Page 7 of Maybe Some Other Time

Chapter four

Old/Same

T helma was offered a change of clothing in the morning, but she declined. The shirts were too casual, and the sweatpants… well, they were sweatpants. Absolutely not.

Miriam claimed to understand after seeing what Thelma had worn during a simple day at home.

Thelma was not happy about wearing dirty clothing, including her brassiere, but she did accept a pair of clean cotton underwear, which she admitted slipped beneath her clothing as if it wasn’t even there.

Beyond that, she would still don her dress, coat, and gloves.

She would brush her hair, decrying the fact that her curls were coming undone.

She had some powder and lipstick in her purse, which was just enough to do up her face for another meeting with the FBI agents.

She was immediately greeted with news once she was escorted into a more comfortable meeting room. Agents Wilcox and Thornwood sat her down on a starchy couch while Agent Ortiz stood by the door.

What could it be? Had they found a way to send her home?

“We have good news, Mrs. Van der Graaf,” said Agent Wilcox. “We’ve found your son.”

Thelma’s gloved fingers pressed against her chest. “Robbie?”

“Yes. Robert Van der Graaf. He’s a resident of Van Nuys, so it didn’t take us long to track him down once we had your information. He’s en route to the facility as we speak.”

“You mean… I will…”

“It’s our goal to reunite travelers with their families. In your case, finding one of your children was the best-case scenario, considering how much time has passed. Ideally, we would like to release you into his care, but it will depend on whether he can handle it or not.”

“What does that mean, exactly? Does he know?”

“He’ll be briefed when he arrives. What we’ve told him is that there was a massive break in your missing person’s case, and we wanted him to come in for some questioning about the day you disappeared.”

Suppose that’s true, huh? “He must have thought I was dead this whole time…”

“Someone is coming with him. We thought we should warn you ahead of time.”

“His wife?” What kind of woman would Robbie marry? He was still so young just yesterday. Thelma couldn’t yet pinpoint what kind of man he would become—the kind of man another woman would marry… have children with…

“Your son is unmarried. He is bringing his daughter, though.”

“A daughter!” Her Robbie had a daughter! A grown woman? A little girl? Oh, how old was he again? Sixty… eight… So, probably a grown woman. At least that was exciting?

“Again, they will be briefed about what happened to you when they arrive. It will be about an hour or two. There is a lot of paperwork for them to sign due to the classified nature of what has happened here. Then there will be a meeting…”

“I will meet them? Today?”

“Of course, Mrs. Van der Graaf. This is a happy occasion.”

She was speechless. Her son. A granddaughter she didn’t know existed. In just twelve hours, Thelma’s life had changed so drastically… but for her family, it had taken sixty years.

“Agent Thornwood and I will be handling them when they arrive, as we are your primary caseworkers. In the meantime, Agent Ortiz will continue to get you whatever you need. You will also be introduced to your new team members, who will help you and your family navigate this intense moment in your lives.”

It sounded rehearsed. How could it not be?

This man’s whole role at the FBI was to assist women like Thelma, who were literally lost and confused in a strange new Oz.

One that suspiciously looked like America from a science-fiction novel.

They try to shield me from what’s changed, but I see it in the way they dress, the things they carry, and how they talk.

Even when they called her “Mrs. Van der Graaf,” it was with a distinct lack of respect.

She was left with Agent Ortiz for a few minutes before a new group of people who worked for or were contracted by the FBI introduced themselves to Thelma.

First was a woman named Crystal Myers, who was a registered therapist and informed Thelma that she was highly encouraged to begin attending both individual and group therapy sessions that focused on her time travel experience.

“The group sessions are where you’ll meet other people like you, Thelma,” the therapist said with a smooth but practiced voice.

“You’ll see how not alone you are. We have people who have time-traveled back from 1402. Can you believe it?” No, she couldn’t.

The next was her civilian case worker. He would be her main point of contact once she was released into the civilian world.

He would help her find and maintain housing if necessary.

He worked alongside the FBI to ensure employment, history classes, and acted as a mediator should there be any issues.

He acted like it was all old hat—that he helped women like Thelma five times a week and none of them ever had any problems. After all, she would be getting a new identity soon.

She was encouraged to think up a new name if she ever wanted one. This was her chance!

He was on his way out of the meeting room when a commotion erupted in the hallway.

“You cannot go back there y—ah, fuck it.” That was Agent Wilcox losing the will to hold back the middle-aged man blasting past him and Thornwood, his big blue-gray eyes wildly looking around the hallway and eventually settling on the occupants of the meeting room.

His jaw dropped.

Thelma’s eyes widened in immediate recognition.

Those eyes… that nose… the way he sways his shoulders when he has something to prove… Those were just the features she inherently knew to be her son’s, even if he had grown several feet and sported gray chin hairs that made him look like a madman who had escaped the local lockup.

But there was the strong chin. The curl of his fists. The thin lips that were so Bill that it hurt Thelma’s heart to recognize the passing decades that had hit her son in the blink of an eye.

“Robbie…?”

The sound of his name, from her mouth, made him double back and grip the doorframe. Agents swarmed behind him, and Ortiz was right next to Thelma, anticipating trouble. Yet the man—Robbie, doubtlessly—only had eyes for the woman who had walked out of his life one spring night in 1958.

“I wanna see!” shouted a young, feminine voice behind him. “Get outta the way, Dad!”

With his arm bracing high in the air, a head of brown and a sizable bust in a yellow T-shirt managed to duck beneath Robbie’s arm and come face to face with Thelma, who did not recognize her at all.

This must be my granddaughter. She was far younger than she anticipated—younger than Thelma, and that was a feat now.

Yet she had those Van der Graaf blue eyes. Kind eyes…

“Wow,” the girl whispered. “You look just like the photos! Are you my grandma? No way. This is wild. No way… ”

Robbie lowered his arm behind her. “My God.”

Thelma got up, brushing a wrinkle out of her coat and flicking lint off the tip of her gloved finger. “Robbie. It’s you. I… I don’t know what to say.”

His jaw dropped lower. He was missing teeth.

It didn’t stop his daughter from rushing forward.

Agent Ortiz stepped between her and Thelma, who lifted a hand to indicate it was okay.

The closer her granddaughter grew, the more Thelma smelled perfume that smelled like sugar and roses.

Her yellow T-shirt showed her bare midriff, and her denim jeans sagged around her curvy hips.

But Thelma was not in a judgmental mood.

She immediately detected the unmistakable sensation of her own flesh, her blood rushing through this girl’s veins as their hands touched.

“Wow…” the girl continued to repeat. “I’m dreaming. There’s no way this is real.” She looked back at Robbie, a ponytail flipping over her shoulder. “Dad! Can you believe it? It’s Grandma Thelma! Straight from the ‘50s!”

Robbie almost collapsed. Both of the agents behind him had to prop him back up, Thornwood calling for a nurse.

“So dramatic…” The girl scoffed before turning her attention back to Thelma. “Oh! Right. You don’t know who I am!” Both of her hands landed on Thelma’s arms. “I’m Megan! Your only grandchild!” She giggled. “Call me Meg, though. Everyone else does.”

“P… Pleasure to meet you, Megan.” Thelma removed one of her gloves and shook her granddaughter’s hand. “Is he all right?”

“Sure. You wanna talk to Dad?” Megan backed away, motioning for the old man to step forward toward her. “Get over here! You’re being so rude to your mom!”

Thelma would have been aghast at the way this young woman spoke to her father, but she was too entranced by Robbie’s twitching upper lip and the disbelieving sneer that developed a few seconds later.

“It’s a joke,” he gruffly said with a voice not too dissimilar from Thelma’s father.

“This is a cruel joke put on by the American government!” He wagged a finger in her direction. “You’re dead!”

Thelma gasped. The agents intervened.

“Come on, Mr. Van der Graaf,” said Thornwood. “Let’s go get some coffee and discuss this more.”

“No…” Thelma rushed ahead. “Let me see him!”

Before Robbie could shrug her off, Thelma had grabbed him, standing stalwart in her heels as she gazed up into her son’s face.

For a moment, they were back in their house, a little boy asking to stay home while his mother shushed him.

“I’m sorry…” Thelma sniffed. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you stay home.”

She didn’t mean to erupt into a cataclysm of tears that required the assistance of Miriam and the nurse who arrived on the scene.

Both women pushed Thelma back into the meeting room, one asserting orders while the other cooed at her to calm down.

Megan stood off to the side, dumbfounded, while Agents Thornwood and Wilcox conferred about what they should do.

Robbie continued to sneer at his mother, as if he could will himself to wake up from this exhausting dream. As if I haven’t tried…