Page 5 of Maybe Some Other Time
And she hadn’t gone to the market!
“Oh, dear,” she whispered. Her son’sonerequest while feeling sick, and Thelma couldn’t fulfill something as simple asmilk.She glanced at the clock above the hutch and calculated how quickly she could drive to the market before it closed.It’s Wednesday. Designated shopping night.What were the odds? If she left right now, she could pick up some milk and be back before everyone else finished eating.
Bill came back downstairs while Thelma donned her coat and grabbed her driving gloves from the credenza. “What’s going on?” he asked, before looking at his son. “Is he worse?”
“I have to get to the market before it closes. We still don’t have any milk.” She pursed her lips. “Or parsley. The soup just isn’t the same without it.”
“We can have canned soup without parsley, Thel.”
She crossed the room to the staircase, where he still stood. “I need milk to help him feel better. Please. If I go now, I can get there with plenty of time before they close tonight.”
“Well…” Bill glanced at his watch. “All right. I’ll watch the kids.”
“Oh, good.” She snatched her purse on the way to the door. “I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes. If you could serve the soup, I’d be very grateful.”
“Tell you what.” He followed her to the front door, where she stood with it open, the evening breeze tickling the back of her neck. “I’ll make us all some toasted cheese to go with it.”
“But it’s chicken soup, not tomato.”
“So? Maybe we bend some rules around here, huh?”
“You’ve been working all day…”
“Hey, what’s the hold up? Go now, be back quickly. I’ll keep us all busy.”
Her visage softened as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a lifesaver, dear. Be right back.”
She wrapped a handkerchief around her hair as she walked out into the evening. Bill closed the door behind her. As his shadow moved behind the living room curtains, Thelma reminded herself that her children would be fine, even if her husband wasn’t used to being in charge of a sick kid—let alone at dinner time.
The Impala was cold when she slid in. Despite being a driver for over fifteen years, going back to when her grandfather taught her how to drive on his farm despite her mother’s protests that Thelma was too young, she was still getting used to the brand-new car they bought only a few months prior. The Impala was popular, though. So much so that not only was theirs not the first on Hemlock Street, but it was far from the last. Thelma drove by another one exactly like it two houses down.
“Twilight Time” by the Platters played through the radio as she made a mental list in her mind of what to grab at the market while she was there.I should get two bottles of milk.Just in case there still wasn’t a delivery the next day. Even if she didn’t cook with any of it, Robbie would certainly want some.Oh, I hope he’s okay.The last thing she wanted was him throwing up in the middle of the night, but if that was what happened, well…
“Goodness gracious.” She talked to herself as she pulled down the road that joined Hemlock Street with the nearest commercial district with a market. “They didn’t say anything about fog in the weather forecast.”
She peered over her steering wheel while the song faded on the radio.Is this smoke?It didn’t smell like smoke, but why was the fog sothick?It was the wrong time of day for some Californianfog. Heck, it was the wrong time of year for it to be this bad! There was no moisture in the forecast, either. How was Thelma supposed to safely get to the market if everyone was driving in this muck?
“Mmm... yeah, that was The Platters—sweet as summer peaches and just as gone.” DJ B. Mitchel Reed startled her when he came in over the broadcast. “That’s ‘Twilight Time,’ baby, bringing us down soft and slow as the lights blink on Wilshire Boulevard.”
Thelma certainly hoped she wasn’t on Wilshire Boulevard. But with how thick the soup was, she supposed it was possible.There’s an intersection around here somewhere…Ah! There was the stop sign! At least she saw that.
“But don’t hang up your saddle shoes just yet—we’re flipping the mood from moonlight to madness. Coming at you now on Channel 98, it’s The Champs, and they only need one word to say it…”
Thelma accelerated as soon as Mr. Reed snapped his fingers.
“Tequila, baby! This is KFWB 980 AM with all the hits!”
As the instrumental riff began, Thelma swung the Impala into the road and continued to contend with the fog.
Static blended into the music.
Her hands were hot in her gloves as she remained steadfast against the steering wheel.
The fog grew denser—something sank into the pit of Thelma’s stomach.
“What the…”
B. Mitchel Reed was gone. The Champs were gone. No more tequila… just another man speaking directly into a mic from averydifferent station.
