Maybe Some Other Time, page 28
“But, what?”
Thelma pivoted directly into Gretchen. “But it’s no coincidence, right? That right when I needed someone the most, they appeared.”
“You mean me?”
“It’s not like I was looking…”
Gretchen hugged her again. Every time we’re ensconced in one another… Thelma felt a little lighter. A little more protected. She nuzzled her nose against Gretchen’s shoulder and maneuvered a hand beneath her jacket. For a few blessed moments, they watched a city like Las Vegas slowly pass by, giggles, laughter, and shouts of disbelief erupting behind them—but never distracting them from each other.
“I’m glad I met you, Gretch.”
The hand on her waist momentarily lightened before squeezing her with every ounce of strength in Gretchen’s body. “I’m glad I met you, too. Even if you’re Robert’s niece…”
“About that…”
But Thelma had no intention of sharing the truth that night. Let her think whatever she wants about me. Thelma knew a kiss was coming, and she would be damned by her own guardian angel if she passed the prime opportunity.
She wasn’t sure, but Thelma swore that fireworks exploded in the distance the moment her lips landed on Gretchen’s.
The silliest thing wasn’t that Thelma went with Gretchen up to her room. It was that Gretchen thought Thelma might be nervous to be alone with a bed present between them.
If anything, she couldn’t wait to close the sheer curtains while leaving open the blackouts. Gretchen’s view of the Strip wasn’t grand, but it was inspiring enough for Thelma to remove her denim jacket and toss it atop Gretchen’s on the back of a lounge chair.
“This is a big leap up from my couch with my cat watching,” she joked as she came up behind Thelma, who still gazed out the window. “but, you know, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want—”
She was cut off by Thelma pushing her back from the window. Toward the bed.
“There’s a lot that I want,” Thelma sultrily declared as Gretchen sat on the bed. “But rarely do people let me tell them what that is.”
“Well, uh…” Ever the consummate date, Gretchen maintained whatever veneer of confidence her own guardian angel had graced upon her. “What do you want, Thel?”
Thelma reached behind her back and tugged on her zipper. “To feel like my own woman in this very confusing world.”
Gretchen said nothing. She merely watched as Thelma lowered the bust of her dress before letting it all pool at her feet.
Gone were her days of garter belts and heavy-duty bras. The physique Gretchen beheld was a bra fitted on her by a kindly helper in a department store and a demure slip that allowed her to keep some semblance of modesty beneath her dress. Too bad I don’t have a bunch of feathers. Thelma reached behind herself again and unsnapped her bra. Gretchen’s mouth fell slightly, but she did not protest the unveiling of Thelma Van der Graaf’s breasts.
“And…” Thelma bridged the gap between them, hardly aware that more than her nipples were peaked. “I want you.”
She was high on the fever this woman, this new life, gave her. This sinful city has me in its clutches. Bibles burned at the pulpit of her youth as she tossed her clothes onto the floor and announced her nudity to the only woman who would know what to do with it now that they were alone in a hotel room.
Thelma had earned this. After everything, from the fears consuming her adrenaline-riddled body one foggy night, to the realities of a brand-new world, she wanted to face a new year in a new universe with her spirit bare and free.
I’ve earned this.
She had checked off the what-ifs from her list. She had followed the what to the if and ended up here, with Gretchen, a woman who brought her down onto the bed with the hunger of someone who had never wanted for another’s companionship—yet she was eager to know Thelma’s, as if their angels had conspired to shield them from the world with feathery wings.
I’ll fly away before I let her out of my sight.
Thelma abandoned who she was and who she once had been. There was only the person who had dreamed of the kind of serendipity that swelled with waves and blew on cool breezes. This body—the one that had been through a Depression, rations, and given birth to two babies in three years—was hers to wield and to experience the world through as she gave everything to Gretchen, who soon had her pressing into the mattress with the full weight of her body. Sweat from their shared movements was nothing less than the hot, whimsical days at the beach with friends and her favorite cousin; cries of carnal desperation echoed down the midnight hallways of an all-girls’ dorm; fervent flirtations danced between bites of cucumber sandwiches and sips of freshly brewed iced tea.
They were all Thelma’s memories. As tactile and lush as the memory she created now.
Kisses crashed all over her body, and the sheets moved with her limbs. She explored a new part of herself while getting to know every delectable inch of Gretchen’s emerging, womanly form. A whole new life, a new avenue of potential opened before her that went beyond white-picket fences and children playing in the yard. None of that is here right now. How could it be? She was in Vegas. She was in this ephemeral plane of non-existence that was akin to a heavenly purgatory.
Maybe she had died all those months ago. Maybe her steadfastness carried her this far, and soon, she would ascend.
She saw the performers’ neon feathers swaying before her blurry eyes with every thrust of their entwined bodies. If there were such things as angels, did they have to be all white? Could their wings be baby pink or a light, dewy green? What would happen if Thelma stole one and used it to fly high, high above the thickening fog that consumed her one fateful night?
She was consumed now. By something else.
By freedom. By love. By her sense of self.
She had followed the what-ifs and pulled on their thin threads. Thelma unraveled the universe that had been waiting for her. She followed the signs. She heard the voice of her guardian angel whispering to her from sixty years into the future, guiding her to where Thelma Van der Graaf belonged.
“My, my…” Sandy stood in the bedroom doorway, surveying the scene of naked Thelma and the new lover who devoured her like a damned dame possessed. “What have the angels delivered to me today?”
When Thelma clasped a hand that was not her own, billowing with burgeoning pleasure, she finally let the past go.
Chapter twenty-one
From the Grave
“You’re telling me that after sixty years…” Thelma shut the door on the trunk and approached the driver’s side door of Robbie’s SUV, which she had borrowed for the shopping trip. “They still don’t have a Thanksgiving song? You’re telling me that Frank Sinatra never got anyone on that?”
Pauline got in on the passenger side. Together, they were the admirable sight of two women in their finest who were about to cook some of the recipes of a vintage American past. “Irving Berlin never getting around to it is what gets me. Did you know that guy lived until the late ‘80s? Was over a hundred!”
“You’re kidding. Judy always sang his songs the best.”
Thelma was about to turn on the ignition when she saw a teenage girl in a baggy sweater and leggings pointing in her direction. What is that about? Sure, Thelma had done herself up that day in her curls and “vintage” makeup, but most people didn’t actually stare at her. If anything, she received compliments for her “classic” style. Then again, kids can be cruel.
“If you told me that the little girl starring in those movies with Mickey Rooney was gonna be such a huge star, I would’ve laughed at you.” Pauline put her phone away as Thelma pulled out of the grocery store parking lot. “That’s how time goes, though. You never really know who became famous and who faded into obscurity. Nobody knows who Frank Fay is anymore! Oh, but they know Barbara Stanwyck!”
“To be fair, Barbara was lovely. I had the biggest crush on her in high school.”
“And I missed the ‘40s! What about it?”
Thelma almost missed the green light from laughing so hard. Yet the man in the car behind her helpfully blasted his horn at her to make her go. “Oh, cut it out!” she snapped into the rearview mirror as the smooth ride of her son’s SUV hurtled her home. “I swear, people have no patience these days. If I could change anything about the future, it’s this penchant for rudeness!”
“You’re telling me. I’m used to saucy swearing and having two left feet, but some of these men today have absolutely no respect for a lady. My father would shoot ‘em. Hell, my mother would shoot ‘em to hear the way they’ve talked to me!”
Thelma told her about the young man who had hung out his window and catcalled Thelma at a red light. The fact that Robbie had been a part of it made Pauline die of secondhand embarrassment, but Thelma had reached a point where she could laugh even harder at her preposterous reality.
They had spent the better part of that Tuesday afternoon shopping for and gathering supplies for Thanksgiving dinner, which was shaping up to be a grand affair at Thelma’s place. Six people! I can hardly believe it. Besides her immediate family, Pauline and Ethan were swinging by, and Gretchen had promised to bite her tongue around Robbie. The only person missing would be Emma, who was having Thanksgiving with her own family. I can’t wait to cook for everyone. Thelma remembered all her favorite Thanksgiving recipes by heart and was about to embark on a pie-baking spree that night. The fact that they were capable of finding a decent turkey that late in the game cheered her up almost as much as the feelings still swimming inside of her after Vegas.
She hadn’t told anybody about that. Not even Megan knew that her grandmother had spent the night making love and remembering what it was like to be independent and free.
Now Gretchen would have Thanksgiving dinner with everyone. Wasn’t it lovely?
“Hope you don’t mind if I leave some of these groceries with you all until Thursday.” Pauline popped some gum into her mouth as they approached the residential streets. “I can’t believe I have to work tomorrow. They gave me every day but Wednesday off this week!”
“That’s diabolical. But of course. You’re still planning on swinging by early on Thursday, though, right?”
“Around nine, yes.”
“Megan says she wants to help and learn from some ‘historical’ pros.” Thelma turned down her street. “You ask me, nine is way too early for that night owl to get up. But she might just have to.”
“Great. A sleepy-headed student in the kitchen. Shall we give her the potatoes to peel?”
“Only if we want her blood all over the sink.”
Thelma pulled into the driveway. One light was on upstairs, where Megan probably hung out after coming home from class. Next door, Gretchen’s truck was missing from her own driveway. She said she had to work this week. They landed a big construction project that kicks into high gear next week. Already, Thelma missed her—although, experience in marriage told her she didn’t need to be with her girlfriend all the time. Having separate space was imperative! I’ll see her again on Thursday. Probably not any sooner, since there was so much prep to do.
But if they could steal a moment for themselves after the dishes were done and everyone else had their food comas…
“Helllooo.” Pauline snapped her fingers by Thelma’s dreamy head. “Earth to Thel. What’s got you spacing out? Thinking about that girl again, are you?”
Thelma attempted to brush it off like the mature, grown woman she was, but just one look at Pauline’s knowing face made her sputter in withheld titters. “No,” she squeaked. “Thinking about that woman.”
“Uh-huh… well, try to keep the lovemaking to a minimum on Thursday. My husband is easily distracted by awkward family moments.”
“For the love of… my son will be there! And my granddaughter!”
“Something tells me it’s your son that will be the biggest thorn in your merry side.”
Thelma shrugged as she unhitched her seatbelt and opened her door. “He can gripe all he wants. He’s not my keeper.”
“That’s right, hon. We left that shit long behind.”
Thelma considered that as Pauline got out. With a flick of the fob in her hand, the trunk opened without her having to get out of the car as well. Robbie is not my keeper… Even if Thelma had lived her natural life and now needed to reside with her son for medical reasons, he would still not be her keeper. Just because she had been a fish out of water when she first arrived in this era didn’t mean he could dictate who she dated or how she chose to live the rest of the life God granted her. That’s between me and the Lord. And whatever person she decided to remarry!
I still can’t get over it… same-sex marriage… in this day and age…
She went to help Pauline haul the groceries into the house. When she rounded the SUV, however, she saw some people crossing the street.
She vaguely recognized them as next-door neighbors from across the way. The younger man was named Ben and lived with his elderly mother. The middle-aged woman was Heather, and she was nosier than any of the other ladies on Hemlock Street. Ask me how I know. Thelma was well-trained against women like Heather, who joined forces with Ben as they approached with the kind of friendly, neighborly smiles that instantly put Thelma on edge.
“Thelma, right?” Heather extended her hand and weakly shook Thelma’s fingers before retracting her digits close to her chest. A rose pink sweater hung loosely from her boxy body, and the graying brown of her hair fluttered in the breeze. Ben, on the other hand, wore a brown T-shirt and khaki shorts, impervious to the November chill. “Heather Davidson. From the white house right there.”
“Of course. And yes, my name is Thelma.”
“Thelma Van der Graaf.” Ben grinned like he had discovered her deepest, darkest secret and was about to tell the whole world. That’s impossible. Yet Thelma was now on edge, her ears ringing and her cortisol levels rising. “Robert’s niece, yeah? You really are the spitting image of your grandmother!”
Pauline closed the trunk, only holding one shopping bag in her arms. “What’s going on?”
“Please, don’t mind us,” Heather cheerfully said. “We’re true crime fanatics, that’s all.”
“I don’t think Thelma knows anything about that.”
Thelma held her hand up to Pauline, insinuating that she would handle this. “Can I help you with something? Is this regarding my… grandmother?”
Ben almost gave it away when he snickered, covering his mouth with the hasty motion of a boy in trouble. Heather ensured that she gave him the side-eye of the year, anyway.
“As I said, we’re a couple of true crime fanatics who have followed your grandmother’s case ever since we found out about it years ago. Semi-famous case in this area, even though she wasn’t from Van Nuys.”
“I suppose Robbie living here made it more personal for you.”
“Oh, Robert is so closed-mouthed about it, but that’s how he always is!” Heather huffed. “We just wanted to come say hi. Happy Thanksgiving, and all that.”
Something about this encounter tripped Thelma’s warning bells, and it wasn’t because the neighbors had never really spoken to her before. “Is that all?”
“Well…” Ben tugged at the goatee struggling to grow on his chin. Just shave it off, young man. Thelma thought that while simultaneously acknowledging that, biologically, they were probably the same age. Is he a father yet, though? Didn’t think so. “We couldn’t help but notice that you look a lot like her. I mean, a lot. Especially when you, quite frankly, dress up like her.”
Thelma refused to cast her gaze downward or show them how much that otherwise unnerved her. “I don’t ‘dress up’ like anyone but myself.”
“Of course! And you look utterly lovely in those vintage clothes.” Heather grinned. “Actually, you remind me a lot of my grandmother. My mother had me young, you see, so my grandmother was the quintessential 1950s housewife. Styled herself just like you! She was all about the shirt dresses and curls. All you’re ever missing is a set of pearls!”
“I’ve never cared much for pearls, honestly,” Thelma said. She didn’t care much for necklaces in general, especially those that wrapped more closely to her throat than Catholic beads. “If it’s styling tips you’re after, Megan knows more about how to find those online than I do. I’ve just always done myself up like this.”
“Riiiiight.” Ben snickered again. This time, Pauline wasn’t backing down.
“We’ve got a lot of frozen groceries to unload for Thanksgiving,” she said with her curt politeness that Thelma often tried to emulate. “Sorry.”
“And you are?” Heather asked, incredulous.
“Pauline. Thelma’s friend.”
“Her friend! Well, how about that? We’ll leave you to it, then.” Heather motioned for Ben to come with her back across the street. “Happy Thanksgiving, ladies, and thank you for humoring us.”
Pauline watched after them as Thelma opened the truck again and grabbed everything she could carry. “What a couple of weirdos,” Pauline said as she followed Thelma to the front door. “It’s none of their business who you look like.”
Thelma didn’t bother turning on the lights as she headed straight back to the kitchen, where she planted the bags on the island counter and shook out her limbs. “Perhaps not.” She began meticulously unpacking the bags to assess what needed to go into the freezer first. “But I think they’re on to me. Or something.”
“Hmm. That would be something, all right, considering your missing persons case is considered closed by the government.”
“But it’s cold, according to the public.”
“Indeed. True crime enthusiasts are a thorn in our sides, though. Luckily, my parents couldn’t file any such report on me back in the ‘30s. Didn’t have a birth certificate, either. Do you know how much convincing I had to do to ensure those FBI numb nuts knew who I was? They had no record of my existence!”
