Page 98 of Maybe Some Other Time
“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 herhaven of theknownand thrust into the impossiblefuturethat 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.
Thelma didn’t know how these things worked in the future. Should she call? Text? Ring the bell and grovel?No, she made it pretty clear.There had been accusations that everyone was pranking her. When it finally sank in that,yes,that was a real FBI office and those wererealFBI agents, Gretchen refused to speak to anyone. Unfortunately, Thelma was informed that wasoften how things worked when someone found out about time travel against their will.
Thelma surveyed the living room, thinking of the perfect place to put up a tree with all the trimmings.I think they have some stuff up in the attic.She would head there as soon as she unpacked her things.
She hadn’t even made it halfway up the stairs when Robbie stumbled through the front door, mouth slightly agape as he realized his mother was home.
“Hello,” she greeted, still on the stairs. “I just got back about fifteen minutes ago. Do you need me to move the car out of the garage?”
He continued to stare at her as if she were a ghost.
“I saidhello,Robbie.”
Something melted the time between them. With a grunt, Robbie hung up his coat and went into the kitchen. Thelma followed, if only because she was tired of his rudeness.It’s been almost nine months. He can acknowledge me!How much effort did it take to sayhello?For the Lord’s sake, he didn’t have to like her. God knew the only reason this grown man was tolerating her was because of their blood connection and whatever sense of guilthewas still capable of after sixty years of festering resentment!
“I was about to make some dinner.” She addressed Robbie, who washed his hands in the kitchen sink. “Was thinking about shepherd’s pie, since there’s chicken in the fridge that needs to be used. Guess I can use the instant potatoes to save me time.” She wasn’t the biggest fan, but mashed potatoes took too much effort right now, and she wasn’t about to askRobbieto help her when he was already in a mood.
To heck with it! He was always in a mood!
“Anyway, do we have fresh milk in the fridge? I haven’t had a chance to check. I only know about the chicken because it’sthe frozen one I told Megan not to touch, so I’d have something to cook when I got home. You two are absolutely miserable at shopping when I’m not around. How did you even—”
Robbie smacked his wet hands against the edge of the sink. “Do you evershut up?”
His voice shattered any placid vibrations in the house. Thelma stood by the dining table, frozen like the ice in the freezer, as if that was how they found her after sixty years.Frozen, preserved, in my stupid car.Now she thawed, only to find that her son had lived a whole life of cracking resentment.
“Robert William Van der Graaf.” Her need to assert some authority in the situation came naturally, as if she had been a full-time mother since the day thismansprang from her womb nearly nine years ago. “How dare you speak to your mother like that?”
He turned his whole body toward her, water still dripping from his fingertips as he leveled the most callous gaze to have slapped a mother on her cheek.
“You arenotmy mother.”
Thelma swallowed. She was winded, but not yet tumbling to the floor, ready to dissipate into the cold air as if she were fine china obliterated into dust. “Fine,” she squeaked, frustrated that she couldn’t address this retired man the way she truly desired.Nobody talks to me like this. Certainly no old fogeys like him.Certainlynother own living, breathing son. After everything Thelma had done for him in the eight years they had together… “If that’s how you want to think about it. If I’m not your mother, then why am I here in this house?”
“I don’t know!” Water droplets flew across the kitchen as Robbie tossed both hands up in disgust. “You’re my niece. Let’s just stick to the story. Come and go as you please. Do whatever you need to do. Just don’t go pretending you’re my mother.”
Thelma gently gripped the back of one of the dining chairs. “What happened to your mother, then? Where did she go?”
His grunt was louder than his words. “She’s gone! Left one night. Never came back. Probably dead.” He couldn’t look at her anymore. “Let herstaydead.”
Dead.That’s what Thelma was. In a way, she thought of herself as the same.The old me is dead. She died earlier this year.Whatever “year” it was.1958. 2018. It’s honestly the same.She had been a fuzzy caterpillar who wrapped herself in the cocoon of the Impala and went into stasis, deconstructing her entire body, her very soul, until she reemerged as a modern woman who got to live a new life.
She hadn’t asked for it. And something Robbie had said in there disturbed her.
