Page 9 of Maybe Some Other Time
If this were a disgusting joke, then it was good. Hollywoodgood.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered between her fingers. “What is this? What is happening? I…”
The agents were quiet as she let the tears fall down her face again. Thelma removed the handkerchief from her head, shaking out her curls and dabbing the cloth against her eyes. She continued to stare at the black and white photo of her at a city picnic in the summer of 1957.Bill took this picture…He must have given it to the police when Thelma… never… returned…
“My husband.” She glanced up at Agent Thornwood. “What happened to Bill?”
The two men exchanged a look. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Van der Graaf,” Agent Wilcox answered. “It’s policy to not reveal that kind of information so soon after a jump as large as yours. Besides, we are still trying to locate your next of kin. A lot has happened to your bloodline in the past sixty years.”
“My parents…” She sighed. “They would be dead, wouldn’t they?”
They didn’t answer.
“Bill… Debbie…” She sniffed. “Robbie.” On that name, she choked again. All she saw was what she had seen three hours ago, when she smoothed down his sweaty hair and left him on the couch. “I left the house to get him milk from the store. The milkman hadn’t been by to deliver anything the past two days. You have to understand, it happened to be shopping night at the market. They were open until eight. I had to… milk for Robbie…”
She realized she was slightly hyperventilating. Lest she lose all composure in front of these gentlemen, Thelma closed her eyes and inhaled deeply enough to steady her breath again.
“Sandy…”
“This is a monumental thing that has happened to you, Mrs. Van der Graaf,” Agent Thornwood said with practiced sympathy.“We want you to know that the United States government is prepared to help you not only find your surviving family, but also ensure your transition to modern life. You are not the first victim of this phenomenon. The only reassurance we can truly give you is that we’re prepared and have standards and practices.”
“So…” Thelma placed her hands back on her purse atop her lap. “What happens now? What’s next?”
Both men appeared relieved that she was, thus far, accepting her fate.I’m just in shock.She was well-acquainted with the sensation, after all.The things I’ve seen…The Depression. World War II. Thelma lived a middle-class life, but what that meant differed depending on the decade. She had seen dead, emaciated men from Oklahoma who desperately attempted to get to California. She had seen the poor and dead babies born to women who couldn’t get proper care during the Depression. She had seen limbs ripped from sailors who returned home from the Pacific Theatre. If anything, the past ten years of her life had beencharmed,and she had endured childbirth without painkillers twice.
And there was still the chance that this was all a dream. She hoped.
“We find it best,” Agent Wilcox began, “to assign you a hotel room on behalf of the US government. Not only will you be provided shelter, Mrs. Van der Graaf, but we will ensure you are fed and connected with our network of support groups, therapists, and classes that will catch you up to speed on the past few decades you’ve missed. You will meet other time travelers such as yourself. And, hopefully, we will be in contact with your next of kin, who can take you in and provide you with a support system. For some travelers, the time traveled is too great for there to be living relatives who still know you, but there’s a chance for you. We’re searching for your children as we speak.”
“My children.” Yes. As long as there was a chance that either of her children was still alive sixty years later, she would hold on. Thelma would wait for them. And, with any luck, they’d still know that she was their mother.
“We don’t mean to get your hopes up. There’s still the chance that they’re either impossible to get a hold of, or…”
“You don’t have to say. I’m well aware of what sixty years might look like.”
“Right.” Agent Wilcox nodded to Agent Thornwood, who got up with a charming, boyish smile, tapped the folders against the table, and exited through the only door in the room. “My partner will check on how your next steps are going. Meanwhile, I urge you to understand the gravity of what has happened to you, Mrs. Van der Graaf. Honestly, we know little about how the fog works. We only know that it does—and what it does is appear with enough warning for us to block it off and prepare for arrivals. That’s why we greeted you tonight. We didn’t know who was coming through—or from when—but we knew at least one person would. It was you. Now, you are part of something miraculous. Something science still has not yet explained. Mrs. Van der Graaf, I have been assigned to what we call the Fog Unit for over fifteen years. I’m still amazed by it, even though I’ve greeted dozens of time travelers by now. Sometimes we get many in one year. Sometimes nobody comes through. So far, you’re the only one for 2018, and we’re a quarter of the way through the year.”
“Twenty-eighteen,” she repeated back at him. “I can’t even fathom it.”
“We know. Which is why when you’re moved to a hotel room for the next night or two, it will be one connected to our field office here that has been specifically designed to keep your mental peace in mind. From now on, it’s gentle steps. There is so much for you to learn about modern life.” Someone knocked onthe door. Agent Wilcox turned around, motioning for a woman with long brown hair and a synthetic suit to enter. “This is Agent Ortiz. She has been assigned to you as your modern liaison.”
“Hello, Thelma.” The shorter woman with a garish badge on her chest rounded the table and extended her hand. “I’m Miriam Ortiz. I will be escorting you to your room and will ensure you have whatever you need to be comfortable. We’re on the same team.”
“The same team…” When Thelma extended her hand—white, gloved—she realized how silly she looked next to this “modern” woman with a streak of color in her hair, her top blouse buttons undone, and tight pants on her legs. Although the female agent’s mien was kind, Thelma felt like she was done up in a costume compared to her.Or is she the one in the costume?No. It was Thelma. She was the only one who looked radically out of place in her full skirt, white gloves, and curls. “Pleasure to meet you, Agent Ortiz.”
“Please. Miriam is fine.”
Thelma tested that name on her lips. “Miriam. Then call me Thelma.”
She was stuck to that chair while the agents conferred, planned, and “made calls” on their devices shoved into their pockets. Thelma wanted to know about those the most, but kept her mouth shut as she continued to glance at the clock and contended with the fatigue claiming her tense muscles. She had been on edge for so long that the thought of staying in a hotel room and sleeping in a proper bed almost made up for the terror she had been through.
Soon enough, Miriam asked Thelma to go with her.
“We’ve had to impound your car for now for evidence,” she said as she led Thelma down a dark and dour hallway. “Mostly for research purposes. You’ll get it back eventually, but it might be a few weeks.”
Thelma said nothing. She merely took one step after another, clutching her purse to her stomach and occasionally catching glimpses of her reflection in the walls. When they stepped into an elevator, she was faced with a mirror. Her makeup had run and she looked a right mess.
“So, 1958, huh?”
