“You’re kidding!” Thelma exclaimed. “Look at you! Getting frisky at, what, fifteen?”
“Fifteen? No way. More like seventeen.”
“Oh, well, excuse me.”
“Ironically enough, she was the daughter of my aunt’s neighbor. Very influential on me.”
“Did you do more than ‘make out?’”
“Well, now, that depends on your definition. Especially at seventeen.”
“Oh, my, at seventeen I barely knew what I wanted! That was for college.”
“Yeah, don’t worry, I didn’t get more action until twenty. But I rode that high for three years.”
Thelma almost rolled off her car, laughing.
“How about you? Where did you kiss your first girl?”
“Same time I first kissed anyone. College. Her dorm room.”
“Naughty, Thelma.”
“Wasn’t I, though? Of course, it didn’t feel naughty to me. I was quite in the moment and feeling like a young, free thing. I didn’t sense a shred of guilt until I was alone later. And only because of all the strange messages I was raised with. My culture was quite… prudish. And homophobic.”
“I’m sure it was. Sorry you had to deal with that.”
“It was what I knew. I never thought I’d live somewhere I could sit here with another woman and so openly think about kissing her.”
She wished she could see more of Gretchen’s profile in the dark, but what shedidsee when her date ran a hand through her hair and tittered was perfect. “Yeah?” Gretchen cleared her throat and redonned her confident posture. “So, you’re still thinking about kissing me?”
“I haven’t stopped.”
This time, when Gretchen came in with ready lips, Thelma was there to greet her.
Chapter eighteen
Mulberry
She was still on cloud nine that next Wednesday when she reported for duty at the library alongside Robbie, who always marched on ahead of her and got right to work on his Westerns display. This time, Thelma couldn’t care less as she popped into the back, greeted her fellow volunteers and the staff who were paid to be there, and received tasks from the head librarian on duty. Today, she was shelving. Perfect for her constant daydreaming about Saturday night, especially when she returned some of the steamier Romance novels to the shelves.
I bet Gretchen is a better lover than any of these fine gentlemen.Thelma could barely keep her giggles to herself as she shoved some Nora Roberts where they belonged.The way she touched me…She almost dropped a particularly heavy book.Goodness.
While they hadn’t “gone all the way” Saturday night, theyhadended up back home in Gretchen’s house, sharing kisses in between late-night tea. This time, when things got heavy,Thelma didn’t panic—she was asked if she was all rightrepeatedly,but Gretchen’s undershirt groping wasfunthis time. Their clothes stayed on, but the intent was there. When Thelma finally returned home next door, it was with fluttering eyelashes and a promise for another date “soon.”
And a lot of quiet touching of herself in her bed, even though she was home alone for most of the night. But there was too much pressure she had to let off! Before she blew!
The only thing keeping her from fully indulging in the idea of falling in love again was, well, reality. All she had to do was glance at her son standing behind the front counter and be reminded thatthings were weird.Thelma had begun her relationship with a lie. A big one.I’m not what she thinks I am.Thelma hadn’t been raised in a cult. Her children were inaccessible as she had last seen them. Bill was dead because he grew old—but he hadn’t been old when Thelma married him.
Then therewasthe truth about Robbie. That was her son. The DNA test—something straight out of science fiction—couldn’t lie.That test is the only reason he begrudgingly believes in time travel now.Thelma often held in what she really felt about the situation. That, if Robbie would simply listen to her, talk to her… she would just be grateful to have him in her life for as long as they were both around.
Because she had to deal with that reality as well. Robbie was almost seventy. Thelma counted her blessings she got to see her baby boy again when so many other chrononauts didn’t. But they couldn’t have a relationship if he kept shutting her out.He doesn’t even have to call me Mom. He can call me Thelma.She had told him as much when returning from Lake Tahoe that summer, but it meant nothing.
“Excuse me!”
Thelma jumped when she realized a patron had been trying to talk to her. “I’m sorry!” She had been staring at her son fromacross the room, another Nora Roberts book hanging from her hand. “What was it that you needed?”
The woman wanted to know where to find the sociology books. Thelma took her to them in the 300s section across the way, and after dropping her off, happened to turn around and find the LGBT nonfiction section on the other side of the aisle.
