Miriam kept one eye on Megan as she said, “Yeah, but she’s sick. Been sick for a long time. She lives in a home.”
Something sank in Thelma’s stomach. Perhaps it was the acknowledgment that she had known, this whole time, that something had happened to one of her children. “A home?”
“You know. For old people.”
“Oh… but she’s younger than your father. She would only be sixty-five.”
“Doesn’t stop dementia.”
“De… dementia…”
Thelma had to sit with that. All while her granddaughter awkwardly unwrapped the candy and made a sour face when she tasted it—as if Thelma hadn’t bought it fresh a week ago.
Perhaps, unlike her, it had aged sixty years overnight.
Agent Ortiz showed Thelma outside when the sunset was about to begin.
It was Thelma’s first time outside since being apprehended at her car. She didn’t know what to expect. Not in the middle of the city, which had been rough in the 1950s. Was it still a place she’d rather not be?
But there was a park across the street from the FBI building, and Miriam received permission to take Thelma there for some fresh air before they returned to her hotel room.
She closed off her perception to the way modern cars looked, but she couldn’t drown out the cacophonous sounds of their motors. Nor could she hold her breath against the fumes infiltrating her lungs as she and Miriam crossed at the light. The agent was always a few steps ahead, but her attention was on Thelma, who could walk into traffic at any moment.
She didn’t want to. She was dedicated to remaining steadfast.
The park boasted a few walking paths, some benches, and a fountain that sprang water straight from the ground. Someone’s dog ran through the next burst of water that was perfectly timed with a few birds flying by overhead. When Thelma turned her head back toward the couple with the dog, she noted the plain T-shirt and baggy shorts of the man. He was so ridiculously casual that Thelma wondered when she last saw a man’s bare legs that weren’t her husband’s.
“It’s been a crazy day, huh?” Miriam asked as they sat on a bench far away from others.
Thelma couldn’t respond at first. She was focused on the orange of the sky and the warm breeze that felt good against her cheeks. “I don’t think ‘crazy’ quite covers it, Miriam. My husband is dead.” She had found out earlier.Died of a heart attack in 1982. He wasn’t even sixty.“My daughter has dementia. My son… it’s like he’s looking at a ghost. Is that how these ‘reunions’ usually go?”
“I’ve only seen a few, but… yeah. It’s a lot for people to take in.” Miriam swung her arm back behind the bench, her left hand lingering in her lap. It wasn’t the first time Thelma noticed a wedding ring on her finger.A married woman working a job like this. How about that?Those things piqued her interest more than the bright, loud cars and the glass buildings in the distance. “Before I started this gig, I had no idea that time travel was a thing. Never mind that we had known about it for over a hundred years, or that it comes from that thick fog we sometimes see. Now we’ve got it down to a science. We see the fog forming, and we start shutting the area down under the guise of road safety, all because we know some time travelers might come through. Then the hunt for their identity, their loved ones, begins. Yours is one of the fastest I’ve seen. You’re lucky that your kids never moved away from LA.”
“Suppose so. Hopefully, my Robbie comes around. At least my granddaughter seems… nice. Very kind and helpful.” Yes, those were two nice things she could say about the gregarious Megan, whose stomach hung out of her shirt and whose arm sported a tattoo, of all things.
They were quiet for a moment. Thelma couldn’t stop staring at Miriam’s hand.
“Why don’t we go back to my hotel room so you can go home to your family?” She gestured to Miriam’s ring. “Your husband must be waiting. Do you have children?”
“Ah… no kids. It’s really not a big deal. My w—I mean, my spouse knows what kind of hours I keep. It’s why they work third shift.”
Thelma’s perceptive ears had picked up what Miriam was about to say. “Your… wife?”
The woman blushed. “Yeah. Same-sex marriage is a thing now. You’ll find out about that in your history classes.”
“I see.” She considered that for a moment. “Isee.”
“Yeah, so, um…”
“A wife. How about that?” Thelma chuckled. “That was unheard of to me two days ago. Yet here I am. Next to a woman with a wife.”
“Uh…”
“I wonder if Sandy ever got herself a wife?”
“Who’s Sandy? Your sister?”
Thelma stared off into the distance, remembering her oldest friend’s gentle touch, her happy kisses, and her romantic way with words.I wonder if she’s still alive.Would it be possible to find her? To say how much she missed her? To opine that they couldn’t have had one more afternoon together?Even if she’s alive… she would be in her late eighties.Sandy hoped she would become the bigshot writer she always dreamed of being.
