Nuys focusing on her studies, and Robbie could pretend that his mother hadn’t come back from the dead.

I miss Gretchen.

It was one of the only serious things she and Pauline discussed while locked up in the mountain cabin during those dry December days. While Thelma should have been planning for her first Christmas in the future, she was instead hiding away, pining after a woman she had only slept with once.

“Sandy would say this is a classic case of First Date-itis.” Thelma sat in front of the living room window, gazing out at the swaying treetops and the dead grass in the driveway.

She and Pauline had already started a fire that day, the scents of smoke and ash filtering through the window from the outside world.

I love it. I just wish I enjoyed it more right now.

She should be with family. She should be with Gretchen—or Sandy—cuddling beneath a large quilt and musing about the old and new years.

“You talk about Sandy a lot,” Pauline pointed out from the couch by the fireplace.

“Because I loved her. All these months later, and I’m still coming to terms with her being gone from my life. It’s been harder than losing Bill.”

“What would Sandy say about you moving on with some modern woman so quickly?”

Thelma folded her arms on the windowsill. She liked to imagine that Sandy was now an angel, looking down from Heaven with either a pleased countenance or a heavy tsk in her throat. Which would she be giving me right now?

“She would say, ‘Typical girl, rushing into the arms of the next paramour.’”

“Ooh, paramour. They don’t use that word enough these days.”

“Right? So many good words that I get two looks for using.”

“Well…” Pauline adjusted herself on the couch and pulled the blanket over her lap. “Everything you’ve ever said about Sandy is that she was a ‘go with the flow’ type who wanted you to be happy. She was even the maid of honor at your wedding, honey. That’s love.”

“I suppose you’re right. At the time, I thought nothing of her helping give me away to Bill.

” It was ludicrous to think about now, right?

With all of the hindsight Thelma had gained those past few months…

What was it like to be Sandy in those moments?

Decades later, she had been thinking about Thelma, the best friend and lover who disappeared one otherwise noneventful night.

She even raged against Bill until capitulating to there being no evidence of any wrongdoing on his behalf.

But by then, it didn’t matter. Thelma was never going back. She couldn’t go back.

“That woman loved you. She would want you to be happy, right?”

“Which is why she went along with me marrying Bill… guess I thought she wasn’t that attached to me if she didn’t show me a broken heart.”

“Being with you when you were married was more important to her than losing you.”

“That’s just how she was. She was always honest about her lot in life.

” How many nights had they spent talking of a fanciful future where queers could be openly themselves without fear of reprisal?

When their hangouts weren’t raided by the police?

When she could hold Sandy’s hand and steal a kiss beneath a low-hanging tree branch by the lake?

But Sandy knew that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. She had cultivated a life that allowed her great independence in a male-dominated society. She would never have to rely on anyone—including another woman.

She was already preparing for life without me.

Wouldn’t it be something if Sandy were still alive? If she could look into Thelma’s soul with those aged eyes and see everything she had been through in just one year?

“You’re doing great, honey. Just embrace the life you still have left to live. Have fun. Fall in love and eat some damn good food.”

Thelma went into the kitchen to grab something to drink. When she opened the fridge, she encountered the gallon of milk she had bought for cooking her meals that fortnight.

She used it in everything.

Cereal. Mashed potatoes. Casserole. Macaroni and cheese. Shepherd’s pie. Cake.

For little boys who weren’t feeling well.

“You okay?” Pauline hustled off the couch when she noticed Thelma standing in front of the open fridge, crying.

“Oh, sweetie.” She was one of the few who had learned the full story of the night Thelma disappeared, all the way down to Robbie being too sick for school…

and Thelma skipping out on running to the store so she could have her afternoon delight at home.

“It’s my fault. All of their misery is my fault.”

Pauline said nothing. She merely put a hand on Thelma’s arm.

“If I hadn’t been so selfish, Robbie wouldn’t be such a bitter man. Bill wouldn’t have been accused of such terrible things. Debbie would have had a mother growing up…” Thelma sniffed, thinking of one of the worst things. “Sandy would have had closure before she died.”

Arms wrapped around her, Pauline’s head leaning against Thelma’s shoulder. They stood in front of the fridge’s ambiance, experiencing the minutes ticking by as if nothing mattered.

Precious minutes that so many took for granted.

Here I am, my molecules existing in a time that shouldn’t know me at this age.

By some strange miracle, some unknowable force of physics, she had been transported from her haven of the known and thrust into the impossible future that the Thelma born in 1930 could have never comprehended, even if she died of old age.

She had no power over the situation. She could cry, weep, and sob herself to a fast and frenzied death, but it would have been for nought.

Somewhere, in the Heavens that saw such machinations through, angels played their games, sang their praises, and watched over the likes of Thelma Van der Graaf, the silly housewife whose affairs and secrets should have gone with her to the grave.

Not returned from it.

I can’t change the past. I can’t predict the future. I can only command the present. Yet those pithy sayings the therapists equipped her with didn’t account for the guilt that infused into a time traveler’s DNA.

Which was probably why Pauline didn’t try to diffuse the mood. She knew too well.

Thelma returned home to peace. Too much peace, if the silent living room and empty driveways told her anything.

So she secured the Impala in the garage and swept through the kitchen, happy to see that Megan and Robbie had kept the place clean up to her standards. She peered out the back door and hoped to see Gretchen in her yard, but there was no sign of the woman who had been avoiding her for three weeks.