The red and blue and white balloons hung around the park as dozens of employees filled the grass on assorted blankets eating food that was fried and grilled, and created an aroma in the air that reminded Pam of going to the Wilkes-Barre County Fair when she was a little girl. Her stomach turned over as she looked around at all of the different families, throwing around the Frisbees, and kicking soccer balls around. She glanced around, trying to find the Red t-shirts of her fellow co-workers and saw them all gathered around someone near the face painting tent. She began to wonder why she’d even come alone in the first place. It had been a stupid idea, thinking that she should socialize more with her co-workers. What was she thinking? She assumed it was Michael who was standing in the middle of the group, gesturing something with his arms. As she began to walk the other way to grab something to drink she heard him calling her,
“Pam! Pam!” Michael called to her, waving his arms. She rolled her eyes and sighed, tugging at the bottom of her shirt, trying to pull it further down her midriff. It was a bit too short.

“Helloooooo? Pamela!” He was starting to get frustrated, she considered keeping her eyes averted, but instead appeased him,

“Hi Michael,” she said quietly.

Joining the rest of the group she began to turn around, not focusing on Michael’s speech about how they were going to “kick ass” in the volleyball tournaments this year. Michaels’ booming voice began to silence in her ears and all she could hear was the beating of her heart, thumping against her eardrums as she watched behind her, wondering if he’d show up. It had been months since she’d even spoken with him. The emails had stopped, he hadn’t come to the last meeting that was held for salesmen, (or at least that’s what Michael had said when she’d asked) and every time she went on the Dunder Mifflin website, the picture from last year’s Stamford Branch hadn’t been updated. Pam started to wonder if she could be charged with a misdemeanor, some days it felt like she was stalking him. But it only was because she was forgetting the way his dimples appeared when he smiled, or how his eyes lit up every time he asked her to pull a prank on Dwight.

She felt her stomach turn over, as she caught someone in a yellow shirt, the cotton stretched across her taut belly, linking hands with the lanky man she’d been hoping wouldn’t come

“Pam?” Her plan of studying a piece of grass laying on her white sneaker, and pretending to be invisible hadn’t worked.

“Pam Beesly?” His hair was pushed to the side; a toothy grin appeared on his face as he walked over and wrapped his arm around her frame, hugging her unexpectedly.

“Hey,” She stammered, lifting her right foot behind her left.

“I wondered if you’d be here today. God… it’s so good to see you.” She couldn’t believe how genuine he sounded; if only her chest wasn’t pinched, she might be able to hold a normal conversation with him. She glanced behind him to the woman that was now watching her, her lips parted into a smile when Jim turned around to beckon her.

“Sarah, this is Pam, you remember, I told you about Pam?” At the mention of Pam’s name, Sarah slipped her arm around Jim’s waist.

“Of course,” Sarah’s dark hair was in a bob, curling right under her ears. She was just a hair shorter than Jim, and Pam tried not to notice how thin she looked; she could barely tell the woman was pregnant.

“The artist…right?” Sarah asked shaking her hand. Pam caught the glitter of the ring on her left finger and swallowed.

“I try, you know,” Pam remarked shyly.

“I hoped I’d see you at the picnic last year, but you weren’t here,” Jim cocked his head confused.

“Yeah, Roy and I uhh…” Pam glanced down; she was having trouble keeping his gaze.

“We were having some issues, and so I just decided it’d be best to stay home,” she nodded trying to convince both Jim and herself.

“Well, God, it’s just…really, really great to see you Pam,” Her hands clenched, trying to ignore the sparkle in his eyes. He was happy. He was giving her the look he used to give when they’d sneak away together, just to escape Michael, and now it was for someone else. Someone prettier, someone younger, someone who was carrying his child.

“You too,” Pam retorted.

“So, um…what’s new with you?” Pam hated small talk, and now she was participating in it.

“Well, actually,” Jim looked to Sarah with a smile, “I’ve been going back to school to get my degree in teaching English, and I’m done next month,” he laughed a bit at the end of his sentence.

“Jim, that’s…” she was speechless, “that’s so great!” Pam nodded, pressing her lips together. She truly was happy for him, he deserved all of this.

“What about you?” Jim asked.

“Oh you know, still in Scranton. I um, I finally applied to art school though,”

“You did? Pam, that’s great!” Jim smiled, and touched her arm. She felt goose bumps crawl up her arms.

“I guess I should get back,” she pointed behind her at Michael.

“Yeah, yeah definitely,” Jim nodded, swallowing, and looking back at Michael with a smile.
“It was really nice to meet you,” Sarah smiled warmly and patted Pam’s arm with her hand.
“You too,” Pam tilted her head, nausea starting to creep up in her throat.

“Stay in touch Pam,” Jim said quietly, just to her. She nodded, wondering if he meant it, and watched him walk off. She sighed watching them walk off together, linking hands once again- Jim laughing at something Sarah had said. It was clear he was just so happy, Pam wondered if one day she’d be happy too.

***
The picture on Claire’s desk, Popsicle stick framed, a little felt heart in the corner, was mocking her as she stared at it. It was warm the day that photo was taken, the sun was shining in her eyes when her mother told her to say cheese, her father’s arms wrapped around her and a smile on his face. She shut her eyes tightly trying to place herself back on that day, just when she was trying to remember what the beach smelled like, it started in again. She could hear her father downstairs, moving about the kitchen talking to himself. She moved quickly to the door and shut it, the white wooden door meeting its frame.

He’d been doing this for weeks now. First, he was silent. He’d move about the house, trying to busy himself with grading papers he’d let pile up from work, and attempting to do laundry and other household chores before it just got to him. After, Claire would hear him up late at night in her parent’s bedroom thinking that he was the only one up, and she could hear him crying. The first time, it turned her stomach over and instead of going to him; she’d crawl back in bed, put music in her ears and end up crying herself to sleep. But now, he’d taken to this, and she wasn’t sure which was worse. She was sure her father hadn’t looked her in the eyes since everything happened. He’d come home from the hospital, held her as he told her what happened, and then it stopped. The next day she went back to school, he told her We need to keep things as normal as possible forgetting the fact that he, had now been out of work for a month. Now, he was sitting down in the living room, the television on, although she knew he wasn’t really watching it. Talking to her.

Pulling her brown hair back into a pony tail and securing it with an elastic, she found her sweater underneath her pillow and slipped it on. Looking over at the calendar on the wall, this month a black and white pinto pony, she glanced at the date, October 22, 2018. It had been exactly a month since her mother died. Her stomach grumbled and she realized she couldn’t hide upstairs in her bedroom for much longer. Sighing, she opened the door and carefully made her way down the stairs, using the banister for support. Stopping at the bottom step, she peered into the living room, staring at the back of her father’s head. His shaggy brown hair speckled with gray was in disarray; he’d been running his hands through it.

“Should we put her in advanced classes?” Claire listened, wondering if her father actually believed that her mother was there.

“I dunno, I mean, she’s incredibly smart, and…” he rubbed his hands against his jaw, “Sarah, I just think she could do so well.” Claire watched him for a few moments; he’d get up from the couch, then sit back down, and do it all over again. Jumping, the telephone rang from behind her in the kitchen, and before she could bolt back up the stairs, her father turned around meeting her gaze. She felt a lump in her throat, it was the first time he’d actually looked at her in so long. She couldn’t help but notice the shadows under his blotchy eyes and without his usual dark-framed glasses, he looked so different. Claire wasn’t sure if he had been crying, or not sleeping. Maybe it was a bit of both. The phone continued to ring behind her, and she waited, wondering if he was going to get it. When he didn’t move, she broke away from his gaze and hurried into the kitchen to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” She brought the cordless phone up to her ear, without bothering to look at the caller I.D.

“Yep, hang on,” She brought the phone into the living room and outstretched her arm.

“Dad, it’s for you,” Her father took the phone from her and shutting his eyes, answered it.

“Hello?” Claire watched him, wondering who the woman was on the other end of the phone.

“This is Jim,” Claire moved to the couch and curled up in the corner of it, keeping her eyes focused on her father. The phone had stopped ringing lately. After the funeral, and after her grandmothers had finally left their house, her father convincing them they had enough trays of lasagna to last them a year, no one had called anymore.

“I see. Alright, well, thank you for calling; I’ll speak with her about it. Yep, Bye.” Jim pressed the button on the telephone and took a seat on the other end of the couch. It was silent for a few moments, the hum of the television on mute the only thing Claire could focus on. She looked down at her pink speckled fingernails, they were starting to chip. It was clear now, this phone call had something to do with her.

“Claire,” She jumped at the sound of her own name. “Why haven’t you been going to classes?” Contorting her mouth to the side, she bit her bottom lip.

“That was one of the school’s guidance counselors. They said you’ve been cutting now for the past week,” Jim hit the power button on the remote of the television, asking for his daughter’s attention back. When she didn’t respond, Jim shook his head with a sigh.

“Kiddo, I know things are tough right now and-“ she cut him off.

“Dad!” Claire looked over at him; he could tell her eyes were swimming. Had she cried at the funeral? he wondered, this looked so unfamiliar to him. “You don’t even know what’s going on. You’ve been in your own world, talking to Mom like she’s here, and not going to work…” she stammered over her words trying not to cry, “and you expect me to just act like everything’s fine? “ not succeeding she let a few tears escape down her cheeks.

“You have no idea what it’s like for me at school. Everyone always asking about you, wondering how we’re doing, telling me ‘Oh it must be tough to lose your Mom, huh?’ I’m tired of it,” She got up angrily, knocking over a few magazines from the coffee table and stormed into the other room. Jim let her go, deciding to wait a few moments before going after her. Sarah had always taken care of these things. He was there for fixing cuts and scrapes when she was learning to ride a bike, for helping her with her homework and kicking around soccer ball. Ever since she’d turned thirteen, she’d gotten moody, and he couldn’t help but curse whoever was listening for losing his wife at the worst possible time.

He cleared his throat, hoping Claire would turn around from the seat she’d taken at the island in the kitchen. When she didn’t move, he came up behind her, and took a seat next to her at the barstool, watching her pick at some cold lasagna. He propped his head up on his hand,

“You sick of that stuff yet?” He asked quietly, pushing a strand of hair over the top of her ear. She shook her head no, and placed another piece of pasta in her mouth.

“So, I guess if we’re never going to talk again, I should install some sort of messaging system between you I, huh?” He watched, hoping she’d break a smile.

“Maybe we could try Morse code…that might be kind of fun,” He smirked when he saw her lips were turning up,

“Oh! What if I installed some sort of system between our windows? I could put a tin can in your room, and one in mine, connect some yarn between them. How ‘bout it Claire? It’ll be ‘Old School’” he grinned, making air quotes.

“No Dad,” she looked over at him, her lips turned up in a smile
.
“So you’re going to talk to me now?” Jim raised an eyebrow.

“And…I’m sorry,” she glanced down at the floor. “it was just one class. English. And Mrs. Bradley kept asking about you, wondering when you were going to come back to work, and I just couldn’t take it Dad. All the kids whispering,” she looked back up at him, and he brought a hand out, to touch her chin.

“Listen, I get it. I really do, and I should be there myself, I know I should. Sitting around here is helping any, but Claire I…” Jim paused; he felt the urge coming back on to cry. Claire noticed he was starting to get uncomfortable, and stood up, moving to stand between his legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on to his sweater. “Me and your Mom, we’ve been together for thirteen year. I guess… I guess I just don’t know how to function without her.” he ran his hand along the back of her hair
“I get it Dad.” She looked up at him,

“Can we get ice cream?” she whispered. Jim looked up to the clock, it was only eleven.

“Sure, let’s go spoil lunch,” He nodded toward her plate. Claire
laughed,

“Great, and um…Dad?” He looked back at her from the entryway.

“Yeah munchkin?” He slipped a hat on his head,

“I’m going to need new notebooks while we’re out,” She bit her lip, as she knelt down to put her tennis shoes on.

“What happened to the ones Mom bought you before school started?” Jim asked, opening the front door, and holding it for her. She got up from the stool in the mudroom,

“I kind of…threw them out when I was mad last week,” Jim rolled his eyes at her.

“Sure, we’ll go to Staples while we’re out,” He promised. She watched him for a moment, unsure of whether or not to say anything.

“Dad, Mom always got my folders at Target, they just have more, and usually they’re prettier than the boring ones-“

“I get it,” Jim smiled at her, “We’ll go to Target, besides, I should probably get some food while we’re there anyway, the fridge is sort of…empty,” Jim raised an eyebrow.

“Well, there is all that lasagna,” Claire suggested. Jim began to smirk, until she smiled back,

“How about you and I get out the cookbook and make something real for dinner tonight?” He offered.

“You want Filipino Chicken?” Jim asked, giving her a little nudge out the door.

“Will you grill it?” She asked, stepping out onto the pavement.

“You bet,” He shut the door behind him and locked it.

“I love you Dad,” the sun hit her forehead, illuminating her hair. Jim shook his head in disbelief. How had he managed to completely forget how good things were between him and his daughter?

“C’mon, if I beat you to the car, I don’t have to give you allowance this week,” He teased, and began to jog to the car, leaving his daughter giggling close behind him.

“Pam, that’s beautiful!” Pam looked up from the painting she’d been dabbling at for the past hour at her teacher and recent comrade, Emma, who was gazing over at her canvas.

“You think so?” Pam set the paintbrush down, the earthy tones from her painting stained on her once-blue smock.

“Definitely.” Emma slipped her hands behind her head, pulling her blonde hair up into a bun and securing it with her pencil. “Look here,” she pointed to the green wisps that were flowing from the bottom of the paper to the top. “You’ve created some real depth here Pam.” Emma set a hand on Pam’s shoulder and smiled at her, the lines in her forehead pulling apart and revealing her age. Emma squeezed Pam’s shoulder slightly, and went back to wiping up the empty classroom tables around her.

“So have you given any more thoughts to leaving North-East?” Emma sprayed the wooden tables with the clear solution,using the rag to try and clean up the paint that her students had left from earlier that day. Pam sighed, got off the stool, and hung her painting up in the back of the room on the drying rack.

“Not really. I had a long conversation with my Mom the other day, and she thinks I should start looking for jobs doing something I actually love, not designing logos for coffee shops in Philadelphia that I’ve never even visited before.” Pam laughed, and lifted her stool up on the table, matching the other chairs. Emma smiled, and flicked the light off in the classroom.

“You ready?” Pam nodded and grabbed her bag, leaving the room as Emma followed her out.

“So, where for dinner tonight?” She pushed her canvas bag further up her shoulder, the sun hitting both of their eyes as they stepped out into the Moore College courtyard. Hundreds of students made their way past them, trying to find their ways to classes. It was only the third day of school, but after being here for three years Pam had learned to pick out the freshman like it was second nature.

“I don’t know, you want to get a wrap at Pita Pit? Something light?” Emma asked as the two women got inside Emma’s beat up green Subaru outside the art building.

“Sounds good to me,” Pam replied, setting her bag in the back seat next to the hundreds of papers and empty granola bar wrappers that lined the back seat. She smiled to herself, secretly envious of the life that Emma lived. Her routine of getting up, doing yoga, walking her dog and then spending her day teaching college students sounded so simple to Pam; simplicity something she hadn’t yet learned to obtain. It was quiet in the car for a few moments before Pam spoke up,

“Roy called me the other day,” she mumbled, pulling the visor down to block the sun.

“That, douchebag?” Emma looked over her eyebrows raised, “What the hell did he want?” Pam laughed at her friend’s bluntness, crossing her arms over her chest.

“To tell me that he finally got that job in Wisconsin. He’d been applying there for years, trying to get out of Dunder Mifflin- you know that paper company we both worked for years ago?” Emma nodded, remembering.

“That was the place where you met-“


Pam cut her off, “Yeah,” She averted her eyes, and glanced outside the window at the high rise buildings of Philadelphia, all standing tall pointing towards the sky. They both sat in silence once again, as Emma pulled into the parking lot.

“Anyway, Roy’s leaving Pennsylvania, he just wanted to say bye before he moved.”

“Don’t you fuss about him,” Emma placed a hand over Pam’s, putting the car in park outside the restaurant. “That man treated you like shit. All you did when you first moved out here four years ago was cry over his sorry little ass,” Pam giggled, feeling tears brim in her eyes.

“I know, I know,” She nodded with a sigh.

“So forget about that phone call, and let’s go get ourselves some of those delicious turkey pockets,” Emma got out of the car, wrapping a hand around her friends shoulder.

“Tell you what, today’s my treat,” She pressed Pam close to her.

“Thank you,” Pam stopped walking and turned to face Emma, “for everything I mean.” She glanced down at her shoes, and faded jeans, waiting for a moment. “You don’t know how much it’s meant to me to have someone in my life like you,” Pam looked up, “it’s been so difficult dealing with Roy, and trying to get him out of my life. I never would have been able to do this without you and I just-“ Emma held up her hand, pulling her friend into a hug.

“You don’t have to thank me. You’ve become like a sister to me Pam, and I appreciate that,” Emma smiled and the two of them made their way into the restaurant, their noses filling with the smells of fresh bread and deli meat.

Pam placed her order, and then grabbed a seat by the window, sipping occasionally on the cold soda in her hands. She watched as Emma grabbed a Vitamin Water and sat down with her.

“How do you manage to eat so healthy?” Pam smiled, flicking her finger on the water bottle. Emma glanced at it,

“After Greg left, I just decided I was going to change my whole life around. I started eating better, I took up yoga, got a dog, I made my life the way I always wanted it,” Emma toyed with the white slip of paper in her hand, the one adorned with their order number.

Pam nodded, “I wish I could do that,” she said quietly.


Emma scoffed at her, “Pam, don’t be ridiculous, you have! You left that low-paying receptionist job where you got treated like crap by your boss, you moved to the “big city,” she made air quotes with her fingers and Pam noticed the chipped green finger nail polish on only her right hand, “you have your own place, your own car. Hell, you’re about ready to walk out of your comfort zone with a job that you’re great at, but you don’t like. I’d say that’s a pretty big accomplishment,” Emma’s eyes opened wide from behind her glasses, the magnification making her resemble something of a bug. Pam smiled, tilting her head to the side, and leaned on her arm.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Forty-Eight?”

Pam looked over to the window, seeing their food on a red tray by the cash register, “That’s us.” She got up from her seat, Emma following suit. “I got it,” she waved her arm casually, and skipped up to the counter. Emma shook her head smiling, envious of the opportunity that lay ahead for Pam; opportunities she didn’t even realize could happen.

***

The briefcase landed with a thud on the countertop as Jim watched his daughter scarf down the bagel in front of her, briefly looking over notes. He stuck his head over her shoulder and looked down,

“Whatcha got there?” He asked, making her jump, her bagel landing on the floor.

“Dad!” She scolded him, as he laughed. She turned around to smack his arm, but stopped when she saw him, a grin appearing over her face. “You’re dressed up,” her eyes lit up as she reached up to wrap her arms around him, snuggling close into his dress shirt.

“Hey, hey, took me fifteen minutes to look this good,” he opened his arms, pointing to his dress shirt and tie, his daughter chuckling at him.

“Don’t try so hard Dad, you’re still old,” Claire picked her back pack up from the floor, grabbing the uneaten bagel and throwing it away, nudging him out of her way.

“Easy kid, I am not old,” Jim glanced over into the mirror, his face contorting a bit as he looked for grey hairs.

“Let’s go Grandpa!” Claire hollered out the door, rushing towards their car. Jim shook his head, grabbed the water bottles and the coffee mug off the counter and took a deep breath. This was it, he was going back. His stomach flopped over and he felt as though he was going back to ninth grade all over again.

”Breathe Jim,” he whispered aloud, shutting the door behind him. He inhaled the cool fall air, glanced around at the leaves that needed to be raked, and thought about picking up a pumpkin after school. He knew Claire would ask about Halloween soon enough. Every year it was tradition the three of them would travel up to Boston to go to his brother’s Halloween party, but this year he wondered if maybe he could get away with doing something special, just with Claire.

“Hey kiddo?” Jim hopped in the car, chucking his briefcase over the back of the seat.

“Yeah?” Claire buckled herself, turning the radio up.

“Oh my God, I love this song,” Jim glanced down at the satellite radio and looked at the receiver.

“What the hell is this?” Jim raised an eyebrow at his daughter, while backing out of the drive.

“It’s music Dad,” she mumbled, reaching to turn it up again.

“Hang on, I want to talk to you about something,” Jim hit the knob, silencing the car. He brought his travel mug to his lips, slurping the coffee as Claire just watched him. “So I was thinking, since every year we go to Uncle Tom’s for his Halloween party…”

She cut him off, “Oh yeah! I’m totally going as a dead bride this year, isn’t that awesome? Amy said she’d help me out with the costume, it’s going to be so epic,” Claire grinned, waiting for her father’s approval. Jim laughed, watching his daughter start to animate herself again, he felt as if it had been forever since he’d seen her bubbly self.

“Well…” he stammered, changing lanes on the interstate, “I kind of thought we wouldn’t go up to Boston this year,” she looked over at him, eyes wide.

“What, why?” her voice raised a bit. Jim held back the urge to groan. This new hysteria that was coming along with her becoming a teenager, was not pleasant.

“Because, I think you and I need to start new traditions. I know that me and your Mom took you there every year, but don’t you think it would be fun to do something just you and I?” The truth was Jim was pleading. He knew that he couldn’t get up there and face his entire family just yet. The last time he’d seen them all was at the funeral and he was a wreck, he really didn’t want to rehash all of that again, just when he was beginning to get his life back on track.

“I guess…” Claire said hesitantly. “What would we do?”

“Well, that would be up to you. We could do anything you wanted,” Jim nodded.

“Anything?”

“Within reason,” He looked over at her sternly. Claire just smiled, she could tell whenever he was trying to be fatherly—it never worked.

“Can we go to the school Harvest party?” Jim glanced over at her, as they pulled into the parking lot of Rippowam Middle School.

“You want to go to that?” He pulled the car into his parking spot and looked over at her. “I thought you hated that party. I believe your exact words last year were, ‘that’s lame.’”

“I just thought it might be fun…you know… if maybe you and I decorated a pumpkin for it, and we could bob for apples and stuff, and I know you said that’s unsanitary but I just thought we could be like…like the other families,” she was twiddling her thumbs, trying not to look at him. Jim waited a moment and then set a hand on her leg.

“I’d love that Claire-bear,”

*

“So, Claire, I’ll see you at the car at 2:25, please don’t be late,” Jim reminded Claire as they pushed opened the double doors, entering the foyer. He knew once Claire caught sight of one of her thousand friends, she’d bolt.

“Okay Dad,” she mumbled, pushing the strap of her L. L. Bean backpack further up her arm.

“You got lunch money?” He asked her; Claire just nodded.

Claire started towards her locker, but before she could get too far, he set a hand on her shoulder,

“Love you,” he whispered. Claire turned back at him, staring at his face for a moment.

She finally smiled, “I love you too Dad,” squeezing his hand she turned around.

“Claire!” Jim smiled as he watched three of her friends overtake her and take off toward the B wing, giggling and whispering about something fascinating that had happened that Monday morning.

Jim started off past the office, giving a small wave to the secretary who was on the phone, and then took the stairs, two at a time to the middle school English classrooms. He stopped in front of his classroom, Mr. Halpert labeled on the door; Jim smiled. It was like coming home again. He glanced, before going in his own room, to see if Mrs. Bradley or Ms. Savo was in yet. Both of their classrooms seemed to be dark, and he released a sigh. Both of the older women had been at the school for years, never leaving Stamford CT. for anything. They were both dedicated to their students and their jobs, and Jim admired them for that. But he also knew that they both were set in their ways, and not exactly loved by the students.

He unlocked his door, pushing it open, feeling the drafty breeze that always remained after a weekend. Flicking on the fluorescent lights, he illuminated the classroom. He checked to make sure that the substitute had left all the desks in a circle, and that the books on the shelves weren’t in disarray. When he came back after Claire was born, his room had been completely turned upside down. Jim still wasn’t entirely sure why subs always seemed to be either fresh out of high school, or middle aged women who’d never worked with students before. Kids just didn’t listen to them. He walked over to his desk at the front of the room, setting down his briefcase with a thud on the metal, and glanced behind him. A smile broke out over his lips as he read the “Welcome Back Mr. Halpert!” on the whiteboard, from his 8th graders. All of them had taken time to sign their names in different color marker. Grinning, he pulled out 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea and opened it up to where he’d marked it off last night. His classes had been reading poetry for the time that he had been gone, and occasionally he’d get an email from the substitute saying that the students seemed uninterested and bored with the subject material. Obviously Jim had thought to himself, wondering why the school hadn’t let him pick out the material himself for while he was gone. Although, thinking back on it, Jim wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle making lesson plans and worrying about work with Sarah gone. In fact, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to.

Jim jumped as the door swung open, hitting the back of the hallway’s wall,

“Mr. Halpert?” He looked over to find Chloe Mitchells, one of his honors students, standing in the doorway with her folders bunched up to her chest. When he met her eyes, she smiled, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him to beckon her in.

“Come on in Chloe,” Jim smiled warmly, walking around the outside of his desk, and leaning on it. “What’s up?” he asked as she came near him, setting her books down. She stood there silently for a moment, watching him. Jim was about to open his mouth to ask her what she needed again, when she overtook him with a hug, wrapping her small arms around his waist.

“I’m really glad you’re back,” Jim’s arms awkwardly found their way to her shoulders and patted them.

“Thanks Chloe, it means a lot,” he stepped back, and she smiled up at him, cocking her head to the side. ’Is she wearing lip gloss?’ Jim thought, raising his eyebrows.

“So, I’ll see you second period?” She asked him, gathering her things again.

“You bet. Don’t forget your book,” he waved a finger at her cautiously and she giggled.

“I won’t Mr. Halpert,” she bounced out of the room, meeting a group of girls who, when the door opened again, started giggling and grabbed her by the arms.

Jim rolled his eyes and sat back down at his desk, glancing at his watch. There were only five more minutes until the bell would ring for first period to start. He began to wonder if they’d ask him questions, or how much they actually knew. News traveled fast in this school, and he was almost positive he would have to debunk some rumors that were surely flying. Leaning on his arm he thought about Claire, wondering what things would be like in just a couple years. He tried to remember if Claire wore lip gloss, if she would soon be asking for things like make up, and going to boy’s houses, and… he had to stop himself. Jim was making himself sick. The sounds of sneakers against linoleum were hastening and the metal slamming of lockers was beginning to pang in his ears; he shut his eyes.

“You know Jim, she’s not going to be a little girl forever,” Sarah came behind him, touching the small of his back as she placed a dish on the drying rack. Jim lifted his hands from the soapy water, and dried them on a dish towel. He spun around, leaning against the counter, slipping his hands into his faded jeans.

“I know. I’m just worried about her Sarah, she wouldn’t even look at me today,” Jim’s gaze fell to the floor, Sarah pressed a hand to his arm, rubbing her thumb along the fabric of his rolled up sleeve.

“She’s just upset. There was no reason why you had to tell her no today, she would have been fine,” Sarah kissed his hand that she was holding, bringing Jim’s gaze up to her.

“I just don’t like when she goes over to Abigail’s, every time she comes back there, she cops an attitude with us for three days,” Jim sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I know, but there’s nothing wrong with Abby or her family, and she’s getting older, she needs to learn to make choices on her own about who she spends time with,” Sarah pulled him toward the kitchen table, beckoning him to sit down as she rubbed his shoulders. Jim drooped his head tiredly, letting her work the knots out of his back.

“They’re vicious Sarah. She’s eleven years old; I don’t even want to think about what it’s going to be like when she goes to middle school. I know those kids Sarah,” He looked behind him, up at her, “they’re mean,” He finished. Sarah laughed,

“I know, I know,” she kissed the back of his ear, his brown hair tickling her mouth, “You’ve got to let her go a little bit, make her own decisions.”

“You’re right,” he nodded. “I’ll go talk to her,” he pushed himself back from the table, and stood up, pulling Sarah to him, kissing her slowly.

“Good boy,” she teased, patting him on the bottom as he smiled back at her.

“What would I do without you?” He asked her, tilting his head to the side.

He opened his eyes, his classroom door swinging open and shut as students filled the room, laughing loudly and racing to their seats. Boys calling each other from across the room, while most of the girls flipped through magazines, or the more quiet ones listened to their music through headphones. Jim stood up, grabbed a white board marker, and waited until they all saw him, and quieted down. He walked around the other side of his desk, hopped atop it and smiled at all of them.

“Good morning and welcome to another fabulous day in 8th grade English,” He coined his usual phrase, as he watched a few smiles pop up on the faces of his students. Things were starting to feel normal again.

Pam pressed her fingers into her temples and rubbed them for a moment, enjoying the quiet of her small office area. The buzzing of the telephone lines, and the halogen lights were giving her a headache, as she stared into the computer screen, her eyes moving past the unfinished graphic in front of her. Resting her hand on her chin, she slumped in her chair. Her morning had started out horribly. She had come into work to find a notice on her desk saying she had four designs that needed to be ready for review that afternoon, another message from her boss requesting a meeting about her “thinning” performance, and an email sitting in her inbox saying she still needed another three credits to graduate. Sighing, she kicked off her shoes under her desk, opened up her email, clicked on the new message button, and typed in Emma’s email.

Emma, I hope your day’s going better than mine. Just got an email from the registrar’s office, saying I still need another class to graduate. Why is it that it’s taken me nine years to finish a degree that should have taken four? Want to get dinner tonight? –Pam

“Pam!” Pam’s head shot up, looking over the metal, plastered in grey carpet; her makeshift walls, that surrounded her desk. Standing above her was Neil, the new intern, who had suddenly became her boss’s best friend and felt it was his job to personally boss everyone around.

“Jeff wants to see you…” she nodded at him, looking back to her computer, adding some color to the coffee cup on her screen; she bit the side of her lip.

“Hello?” Neil was still standing there, peering over the partition, his dark glasses making his eyes look black. She stared at him for a moment. This boy was only twenty-two years old, and already he was sporting a suit worth more than what she paid for her apartment in a year, and a haircut that cost more than her groceries every week.

“Sorry,” Pam mumbled, averting her eyes and getting up from her desk chair. She groaned at the pain that slid down her spine and gave the chair a small kick. “Stupid thing,” she whispered, rubbing her hand on the small of her back and heading past all the other designers, busying themselves over computer monitors. No wonder she was getting a new prescription for her glasses every year, her eyes were worsening by staring at these screens all the time. Neil followed behind her, almost clipping her heels, talking her ears off.

“Pam, your performance has gone down, and I’m preparing you - Jeff is not going to be pleased.” He sped up to try and keep her pace, “I also know that you have been watching video clips at work, and I can tell you that per the employee handbook, rule number eleven on page two-hundred and four, it is irresponsible and childish to be doing anything at work that isn’t company related.” Pam could feel her cheeks burning, and her insides warming up. She didn’t have to take this! There was no reason why she should have to listen to any of this.

“Neil!” She raised her hand, stopping him dead in his tracks, drawing the eyes of the main receptionist as well as those gathering in the lobby. “Stop,” she lowered her voice. Neil stared at her, his eyes wide.

Suddenly, he slipped his hands in his pocket, and stared at her,

“Jeff’s in room seventeen,” he mumbled and then took off behind her at a quick jog, presumably to go call Jeff before she could get upstairs. She was sure she’d be written up for insubordination or something stupid like that. Rolling her eyes she pressed the button for the elevator, watching the doors open before her with a small ding. Relief passed over her as she stepped into an empty elevator, and pressed the button to close the doors quickly. She needed this ride alone.

Climbing up the shaft she watched the buttons light up in front of her, climbing the sixteen floors in the high rise building. Pam began to wonder what she was even doing in this elevator, wondering why she put up with what she did here, making barely any money, and living in a city she didn’t even like. At first, it was all about getting away from Roy. It was liberating to leave Scranton, to get out of that apartment the two of them shared and find a place that was her own. Her new place, though, instead of overlooking the illuminated point of One Liberty Place like she’d hoped when she moved to Philly, had a direct view of the brick backing of a pizza place, which made her apartment smell like garlic and feel close to 100 degrees, even in the dead of winter.

The elevator doors chimed open once again and Pam stood staring at the glass doors that would lead her down the hall to Jeff Golden’s office. Jeff was not the friendliest man on the planet, nor was he the most understanding. Just last year, Pam had to have an appendectomy and Jeff told her she needed to be back into work with 24 hours.

”A business doesn’t run itself, Pam,” he’d told her when she’d come back into work the next day. Pam pictured his pudgy face in her head - his cheeks were always crimson red, making him look as though he was continually angry. Most of the time, he was. Pam’s heels clicked as she marched down the linoleum floors, trying to figure out what she’d say to her boss. Things have just been really crazy for me lately….I’m still adjusting to living in the city…Neil makes me want to shoot myself She chuckled at the latter, and pushed open the doors to reveal Kitty, her bosses secretary. Pam had been told about a year ago that Kitty’s real name was Emily, but she’d been nicknamed by Jeff because of her ability to prowl out the “mice” in the company, those who would only bring the company down. Pam had heard, however, that she’d made her rounds with all the upper level management and believed she may have been nicknamed Kitty for other reasons.

“Jeff can see you now,” Kitty purred, a smile slipping onto her delicate face. Pam nodded, and let herself into Jeff’s office as he spun around in his swivel chair. His beady eyes stared at her, as she took a seat in front of him.

“Good morning Mr. Golden,” her voice was barely audible.

“No, it’s not!” Jeff barked, getting up to shut the door to his office, letting it slam.; Pam jumped in her seat, shutting her eyes to regain her composure.

”Just be honest with him. Tell him you don’t have to be treated like this, that you can find work for the same amount of money elsewhere…” Pam’s mind was shuffling a mile a minute.

“Your work has been slipping for the past two months. I’ve barely seen any sketches or documents of your designs for the coffee shops, and Neil’s telling me you’ve been…”
he picked up a sticky note on his desk and glanced down at it, “rude, spacey, and insubordinate.” Pam covered her mouth to stifle the giggle that was trying to escape her lips.

“If I don’t see an improvement in the next twenty four hours, I’m telling you right now, you’re done with this company,” Jeff leaned back in his chair, his face looking more red than usual.

“I’m tired of your bad attitude, laziness-“ Pam stood up, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“I quit,” she stated, pressing her palms nervously down her dress shirt.

“Excuse me?” Jeff sat up, his belly creeping over the top of his desk.

“I quit. I’m done, I can find a better job than this,” She replied, pushing his chair closer to his desk and going to the door.

“People don’t quit here…” Jeff grumbled, his hands starting to tremble.

“Well, this person does. Goodbye,” Pam opened the door, and shut it behind her, feeling Kitty’s eyes following her out the small office.

“Oh my god…” Pam looked down at her fingers, they were shaking. “Oh my god!” She squealed, practically running back down to the elevator. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she quickly pressed in some numbers.,

“Emma…its Pam. Listen, I’m going to be at school in twenty minutes. Pack your stuff up, we’re going for drinks, I have so much to tell you,” she flipped the phone shut and looked at the time, there were only a few minutes until five so, grabbing a discarded box from the hall way, she sprinted towards her office to pack the few things she had in her desk before meeting Emma.
***

Jim pulled his brown sweater over his head, and flipped the collar of his dress shirt out from underneath. He glanced in the mirror, adjusted his glasses, grabbed his wallet and keys from his dresser, and slipped them into the pocket of his jeans.

“Claire!” He called from upstairs, his sneakers padding against the stairwell as he walked down.

“Yeah, Dad?” she asked him, applying make up to her chin, casually sweeping the veil away from her face.

“Well…don’t you look, pretty” he smirked as she smeared some fake blood down her forehead.

“Wasn’t exactly the look I was going for,” she spun around from the mirror, holding her hands up for him to inspect.

“You look like death,” Jim smiled, “better?” he asked as she nodded, pulling her dress further down.

“Where’d you get that dress?” Jim asked, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the pumpkin the two had carved earlier in the day.

“Oh, Katie’s mom…you know, when Katie’s dad left to marry that hooker he met on business in Vegas…” Claire casually turned the lipstick around in her fingers. Jim choked on the apple cider he’d put in his mouth just a few seconds before.

“What did you call her?” Jim asked, wiping the juice off his chin, trying to find his voice.

“What?” Claire asked, confused.

“Oh, never mind,” Jim swung his hand in the air, wondering when his kid learned what a hooker was. He shook his head, and slipped his arms through his leather jacket.

“Are you ready?” He asked her, squeezing her shoulders as she stepped away from the mirror.

“Uh huh,” she placed her feet into her ballet flats and followed her father out the door.

“You excited for tonight?” Jim inquired.

“Mhmm. Dad?” she buckled herself up, looking at him.

“What’s up?” He asked, starting the car, and leaving the drive way.

“You’re not going to do anything stupid tonight, right?” She peered out the window, not looking at him as she asked him questions.

“Define stupid,” Jim raised an eyebrow, turning the heat on low in the car.

“You know, talking to my teachers or…friends,” she swallowed and looked over at him. Jim had to prevent himself from smiling - it was amazing what was so important to thirteen-year-old girls. He wasn’t really sure he’d ever understand it, but knew that he had to count these days as blessings. Soon Claire would grow up and find out about the truths of the world, and he could only hope that everything she could ever desire would come easy to her. She was so bright, so dedicated, and he wondered every day how she got through the simple things. With Sarah being gone, he’d recently learned how to braid hair, that Claire liked her sandwiches cut diagonally, not horizontally, and that there was apparently a huge difference between Tampax light days, and regular.

“I’ll try not to mortify you tonight,” he patted her knee and she laughed.

“Don’t do that,” she giggled, leaning over on his arm and resting her head there. Gazing away from the road a minute he pressed a kiss to her head and listened to her sigh. The foliage sped past them and he made a mental note to take Claire for a drive the following day up north so she could see the rest of the foliage season before it ended. Slowing down he pulled into the drive way of the elementary school as the moon started to appear in the dim sky, lighting up the parking lot. Dozens of middle- schooler’s filed out of cars, running toward the gymnasium, their parents following slowly behind, starting to mingle with another. Claire sat up slowly, looking over to her father.

“Since we can’t do this for the rest of the night,” she leaned in and gave him a kiss on his cheek, “I love you Dad,” she grinned, and got out of the car.

“Julie, wait!” She called, slamming the door a bit hard, leaving Jim with the overhead light dimming around him. He felt his throat close a bit, laying his head against the back of the seat he closed his eyes. We’ll be okay, he thought to himself. Giving one last glance in the rear view mirror, he got out of the car, ready to go make an appearance. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk “shop” with his 8th graders parents, but like he’d told Claire a dozen times, Sometimes people have to do things they don’t want to do , for the better of others; it’s how we go about doing those things that can make us a better person.
***

“Did you see Dancing with the Stars last night?” Emma slammed her glass down on the counter a bit too hard, as she doubled over in laughter. Pam’s eyes lit up, looking around her at the neon lights and the people watching them - , she needed another drink.

“Nope,” Pam placed her glass out and the bartender quickly refilled it with a swirly pink liquid and vodka.

“Well,” Emma started, leaning over the bar, trying to get closer to Pam. Pam just laughed, pulled her drink closer, and her stool further. “Simon Cowell…he is just so handsome, I mean, DAMN! Have you seen his chest?” Emma slurped back another shot, dribbling some down her chin. Pam laughed, feeling her fingers start to tingle, and forgot about the fact that people were watching them.

“Simon Cowell is on American Idol,” Pam laughed, “and it hasn’t been on television in five years,” she giggled, finishing the rest of her drink. Staring down at the ice, she watched as some of it melted down to the bottom of the glass. Biting her lip, she looked back at Emma, watching as her friend looked up.

“I can’t believe you left that company Pam,” Emma reached out and grabbed Pam’s arm. Pam wasn’t entirely sure whether or not it was for support or for emphasis on what she was about to say. “You’re better than that place anyway, and you know what I think?” Pam shook her head, she was starting to feel the alcohol. Every time she drank, she would get a bit dizzy and feel the urge to tell the entire room whatever she was feeling at the moment.

“What’s that Em?” Pam asked, grabbing onto her own chair for support, trying to keep her voice down.

“I think you should go back to painting again,” she slapped Pam’s arm and glued her eyes to the television that was playing some basketball game. Pam nodded, thinking about how long it had been since she just painted for herself. Outside of class, and the designing she did at work, she barely had time to do anything crafty for herself.

“Pam!” Emma called to her, even though the women were only a few feet apart.

“Shh! Emma, you’re going to get us kicked out,” Pam looked around, remembering the one and only time she’d ever been over-served in a restaurant.

“Oh please, they don’t kick people out,” Emma’s words were all running together as Pam stood up grabbing both of their jackets, and leaving some money on the counter.

“Oh yes they do…” Pam mumbled, rolling her eyes.

“What was that?” Emma asked, the two women walking out the door, dark eyes watching them as they left.

“Nothing,” Pam pulled her jacket closer to her as they began to walk back to Emma’s house.

“Weren’t you kicked out once for drinking?”Emma tripped over a crack in the sidewalk,

“Easy!” Pam caught her and straightened her up, wrapping Emma’s arm around her shoulder. “And yeah…I got over served at a Chili’s and fell off a barstool” she answered with a giggle.

“I thought they couldn’t serve you more than three drinks at restaurants?” Emma asked with a laugh, looking up at the night sky.

“They can’t…I sort of, stole other people’s drinks…” Pam’s cheeks burned.


“Was that when Jim kissed you?” Pam stopped in her tracks, the cool night air biting at her cheeks.

“No,” she answered quietly leading Emma into her house, ignoring the dog that had begun to bark at (?) Pam from inside of his cage.

“But I thought you said that-“ she set Emma down in a wing backed chair in the living room.

Pam cut her off, “I kissed him that night,” Pam sighed, taking a seat on the couch, trying to make the room stop spinning around her. They were both too drunk to be having this conversation.

“Thattttts right,” Emma drawled, leaning back to stare at Pam. It was quiet for a moment, Pam biting on the end of her thumb, starting to rip the nail back.

“You miss him don’t you?” Emma asked. It would have been empathetic if Pam’s cheeks weren’t burning from the liquor she consumed, and if Emma hadn’t managed to vomit immediately after all over the floor.

“Oh god, Emma,” Pam got up off the couch, grabbing the trashcan from the kitchen and setting it next to Emma. “I’ll be right back,” she groaned and went to get paper towels. Stopping for a moment, she pressed her hand against the wall to steady herself, and closed her eyes.

“Pammmmmm!” She opened her eyes, feeling a few tears brimming in them as she grabbed the paper towels out of the hall closet and came back into the living room, kneeling down in front of Emma and cleaning the mess up. “I’m sorry Pam,” she mumbled, leaning over, Emma’s eyes closed. Emma placed her hand on Pam’s back, leaving Pam alone. Emma had fallen asleep.

“It’s alright Em,” she whispered and got up to go sit at the kitchen table. She listened to the buzzing of the fridge, and the frequent squirting of the air freshener, making the room smell like lavender. She glanced down at the pile of mail sitting on Emma’s counter, on top of the letters a piece of paper, a name in chicken scratch with a number below it. Why the hell did Emma have this? her breath caught in her chest, as she looked down at the name in front of her. Jim Halpert.

Note-So I'm not sure where the text of my story went too..I went to check reviews today and it was gone..So I'm posting the chapter again..I'm sorry for the confusion

Disclaimer- NBC owns all rights to The Office and it's characters, no copyright infringement is intended.


Stepping around the outside of the car, Jim opened the door to the passenger’s seat, and scooped Claire up in his arms, forgetting the Target bag at her feet that held her Halloween costume. Claire tiredly reached around his neck, holding on to him as Jim kicked the car door shut, his car keys dangling from his mouth. He managed to fanangle his way into the house, laying Claire on the couch and going to shut the front door. He watched as she turned into the couch, pulling her arms up to her face like she did every night when she slept. Jim smiled; he felt so cliché as he thought about her as a little girl. It was times like this that made him feel like he was someone out of a film.

Jim checked the thermostat, turning it up a hair, and climbed up the stairs, leaving Claire sleeping in the living room. He shut the door to his bedroom, flicked on the light, and pulled his sweater over his head, stepping out of his jeans and leaving them lying on the floor below him; he’d grab them later. The covers were already undone from not making the bed that morning, so after turning off the light, he crawled into them, and sat up against the headboard. Glancing out at the lampposts outside, he watched as the last stand of teenagers were making their way off the streets, presumably coming home from some Halloween party, where they’d no doubt been doing things they shouldn’t have. He thought about Claire, still small in her frame, unaware of all of the things she could be getting into. Claire knew what was right and wrong, and how far she could push Jim, but there was always a line, and he was thankful for that.

***

”Jim!” Jim looked up from inside of the car, looking out onto the lawn trying to see where his wife was calling from. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stepped out onto the drive, looking around him, but he didn’t see Sarah anywhere.

“I’m out behind the house!” She called again. Walking out behind the garage he saw Sarah sitting on a blanket, with Claire in her lap.

“Come here,” she beckoned, grabbing Jim’s hand as he got closer, pulling him down on the blanket. Claire looked over at him, her bright blue eyes blinking up at him and a smile appeared on her face. Soft tufts of brown hair peaked out from under her hat as Jim pulled her onto his lap. She was sitting up by herself; Jim couldn’t believe how fast time had gone since she’d been born.

“Watch this,” Sarah giggled, grabbing one of Claire’s hands. “Claire bear, say Mama,” Sarah cooed, coming closer to the baby’s face. Claire blinked back at her, and then tapped her hand against Jim’s cheek.

“Dadadadad,” she babbled as Jim chuckled. Sarah sat back, her face contorting into a frown.

“Claire, honey, say Mama,” Claire blew raspberries at her mother and then clapped her hands.

“Dadadadadad,” she continued. Sarah sighed, and Jim placed an arm around his wife.

“Looks like we know who her favorite is,” he smiled as Sarah gave him a swat on the thigh.
“She said it earlier,” Sarah mumbled, picking the baby back up and laying her on the blanket. Jim sighed, pulling Sarah close and kissing the top of her head.

“We’re so lucky,” Jim closed his eyes, and leaned his head atop his wife’s.

“Sarah,” Jim whispered into the darkness of his room, his hand sliding under the sheet to feel the cool side of his bed. He hadn’t thought about her that whole day. Jim wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty or happy about it, was it progress? He looked over to his alarm clock; it was just a tad past twelve. He began to think about what he’d have to do the next day. He needed to rake up the leaves that had fallen around the yard, and Claire was supposed to have a sleepover at some friends that night too. He leaned against the headboard, it would be the first night he would be alone since the accident. He’d told Claire that she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere for the first few weeks; he’d use every excuse he could think of, homework, chores, visiting Grandma…whatever would keep her in the house. He just needed another presence there to keep him sane. But he’d finally agreed to let her go out, and she’d been looking forward to this slumber party for weeks, he couldn’t tell her no, as much as he wanted to.

Groaning, Jim pushed himself further down into the sheets, his eyes getting tired as he shut them, forgetting why he was even upset in the first place.
****

Pam shut the door to her apartment, throwing her keys on the counter, the small piece of yellow lined paper stuffed into her jeans pocket as she sat down at her kitchen table. She looked over to the clock, it was getting late, and she’d already created a list of things that she would have to do in the morning. She was jobless, and there was still rent to pay, a car payment to make, and groceries to buy. She felt her cat sweep through her legs, nudging its head above her thigh. Reaching down, she patted his head quickly, picking him up and going down to her room.

Stripping back the sheets, she set the cat down and slipped her jeans off, grabbing the paper as she did, and got on top of her bed. She stared down at his name, wondering where in the world Emma got this number. She felt her stomach turn over, hoping that it wasn’t what she thought. That Emma wasn’t up to some scheme trying to get Pam to call him. Maybe Emma left the paper out for me to find it. Pam shook off the thought, she was being ridiculous. Emma wasn’t trying to use reverse psychology on her, maybe it was a different Jim Halpert. Yes. She’d settled on that, this man was not her Jim Halpert. Crawling into bed, she set the paper on her nightstand, holding it down with the edge of the lamp.

I should just throw it away, she thought to herself, her eyes scanning the ceiling, resting on the fan and watching it spin slowly. She decided in the morning she’d make a list of all of the places that were hiring, maybe call her Mom and see what she thought. She pulled the sheet around her, holding it up to her chin, and resting her eyes. This was not a night for sleep.
***

Jim sat at his kitchen table, drinking a glass of orange juice and looking over the sheets for the interviews he would be conducting that week. Since his arrival in the Stamford school district, he had been working for the district conducting preliminary interviews for positions at the local schools. This week he had to do two positions for the spring: an elementary math teacher, and a high school art teacher. He looked over the names of the people who had applied, and the people he needed to call back to set up appointments with. He grabbed his phone, and dialed the first number on the list, swallowing the piece of toast in his mouth.

“Hello?” The woman’s voice on the end of the line was raspy, and maybe a bit tired. Jim looked up at the clock, it was eleven on a Saturday, people were up at this time right? He’d forgotten what time to call people after having a child; Jim was up at seven every morning with Claire from the time she was born until she was nine. He was just used to being up early.

“Hi, this is Jim Halpert calling from the Stamford County School District, how are you this morning?” Jim almost laughed at the professionalism in his voice; it reminded him of a time when he had to talk that way on the phone, and his stomach pinched.

“Oh! Oh!” The lady on the other end sounded startled and he could hear chairs sweeping across linoleum floors. “I am just so glad that you called, I’ve somehow managed to lose your number, I had it right here on my kitchen table,” Jim could hear papers swishing around.

“Oh that’s okay,” a smile appeared on his lips, “I was actually calling because we’re very interested in your application and would like to set up an interview,” Jim sipped the juice in front of him quietly. “I understand that you’re from Philadelphia, that’s quite a move for a high school art job…and leaving a university? Can I ask why?” Jim wasn’t exactly supposed to ask these questions outside of an interview, but when students were involved, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t dealing with some creep.

Emma laughed on the other end, sitting down at her kitchen table and pulling her yoga pants further up her legs.

“Oh, no I don’t mind you asking at all,” she leaned back in her chair, imagining the man on the other side of the phone. Trying to picture what he looked like. “I work at a college now right in the middle of Philadelphia, and while it can have its benefits, mostly the pay, the job isn’t the least bit rewarding. Don’t get me wrong, I love college students, but I originally went to college to teach younger kids.” Jim grinned, someone who shared his passion.

“Basically, I saw your job offer online, I’ve visited Stamford quite a bit, love the beach and the area, and am really interested in trying to better the lives of children at your school,” Jim had heard this line so much. From the interviews he’d been conducting over the past ten years, but there was something about her voice, something about what she was saying that sounded so genuine.

“That’s great, it’s Emma right?” Jim asked, watching Claire come down the stairs sleepily in front of him. He gave her a quick wave and then pointed to the phone, signaling her to stay quiet for just a few moments.

“Yes, Emma MacDougal,” Emma replied, stirring the tea in front of her, before taking a few aspirins.

“Alright Mrs. MacDougal-“

She interrupted him, “It’s Miss…and just call me Emma, Miss MacDougal makes me sound like I’m old and have thirty cats.,” Jim chortled on the other end.

“Well Emma, would you be able to come down this Friday for an interview at 4pm? We hold them all at Rippowam Middle School, they have the largest conference area, and I work there so…” he laughed.

“I’d love to,” Emma replied,

“Just make sure you bring another copy of your resume and cover letter, and I will see you on Friday with some other administrators,” Jim hung up the phone and checked off the first name on his list.

Claire fixed herself a bowl of cereal, the back of her brown hair sticking up in a few different places. Jim stood up and walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“You still have your sleepover today, right?” He asked, grabbing one of her marshmallows out of her cereal and placing it in his mouth.

“Hey!” she slapped his hand away and finished pouring the milk. “And yeah I do, a bunch of us girls are going to go over early so that we can set up and stuff,” she said, flopping a braid behind her ear.

“Set up for what?” Jim asked curiously, going back to the kitchen table and flipping through his notes.

“Oh you know…sleepover stuff. We have to go to the grocery store and get junk food, and clear out the living room,” Claire carried her bowl over to the kitchen table, and started piling cereal into her mouth.

“What are you doing today?” she asked with her mouth full.
Jim smiled over at her,

“Calling the rest of these people to set up interviews, and then I’m not really sure. Grandma called earlier, she wants to visit, but I told her you weren’t going to be here,” Claire nodded.

“Why don’t you just go visit her?” she asked, glancing over at the folder in front of him.

“What is all this for?” She asked before he could answer.

“They’re hiring some new teachers, and because I’m on the board I’m in charge of setting up and conducting at least two interviews a year. So I’m doing them and getting them out of the way early,” Jim replied.

“Do you not like doing them?” she asked scooting her seat in further.

“It’s boring,” Jim laughed, “but it comes with the job I guess.”

“Dad, can I ask you a question?” Jim watched as her face contorted, he could tell the wheels were turning in her head.

“Sure.” Jim answered.

“When did you and Mom first have sex?” Jim coughed, spitting some of the coffee out of his mouth, and grabbing a paper towel to wipe it up with. He looked over at his daughter, wiping the spilt coffee off his notes and staring at her.

“Why do you want to know about that? I thought we had this conversation…about four years ago” Jim’s grabbed his forehead, clearly not ready to talk about this again. He’d luckily escaped on having to say much of anything when Sarah had told her what sex was.

“Dad, I know what sex is…duh.” She rolled her eyes at him, “I just want to know when you guys first did it…” she bit her lip.

“Why?” Jim raised an eyebrow.

“Well…you see, there’s this guy in-“

“Nope.” Jim responded shaking his head.

“What? I didn’t even ask you yet!” Claire shot up from her seat.

“You’re too young to even be thinking about that stuff,” he said firmly, getting up from the table himself and adjusting his pajama pants.

“That’s not true, Amanda Grey has had sex four times, and she’s only thirteen!” she protested.

“Well that’s because Amanda Grey is a-“ he stopped himself. Jim had to remind himself he was having a conversation with his daughter…this wasn’t Sarah.

“Is a what Dad?” she narrowed her eyes at him, placing her hands on her hips.

“Nothing. The point is, you’re not Amanda, you’re Claire, and I say that that’s not even going to be a topic of discussion for a long time.” Jim placed his coffee cup in the sink, and went to go upstairs.

“Go get ready, I’m bringing you over to your friends in an hour,” he hollered from the top of the stairs, hoping that whomever’s mother was watching his daughter tonight would make sure no boys happened to pop in. The reality was sinking in…his daughter was becoming a teenager.

“I think I’m getting an ulcer.”

Chapter 5

“Remind me again why I’m sitting in your car on a three hour drive to Connecticut?” Pam shifted herself uncomfortably, trying to swing one leg over another. Their two suitcases were in the back of the Subaru pushed right up against Pam’s seat.

“Because this is a bonding time for us girls. We’re going to go to the health spa-“

Pam interrupted her with a grumble, “I don’t like yoga.”

“And then we’re going to eat junk food, and stay in a hotel, and go to the ocean,” Emma continued to babble on.

“But it’s November, there’s not going to be anyone at the beach. Besides… I hate Stamford.” Pam felt childish as she pressed her arms against her chest, a pout starting to form.

“You’ve never even been to Stamford,” Emma glanced in the rearview. ‘Besides, you’re the only person who has absolutely no commitments to anything right now and I can take you away for a weekend,” she giggled.

“Not funny,” Pam sighed. “I’ve got to get a job…and you’re taking away precious hours of-“

“Pam, please. You’re not going to find a job on a Saturday...just relax. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“That’s disgusting.” Pam scrunched up her eyebrows. “Nothing..I’m just tired,” she lied, biting her lip.

Pressing the knob on the radio she turned it on so she could think for a while; when it was silent in the car, Emma always wanted to talk. Truth be told, the paper she’d found on Emma’s table was stuffed deep into her purse, and all she could think about was that on this little excursion for Emma’s job offer, she might run into Jim Halpert—and that was the last thing she wanted to happen.

Emma reached over and shut the radio off, pushing strands of her unruly hair out of her eyes.

"C'mon Pam...let's talk, I want to know why you're all upset over going away this weekend. I thought you would be excited to do this?"

Pam let her head rest against the back of the seat, groaning as the "Welcome to Connecticut" sign flashed past her eyes, and it was as though her throat began to tighten as she crossed into the state.

"There's just some people here, that I really don't want to run into...that's all." Pam pulled her hair back into a pony tail, securing it with an elastic.

"Like family?" Emma asked, shifting the car into a lower gear as they slowed down on the interstate. They were nearing the ocean, and the traffic was starting to build up. Pam started to feel a bit claustrophobic thinking about how long she might be stuck in this car for.

"Yes," Pam nodded, trying to convince Emma.

"Huh." There was a moment of silent before Emma started in again. "I think I'm going senile Pam," she laughed, rubbing her thumb against the green gecko steering wheel cover, the rubber smooth under Emma's finger.

Pam laughed uncomfortably. "Why's that?" she asked.

"Oh, I just had this man's number on my kitchen table for this job here in Stamford, and one minute it was there, and the next it was gone. It was so strange." she shook her head as though trying to think back to where it could have gone to.

"Did you retrace your steps and try to figure out where it went off to?" Pam's voice faltered, she didn't want Emma to get suspicious.

"Yeah, yeah," she waved her hand casually in the air. "He ended up calling me back anyway, no biggie."

Pam nodded, and lifted her legs up under her.

"So, you have any ideas of what you might do for a job?" Emma asked, flicking the warm air off, as the traffic started moving again.
"I don't know...I've only had a few jobs in my entire life, I haven't really had any networking connections..." Pam bit down on her lip. "I was thinking about giving my Mom a call and see if there's anything open up her way-"

"I was thinking Pam- if things ended up working out for me here in Stamford- you could always move in with me...there's a ton of work up here." Pam stared straight ahead listening. "I know it's even early to talk about this, but you never know--I could land this job today."

"I'll think about it," Pam replied, looking over at the GPS. There was only a half hour left before they got there. "Are we checking into the hotel first?" she asked.

Emma nodded. "Yup. And then I'm going to shower and change and get ready for my interview. And if you want you can come along, maybe go look around while I'm at the job?" Pam looked over with a smile.

"Sure," she replied.

Emma clicked on the radio again, some upbeat song from the sixties came on. Pam grinned, bobbing her ahead along to the music as Emma sang along loudly, missing over every other word. Maybe there would be hope in Stamford. Maybe.

***

Claire pulled the large pink comforter over her and Christine’s heads. The television light flickered off their faces, popcorn kernels scattered throughout the bed as the two of them watched the movie. The eerie glow of the November moonlight cast across the room, shadows dancing off Claire’s desk. Both girls' hair pulled back into matching French braids; Claire’s brown, Christine’s red.

“I can’t believe your Dad lets you eat all this junk food,” Christine giggled, grabbing a Twizzler out of the bag and plopping an end into her mouth.

Claire smiled, the cookies, chips, and candy were all spread out about them on the bed, half eaten- crumbs everywhere. “Yeah..he’s pretty cool about that I guess,” Claire gave a half smile and then looked back to the movie. “His only rule is, don’t throw up.”

Christine laughed aloud.

“Shhh, ” Claire slapped her hand against Christine’s mouth, beckoning her to be quiet. “His second rule is that it doesn’t sound like wildebeests are coming through the walls.”

Christine nodded, pulling her feet up in the air and crossing her fuzzy socking feet.

“Man…my Mom is crazy about stuff like this. All we have to eat in our house is healthy food. You’re so lucky…”

Claire looked over at Christine, wondering what she meant. Living without her mother was not lucky- it sucked. Claire was quiet for a moment before ripping the covers off her and jumping out of the bed heading to the door, and shutting it behind her before Christine could even get out of bed. She looked down the hall, her father’s door was cracked open and a light was shining into the hall.

“Dad?” she pushed open his door, seeing her father sitting up in the center of the bed reading, the covers pulled up to his waist.

“Hey kiddo, what’s going on? Why aren’t you with Christine eating that crap I bought for you guys at the store?” He winked at her, but Claire scowled getting up onto the bed, and curling next to him. She grabbed his arm, and wrapped her own around it. Jim looked down at her, and then set his book down, doggy-tagging the page.

“You okay?” He pulled his glasses off his face, and set them on the comforter.

“Christine’s a bitch.”

“Oh.” Jim swallowed. “Um, well…” he raised an eyebrow cocking his head, “I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to-“

“She’s a bitch Dad,” Claire shook her head. “She said I was lucky because I didn’t have a Mom, and that her Mom wouldn’t let her eat junk food.”

Jim sat up in bed, surprised.

“Oh?” He looked down at Claire, his eyes bulging. “She said that?”

“Well..yeah sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’ ?” Jim asked sniffing.

“Well she didn’t say that exactly…” Claire rolled her eyes, “but she made me upset.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“What’d she say Claire?”

“That I was lucky because I have you,” She paused, playing with the frayed edges of the comforter. The two were quiet for a moment.

“Well…” he reached down rubbing his hand along the back of her hair, “would you like it if people didn’t talk about their Mom’s in front of you?”

She waited a moment.

“No, I guess that’s silly,” she looked up at him. He smiled at her.

“Well Christine was right about something at least."

“What’s that?” Claire asked.

“That you’re pretty lucky. I mean, I’m obviously awesome,” Jim raised his arms with a grin. She grinned up at him.

“I still miss mom, though.” She swung an arm around his waist, and sunk down into the bed, laying her head on his belly.

He let her stay there for a few moments, knowing she needed this; rubbing his thumb along the soft skin under her shirt, he felt her breathing even out; her skin was still as soft as it was the day she was born.

“Christie’s probably wondering where you ran off to. You should go finish your movie,” she looked up at him, and nodded. She slowly got up, kissed his cheek and headed back out the door, glancing back at him once more.

“Thanks,” she smiled, shutting the door.

***

Emma walked out of the bathroom, her hair pulled up into a white towel , glancing around the room for her clothes.

“Have you seen my pants?” Emma began throwing things around the room, a towel landing on Pam’s head.

“Watch it!” Pam called, pulling the towel off her head and glancing back down at the folder in her hand that held the numbers to various restaurants in town.

“Sorry…I just,” Emma pulled various items out of her suitcase, “I can’t find them.” Emma frantically swept the other side of the room.

“They’re hanging up in the bathroom Em,” Pam replied without glancing up from her reading.

“Oh. Thanks Pam,” Emma smiled sheepishly and went back into the bathroom to change.

Pam starred a couple spots she’d check out while Emma was having her interview. One place to grab a coffee, and the other a small bookstore in town. Both of which would kill the time she’d have to wait during the interview.

“Almost ready!” Emma called from the bathroom. Pam grabbed her purse and keys,

“I’m going to go warm up your car, meet me in there,” Pam hollered back, and headed out of the hotel.

***

Jim gathered the notes in front of him, and glanced over Emma’s information. He had her cover letter and resume, but he’d learned you couldn’t really learn much from reading a resume about a person. It was all about how they acted when you met them. First impressions were everything, just like they’d said.

“You all set Halpert?” Devon Smith stuck his head in the conference door, a beaming smile on his face. Jim could never figure out why he was so happy about these interviews, as the superintendent, that man had witnessed a lot of crap, and yet he was still happy. All the time.

“Sure am,” Jim nodded, as a few other employees joined him at the circular table he was sitting at. He looked out the window, the water lapping up on the shore not far from the school, and was mesmerized for a moment. He thought about Sarah, wondered if he’d ever want to find someone else. If there was anyone else in this planet that was as perfect as she was-

“The applicant’s here Jim…if you’re ready?” Devon asked, from the doorway. Jim glanced at the two women next to him, both looking equally bored. He nodded.

“Send her in.”

Pam’s breath hung in the air for a moment as it lingered in front of her cool, pink cheeks. She stood outside the coffee shop, staring at the sign printed on the door, “Abel’s Brew”, and made a hasty decision to go in and get out of the cold. As all coffee shops are, this one was filled with a mixture of college students, typing away diligently on laptops and sipping the latest blend, a group of women huddled together in a corner, ripping Danish apart delicately and talking about a book that they continued to pass around, and finally some men gathered in a line that formed to the back of the door where Pam had entered. This is obviously good coffee Pam thought to herself, looking up at the tan colored signs that held the names of whatever was being served.

She looked around her as she waited, noticing a man sitting alone glancing through an art magazine she regularly read. His features, dark, caught her eye. He wore glasses, his dark hair was pulled back away from his forehead, and his eyes glimmered blue. Jumping as he looked up and caught her staring at him, she looked away; but not before she saw a smile cross his face. She waited, biting her lip, and stared at the shorter man in front of her. Forcing the pink from her cheeks to disappear, she counted the number of stripes on the man’s shirt before her eye caught something moving out of the left hand corner.

“There’s toilet paper on your shoe,” Pam spun around, catching the same man smiling at her. His British accent caught her ear as she instinctively looked down at her black shoes. His chuckle erupted in the space around them as she laughed, realizing there wasn’t anything on the floor.

“Is that a bad pick up line? I was just trying it out,” he winked at her as he joined her in line.

“You’d better come up with some new ones. That one was definitely terrible.” Pam’s voice sounded unfamiliar to herself.

“I’m Daniel,” he stuck his hand out. She shook it, smiling at him but remaining silent. “Are you going to tell me your name or shall I guess?” She felt her stomach leap inside of her, loving the smoothness of his elegant accent.

“Sorry,” she blushed, the two of them moving forward in the queue, “I’m Pam,” she reached out to shake his hand once more.

“Too late,” he laughed, sticking his own hand in his pocket.

“What’s good here?” She asked him, the smell of coffee beans momentarily thrust under her nose as someone walked by with a piping mug.

“Everything, and anything,” he replied, “but I suggest Abel’s House Blend,” he pointed to a sign on the wall showing that that blend was Always 1.99! and Pam nodded.

“I’m guessing you’re not from here?”

“I’m guessing you aren’t either,” she chortled.

“Oh you mean from America,” he smiled, nodding. Pam noticed the specks of grey above his earlobe and began to focus on them, loving how they richly mixed in with the dark textures of his hair. She wanted to paint him.

“You’re right about that. I’m from England…well, used to be anyway. I moved here years ago,” Pam listened and ordered her coffee when he paused, “and yourself?”

“I’m from a lot of places I guess…but mostly Pennsylvania,”

“Are you a drifter?” he grinned, grabbing her two sugars and placing them in her coffee.

He’s aggressive, Pam thought.

“Nope, not a drifter. I’m just here with a friend,” Daniel nodded, clearly listening as he poured the creamer in her coffee. She stepped back a moment, surprised as she watched him fix her coffee. He glanced up at her, the creases pulling back a smile from around his lips effortlessly.

“I’m sorry…” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize this was yours,” he handed her the almost empty sugar packet and stood back.

“You come here a lot, huh?” Pam smiled, using a small brown stirrer to mix the coffee.
“Yeah, are you sure you don’t want me to get you another one?” he pointed at the cup as she brought it to her lips, sipping it.

She shook her head, “This is actually just how I like my coffee,”

She nodded, and then brought her purse up around her shoulder. Pam glanced around, watching as people came and left. She glanced up to the clock, there was still another thirty minutes before she’d have to go meet Emma.

“Do you have a bit?” Dan asked, motioning his hand to the table. Pam watched him, not entirely sure what to make of him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something made her curious but full of uneasiness. She sighed, and pulled out the chair to the table as Dan joined her.

“I don’t mean to pry, but may I ask why you’ve found yourself in Stamford?” Pam rubbed her finger along the top of the mug, the excess coffee moistening her finger.

“My friend’s interviewing for a job here, and I came along for the ride,” she sipped again, “I’ve never been here.”

“That’s obvious,” Daniel chortled.

She raised her eyebrows at him, cocking her head to the side, “What makes you say that?” she was somewhat offended. She wasn’t sticking out, was she?

“You’re wearing that parka… in the middle of winter, near the ocean,” he smiled at her and then glanced down at the shiny maroon surface of the coffee table, “it’s obvious you’ve never been around cold weather.”

“It snows in Philly!” she defended her self, leaning back in the chair.

He laughed again, “Fair enough”

Her cell phone buzzed from her purse and Pam scrambled to grab the phone. Groaning, she began to pull items out of her bag, setting them on the table, trying to find the phone. She’d almost dumped the entire contents of her purse out before finally discovering the phone; she frowned.

“Miss someone important?” He asked, his eyes peeking out above his glasses.

“Just my Mom,” she set the phone down, and started to pack the contents back into her bag before Dan grabbed a slip of paper.

“Hey!” She went to pull it back, as he studied the scribbles she had on a napkin.

“What is all this?” he examined the drawings she’d doodled on a placemat from a restaurant.

“It’s nothing, just…just doodles,” she felt her cheeks burn as she slowly put her wallet and other items away.

“You kept it…it’s obviously more than doodles,” He raised an eyebrow at her, “You’re very good,” he ran his fingers down the line of the women’s face on the paper.

“I dunno,” Pam pulled a hand behind her ear, smoothing her hair.

“No really,” he nodded, his eyes fixated. “I, um, I work in an art gallery, and I’ve never seen a woman’s face drawn like this before. You’ve got talent,” he looked back up at Pam, “it’s so…sad.”

“She was,” Pam said quietly.

The two were quiet for a few moments, the occasional jingle of the bells signifying someone was coming into the coffee shop. Pam’s drawing stationary in Daniel’s hand; she’d focused her gaze on something on the wall.

“Tell me, Pam, are you an artist?” She was confused by his question.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think you’re an artist?” he asked again with the same intensity.

“Well... I don’t know. I paint sometimes and…” He waves his hand in the air as if pushing some imaginary substance away.

“What I mean to say is, is being an artist your passion, do you live for it? Eat, sleep, and breathe it?” Pam’s eyes widened, she wasn’t used to this type of confrontation.

“I should go,” Pam went to stand up, as he followed suit.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, trying to bring himself back down to this coffee shop. He’d momentarily left that place.

“No…no,” Pam swallowed, pursing her lips. “Really, I should get going, my friend-“she pointed to the doorway, signaling.

“Listen,” he stood up and handed her a card, “I didn’t mean to…what I mean to say is, I’ve got an art gallery down the street, and if you’re ever interested in just talking art sometime…”she studied him for a moment, watching his eyebrows release and fall into a soft expression. She didn’t even know this man, yet here she was actually contemplating seeing him again.

“I’d like that,” Pam smiled warmly.

His eyes widened in surprise, “Really?” he asked, and Pam nodded. Daniel grabbed a napkin and quickly scribbled down his name and address of his gallery. He handed her the note and grabbed his magazine, headed for the doors.

“Good to meet you Pam!” He hollered; the magazine rolled up under his arm.

“You too,” her voice barely above a whisper as she slipped Dan’s napkin into her coat pocket, nestled right next to the number bearing Jim Halpert’s name.
***

The last of the lockers slammed around Claire as she placed her science and history books in her backpack. She was pleased that it was finally Friday and she was looking forward to a weekend of lounging around. Her father had promised her two pajama-laden days filled with her favorite movies they’d watched a hundred times, at least. The two of them did a lot of this lately, these low key activities. But Claire loved it. Any time she got to spend with him she thrived on; he was the only one she had left.

“See you Monday, Claire!” Trevor, a fellow seventh grade boy, gave her a wave as she sheepishly smiled at him. He continued to bounce his basketball down the hallway as the sound echoed through her ears.

Claire moved toward the stairs and bounced down them, feeling for change in her pockets so she could get a snack out of the vending machines. Pulling the quarters out of her jacket pocket she pressed the black buttons dropping chips down into the drawer. There was still another then minutes until her father would be done with the interview so she climbed onto the bench outside the conference room, lifting one leg under the other and crunching on the cheesy chips that stained her small fingers.
***

Pam pulled the glass door of the middle school a bit too hard and it stubbed her in the toe.

“Damn it,” she cursed, her eyes tightening as she stood out in the cold a moment longer trying to let the pain pass. She glanced down at her watch, the meeting was running late, and she’d been waiting in the car for the last fifteen minutes. Pam at least figured it’d be warmer inside the school. She noticed a main office, with no one inside, and strolled past it, finding a door labeled “Conference Room.” She tried to remember if that’s where Emma had told her she’d be, but before she could even think too long she heard a familiar laugh coming from inside the room.

That’s Emma she thought to herself, and looked behind her to find an occupied bench. She smiled at the little girl and took the seat beside her, pulling her cell phone out of her purse for entertainment. She looked over at the girl, taking in her red sweater and dark jeans. Her light brown hair was pulled back into one French braid, and she was looking through some teen magazine. The girl was humming to herself, swinging her legs as she flipped through the magazine, stopping every once in a while to stare at some photo of a boy that was loved by the tween generation. Pam watched in fascination, loving the childlike qualities that were radiating off her.

“Whatcha got there?” Pam had never felt as though she was great with kids. Usually children shied away from her, or didn’t really speak more than a few words, but Pam had taken it upon herself to try and interact with them whenever she could, attempting to better her skills with kids.

The little girl looked up from her magazine, and set it down, “Just a magazine,” she looked over at Pam’s shoes,

“Hey, cute shoes,” she pointed. Pam looked down at her simple black flats and smiled.

“Thanks,” Pam pulled her pony tail to the side of her shoulder and bit her thumb nail briefly.

“I used to do that,” the girl nodded in Pam’s direction.

“Do what?” Pam brought her finger out of her mouth, and clasped her hands on top of her purse.

“Bite my nails,” she started, “but then my Mom bought me this stuff online that’s clear and you paint it over your finger nails and it makes them taste nasty if you put them in your mouth,” she scrunched up her face a moment, and then popped a chip inside. “You should try it,” she mumbled.

“I’ll remember to look for it, next time I’m online,” Pam smiled genuinely.

“I’m Claire,” she wiped off her hands on her jeans before sticking her right hand out for Pam to shake.

“Pam,” Pam shook her hand, and grinned.

“Your name’s pretty,” Claire placed the magazine inside her backpack and zipped it up, glancing over at the clock on the wall.

“Really? I’ve always thought it was boring,” Pam laughed.
“Old names are totally coming back into style. I’ve got this girl in my math class named Ingrid, isn’t that awesome?” Pam nodded, and noticed the dimples pulling at the sides of her face.

“So what are you waiting here for Claire?” Pam asked, crossing her legs, and stretching out. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be out here, might as well get comfortable.

“Oh, just my Dad. He’s on the school board committee, and he’s doing some interview or something,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “It’s really boring if you ask me.”

Pam laughed, “I can imagine so. I don’t know if I’d want to stick around after school for that either,” she shook her head, “What grade are you in?” Pam asked.

“Seventh, but it’s so easy. My Dad’s always saying he’s going to make me go into eight grade because I,” she brought her fingers up and did air quotes, ‘screw off’ during classes,” Pam’s eyes widened, Claire just laughed.

“My dad’s a goof,” Claire shook her head a smile on her lips. “Say, what are you here for?” Pam looked over at Claire,

“My friend’s in the job interview,” Pam pointed to the door.

“That’s cool, so she teaches art, huh?” she asked.

“Yep, we’re actually both from Philadelphia,” Pam replied.
“Oh, that’s cool, my Dad’s from Pennsylvania,”

Pam nodded. “It’s nice there, but a little boring”

Claire laughed, “Yeah sometimes we go back to visit family there, and there’s never anything to do.”
***

“Thank you so much for coming in today Emma,” Jim reached across the table and placed his hand in Emma’s, shaking it. She nodded, “I’m sorry I have to cut out of here early, my daughter has a doctor’s appointment and we’re going to be late as it is.”

“I completely understand,” Emma smiled at him from the opposite side of the table as he stood up and grabbed his coat and bag.

“Like I mentioned, we’ll give you a call sometime this weekend to let you know about the position,” Jim grinned, “and just as a side note…I like what you said about how you feel teachers should always be in check so that we don’t have students going without a good education,” Emma smiled back at him, and pulled her chair out a bit.

Jim walked to the door, giving the rest of the panel a small wave and cracking it, “Bye Emma,” he smiled and stepped out onto the linoleum floor, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey Dad!” Claire jumped up from the bench, grabbing her backpack, “I want you to meet my new friend Pam,” Jim glanced over, his eyes landing on the woman sitting on the bench.

“Oh my God.”

End Notes I hope you’re all still enjoying this! Sorry to leave you with a cliff hanger but it had to be done. I promised you they’d cross paths soon enough, and here it is. Look out for the rollercoaster that is about to begin in the next chapter. I’d love to hear what you thought of this, and thanks again for all of your kind reviews.

“Who is she Dad?” Claire’s feet were propped up on the dashboard, dirtying the leather with the salt from her sneakers.

“Just a friend Claire.,” Jim’s eyes were straight ahead on the road. If he glanced at himself in a mirror he would have probably been a little embarrassed. His hair was a mess from running his hands absently through it for the past fifteen minutes and his tie was lopsided, coming undone from its knot.

“Are you alright?” Claire smacked her gum and pulled one of her headphones out of her ears, “You’re acting strange,” she finished. Jim looked over at her, straightened his glasses and then proceeded to pull off the freeway and onto their road.

“I’m sorry…” he shook his head, driving into the driveway and pulling to a stop in front of their garage. He watched as the snow began to fall on the windshield; the warmth from the glass soaking up the ice crystals and making them vanish. It was the first snow fall. Jim’s eyes set fixated on this for a moment before he turned to Claire, “Pam’s just an old friend, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Jim informed her, reaching behind them to grab his briefcase.

Claire got out of the car, forgetting her backpack on the floor in front of her,

“Get your bag,” Jim called, looking up from the doorstep where he was digging his keys out of his pants pocket. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and then stomped back to the car, opening the door and grabbing her backpack. She flippantly marched up to the door and waited for him, cocking her head to the side.

“Lose the ‘tude,” Jim smirked at her, pushing open the door and going into the house.

“What?” she mocked, raising her eyebrows and heading straight for the kitchen.

“What’s for dinner?” Claire asked, pulling open the refrigerator door and staring in. She shut it and went to the cabinet instead, grabbing a glass.

“I don’t know,” Jim flipped through the mail; seeing nothing important he threw it back on the counter and took a seat at the bar.

‘Can we get pizza?” she placed a hand on her hip and then spun around, staring at him.

“We just had pizza the other night”

“Yeah, but it’s so good,” she whined, and then went back to the fridge opening it again.

“Nothing’s changed,” he laughed. She rolled her eyes at him and came over to sit down.

“You looked all nervous today, I thought you were going to shit a brick,” Claire giggled. Jim raised an eyebrow at her,

“Don’t say shit,” he warned.

“You just did.”

“I’m your father.”

“So?” she pushed a hair behind her ear.

“Look,” he sighed, “please just pretend that I’m in charge and go get the menu for the pizza place” Claire broke out into a smile, hopped off the barstool and ran into the living room searching for the menus.

“Jim,” he looked up from the book in his lap at his wife who was staring at him from the doorway of their living room. She had a hand rested on her hip, and her head cocked - Jim knew she meant business. He couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful she looked, her hair pulled up into an up do, a bit of makeup brushed onto her face, and a black dress cut perfectly around her hips.

“You look…” he shook his head at her, a toothy grin on his face, “great,” he finished. Jim stood up, walking towards her, and kissed her on the lips. Sarah pressed a hand to his scruffy face, kissing him quickly and then stepping back.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” she pulled him to the couch once more and took a seat, Jim following suit.

“What’s that,” he placed his book and the papers he was grading aside and brought his right leg over his left.

“Do you know where Claire is right now?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Um,” he ran his hand along the bottom of his chin and glanced at the clock, “isn’t she upstairs?”

“She is now,” Sarah said sternly, “I caught her outside with that purple backpack of hers filled with ten Barbie dolls, a pair of underwear and her party dress. She made it almost to the road before I asked where she was going.”

“And where was that,” He asked.

“She proceeded to tell me that Daddy was being mean, and she was going to run away,” Sarah frowned, “what’s going on with you lately?” She moved her hand to the back of Jim’s head, running her fingers through his soft hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he was confused. Everything had been fine this afternoon, he’d picked his daughter up from Kindergarten, taken her home and he’d been doing school work ever since. His eyes were wide as he attempted to figure out what he’d done wrong.

“She said you wouldn’t talk to her.” he looked down at her lap, “Jim, I know you’ve been busy but you’ve got to take time out for her, she’s only five.”

“Are you suggesting I’m ignoring her?” He was hurt; he hadn’t even done anything wrong. He had papers to grade, an essay to plan out and he was just busy. Sarah always came home later from work then he did, and it was his job to make sure that Claire was fed, did her homework, and wasn’t getting into any trouble. Lately though, Jim knew he’d been a little distracted. Maybe even cut off.

“No,” Sarah shook her head, “I’m just saying she needs her Dad. I’m not here in the afternoons, and she’s only going to be this little for so long. Take advantage of it Jim, before you know it we’ll have a teenager on our hands.”
He glanced down,

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so over my head with work, and lately she’s just been so whiny. Every five minutes she’s coming in here, trying to get my attention, and I can’t think straight. I’ll go talk to her,” he kissed Sarah, “and you should go to your dinner.” He brought her close to him once again, “you look stunning,” he whispered, and headed toward the stairs.

***
“Claire?” He knocked quietly on her door, and then stepped in, finding his daughter rocking back and forth in her small rocking chair, facing the wall.

“Go away.” He could see she was pouting, her arms crossed on her chest. “You and Mommy are mean,” she looked back at him, her face stained with tears. He sighed, pulled his hands out of his pocket, and padded along the soft blue carpet to her chair. He knelt down to her side and pulled the chair toward him. Claire immediately looked away from him, trying to keep her arms crossed as he proceeded to pick her up.

“Put me down,” she ordered, he only pulled her small frame closer to him. He held her tightly against him, kissed her ear, and waited for her to wrap her legs around him. When she did, he dipped his nose to her shoulder.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, “and Mommy does too,” she pulled away from him, her cool eyes flooded with tears.

“Promise you won’t run away again? You scared me,” she waited a moment, and then nodded at him, pressing a kiss to his lip, and he could feel the sticky leftover cherry lip balm stain on his cheek.

Claire’s legs were pulled under her as she bit into the slice of pizza, her father next to her on the couch. She watched as he played with his food, not really eating it. He looked as though he was spearing his pizza.

“Dad, what are you doing?” He jumped at the sound of her voice, looking over at the recliner where she was stretched out.

“Oh. Nothing,” he shook his head. “Good pizza,” he pointed to his plate with his fork.

“You haven’t eaten it yet,” she watched him curiously.

“Oh,” he laughed,” guess you’re right.” He bit the end of the piece and burned the roof of his mouth. He pressed his thumb to the top of it, seeing blood on his finger when he pulled it out.

“It’s hot,” she mumbled a bit too late.

“Obviously Claire,” he snapped and got up to go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She waited, and then put her plate down on the coffee table, getting up to go follow him.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked coyly, leaning against a chair. He spun around from the fridge and stared at her, and then looked at the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he sipped his glass of water, “I’m just…caught off guard, that’s all.”

“Is it because of my friend Pam?” He almost laughed at the irony of her question. Before he could answer her, the telephone rang. The two of them raced for the phone, Jim’s hand grabbing it first.

“Hello?”

“Jim, it’s Pam, can we talk?” His heart felt as though he’d been running on a treadmill for the past hour. He was silent for a moment,

“Yeah…yeah let me,” he side stepped Claire and went up the stairs, shutting his door behind him, and crossing to his bathroom—knowing Claire would be outside of his door listening within seconds. “Okay,” he sat down on the cold tiles, his back up against the bathtub. Something about the fact that he was on the phone with Pam Beesly, sneaking around in his own house, and whispering from his bathroom to her felt so wrong. But he couldn’t explain why he felt a rush of adrenaline, and why there was a pink flush to his cheeks.

***
Pam was lying on the hotel bed, the thin sheet pulled up to her chest, gazing out the windows at the ocean, pulling itself up onto the shore, and then lazily sliding outward again. She was cold and hot at the same time. The sheet kept her warm, but soon she’d involuntarily kick it off once more. Emma was downstairs making reservations for them at some restaurant in the hotel, and all Pam could do was sit up in the room and think about him.

It would be a lie to say she wasn’t surprised to see Jim this afternoon, but it also wouldn’t be the whole truth. Since she’d been carrying that paper around in her pocket, she had this small hope inside of her that she would run into him, though now that she had, she wasn’t sure what she would do about it.

Pam wasn’t desperate. She reminded herself that she hadn’t spent the last ten years holding on to some thread that she and Jim were soul mates, but she couldn’t help but wonder about him. But there was Sarah. There would always be Sarah, and as much as she’d like to forget that woman’s name, it was engraved in her mind. To top it all off, she’d spent twenty minutes of her afternoon talking to his flesh and blood, and didn’t even realize.

Idiot she mumbled. Closing her eyes, she let her mind do what she’d been preventing it from doing all day, picturing his face. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Emma coming back into the room, her hair in a pony tail, and changed back into something more comfortable. She smiled at Pam and came over to sit next to her on the bed.

“Well our reservations have been made, we’re eating at that vegetarian place I showed you downstairs,” Emma patted Pam on the leg, “and don’t you worry…I checked, and they serve burgers there.”

Pam sat up in bed, pulling the sheet around her body and leaning up against the headboard.

“I don’t feel well,” her voice was miniscule, coming from somewhere deep inside her throat, and she wondered if Emma had even heard her.

“Your stomach? Emma furrowed her brow, and leaned it to place a hand on Pam’s forehead.

She pulled away from Emma’s hand, “No, I’m just tired, do you mind if I just lay down?”

Emma sighed, “Sure, I’ll just go find someplace down town to grab something quick,” she pulled her coat on and slipped out the door quietly.

Pam sat up, pushed the sheet off her and went to the window, staring out at the beach. She could feel his touch still on her back, the warmth from his fingers as he led her out the door felt like branded burn marks on her sweater.

*
“Jim,” she breathed his name as though she’d been without air for the past ten years. Jim shook his head, a smile appearing over his lips as he walked toward her, ignoring his daughter staring up at both of them.

“Hey,” Pam couldn’t remove her eyes from his face, studying the lines that had taken the place of where soft skin used to inhabit. He still had his dimples though, exactly two finger nails away from his lips.

There was a moment of silence, Claire standing between the two of them, eyes bouncing back and forth between her father and Pam.

“Uhhh…” she watched her father lock eyes with Pam, both of them holding a smile on their lips. “You know my friend Pam?”

Jim spoke, clearly ignoring his daughter, “Why,” he shook his head, “Why are you here?”

Pam broke the gaze, glancing down at her feet, and then back up at Jim, biting her lip.

“I’m with Emma, actually,” she pressed her right foot behind her left, and leaned to the side, her fingers scrunched up within her pockets. “She’s a good friend of mine.” Jim nodded, pulling his side bag up his shoulder.
“I just can’t believe you’re here...standing in front of me,” Jim looked as though he needed to pick his jaw up from the floor, and Pam would have been more than willing to reach out and do that for him.

“Me neither,” she bit her lip, and glanced up at his face, admiring the glasses that sat a bit too far down on his nose. His hair was still unruly, pushed to the side, but falling in his eyes. She went to study the tile below him, but before her eyes made it past her waist, the simple band on his left hand made her stop. She instinctively backed up, feeling the bench behind her knees and then looked back at the girl standing next to Jim. That was his offspring, there was a woman waiting for him at home, a woman that was prettier than her, smarter than her, doing something with her life.

She shook her head,
“I need to go,” she grabbed her purse and slipped it over her shoulder.

“Wait,” Jim held up a hand, Pam shaking her head no. She could feel her vision blurring, tears begging to spill over as she turned away from him, leaving just a memory of Jim and that little girl behind her.

She knew what she was doing was probably inappropriate but she kept reminding herself that he had invited her here. But now, she was standing in the drive way of Jim Halpert’s house in the black dress she was supposed to wear to dinner that night with Emma, reminding herself that this was not a date.

Patches of snow clung to the ground around her, as she stood there in the dark looking at his house. It was inviting, dark blue shutters trimmed neatly to a white, two-story house. The light was on outside the front door, and the blinds were open, illuminating his living room like an invitation into a private world.

She ran a hand along her tummy and knocked on the cherry wood door. She studied the gold designs lining the small windows at the top of the doorframe. When it opened suddenly, Jim was in front of her, and all preparations of staying sane left her. His hair was combed back, he was wearing a hunter green sweater and a pair of khaki pants, and Pam felt her hands start to shake; all of this was too familiar.

“Pam! Jim beamed, stepping aside and beckoning her inside his house. His hands reached to her shoulders and pulled her coat off, hanging it on a hook. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she smiled, trying to focus on him instead of analyzing the decorations and photos around her.

“Claire!” He hollered up the stairs, waiting a beat before calling again. “Pam’s here!”

Pam watched as she appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister. Claire made no movement to come down. After a moment, she came out of the shadows that were covering most of her and sat down on the first step.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled. Jim looked at Pam apologetically and then moved toward the kitchen.

“I’m sorry; she’s been acting strange all evening. Usually she’s very friendly,” he shook his head and then began to move about the room. Pam stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, watching him, her arms hugged tightly around her frame.

“You hungry?” He asked, coming over and pulling a chair out from the dining room table.

“Yeah, definitely,” she smiled and sat down in the chair. He left the dining room again, and when he did Pam glanced at the square plates on the table. There was only placement set for three.

“Is Sarah out tonight?” Pam called into the other room. There was a moment of silence and then a door slammed from upstairs. Pam furrowed her brow and Jim appeared back in the door frame, holding a bowl of pasta in one hand and sauce in the other. He brought them over to the table, pulling the oven mitts off his hands. He sat down, not making any motion to grab food; Pam wondered if he’d even heard her question. Before she had the chance to ask it again, he looked up at her.

“You and I haven’t spoken in so long Pam, and you don’t know how nice it is to have someone over the age of 12 to have dinner with,”

“It’s-“

He interrupted her, “I um,” he paused, looking down at his fingernails, and began to pick at his cuticles. Pam watched him, and when he raised his eyes to look at hers, she met them. “Sarah died about two months ago, in a car accident.” She watched as his eyes started to moisten, and resisted the urge to put her hand out on top of his.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, and looked at his ring again. If only for a moment, the bitterness that had resided right down into the deepest part of her, the irritation of being alone for all of these years—the wondering, left her.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head and stood up, going towards the door, “I didn’t mean for that to come up,” he said, rising and bringing glasses of water and a pitcher back to the table. The two of them sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the clock tick on the wall and the dish washer running.

Pam dug her fork into the pasta, the room still quiet but it wasn’t bothering her. She kept looking across the
table, wondering if that was where Sarah sat.

“Have you talked to Michael?” Pam laughed at the absurdity of his question.

“Is that all we have to talk about, Jim?” She asked, pushing a curl away from her shoulder. He smiled up at her over his glasses.

“Sorry,” he looked down and then back up at her, “what I mean to say is, where are you working?”

Pam chewed on a meatball for a moment, and then swallowed, “I’m not actually. Not at the moment anyway.” He took a sip of water, listening. “I actually was working for a graphic design company.”

“That’s great,” Jim grinned.

She chuckled, “Not really, I quit. I hate computers.”

Jim looked over at the laptop sitting open on his hutch. “Woops,” he chuckled.

She shook her head at him, “I guess that’s what brings me here. I quit my job, Emma wants a new one, and well, here I am,” she held her hands up.

Jim cocked his head, “And Roy?”

Pam set her fork down, “Things just didn’t work out,” she said quietly.

“Oh,” he changed the subject. “So, I thought my kid liked you. But her performance tonight is making me think otherwise.”

Pam laughed, mesmerized by his composure and fluidity with his words. She was waiting for a slip up, some reminisce of the Jim she once knew.

“Is she shy?” she asked.

“There isn’t a shy bone in her body.”

“Like her dad?” Pam grinned, setting her napkin down.

Jim blushed, “You could say that.” Silence returned once again, except for the occasional clink of a fork edge on a glass. “How long are you in town for?”

“Just until tomorrow,” she spun her head around to find Claire pulling a seat up to the table and wordlessly grabbed some pasta and spooned it on her plate.

Jim caught eyes with Pam and then looked at his daughter. Her bangs fell into her eyes and a hood covered most of her head.

“Hi Claire.” Pam smiled at her as Claire mumbled something back, possibly a hello.

*

Jim knew better than to make his daughter do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. She had her mother’s spunk and intensity- something that was not always positive. So because of this, Jim ignored the mood that she decided to be in all through dinner. It had made absolutely no sense to him; Claire was so excited to have Pam come to visit, up until the moment Jim had told her that he used to work with her years ago.

He stood up from the table, grabbing some plates and carrying them into the kitchen. Pam got up and helped him, but Claire just watched everything. Jim, for the moment he was alone, steadied himself on the kitchen counter, his mind going in a hundred different directions. Most of them concerned Pam and Sarah, and he felt his stomach tighten up.

“Thank you for this.” He felt Pam press her hand against his sweater.

Turning to face her, he studied her face, his lips pursed, “Why didn’t you call me?”

He wondered where that came from. He literally wished he could place his foot in his mouth. Looking back into the sink, he missed Pam’s mouth falling open into a little “o.”

“What do you…” she shook her head, forgetting his daughter was still in the other room. “What do you mean, why didn’t I call you? You left!” There was a hint of hysteria in her voice. She didn’t want to do this. More than ten years had passed since she had seen or heard from Jim—this was the fight she wanted years ago, not tonight.

“Nothing,” Jim placed his hand over his mouth, trying to shut himself up before he said something stupid, “forget I said it.” He walked away from her, clanking dishes in the sink as Pam stood watching, one hand on the counter, the other on her hip.

*

Pam stood at reception, holding the phone to her ear listening for messages. Each one just like the last, an upset customer, a customer looking for their fax number, Michael calling in three times to let her know he was going to be two…three…thirty minutes late to work. But none of them explaining the reason why Jim Halpert’s desk was empty. She pictured his bag draped over the back of his swivel chair, and how every morning it was his ritual to get his coffee, blow on it twice, and then roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

She set the phone down on the hook and slumped into her chair. Jim had only missed work once in the past year, and it was because he’d been sick with the flu. She smiled, thinking of the conversation they’d had on the phone, Jim telling her that he literally couldn’t move off the couch and her offering to come over and make him something to eat. Instead, they’d spent the morning on the phone; Jim telling her the highlights of all the bad talk shows. The office seemed to be going on without him. Even Dwight seemed uninterested in Jim’s absence, not mentioning the fact that there was no one there to irritate him. Pam moved to get up from her chair at least three times before actually doing it and knocking on Michael’s office.

“Michael?” she stepped inside, finding Michael transfixed on his computer screen, his thumb and forefinger cradling his chin. He looked up,

“Oh, hello Pam,” he scrunched up his eyebrows, “Do you know what Play Pal is?”

Pam shook her head,
“Michael, do you um,” she crossed one foot behind the other, looking down at the toys on his desk, “do you know where Jim is today?” Michael’s head shot up from the computer screen.

“He didn’t call in today?” He asked, grabbing his own phone and dialing the number for corporate. Pam shook her head no and then moved towards a seat against the wall. It would be the last time she’d say his name for a very long time.

*

He sat in the parking lot for quite some time facing the ocean. He’d never seen it like this before, all rainy and drizzly, panging down on his car, obstructing his view—but the ocean was still there; gray, distant, and haunting. His hair was still wet from getting in the car this morning, leaving an apartment that wasn’t decorated, barely his, and cluttered. He put a sheet on the bed and had slept like that last night, and now here he was outside of an office that was unfamiliar and ugly.

He glanced down at his cell phone, the time blinking back at him. There had been no calls from Scranton. He knew everything that was happening at that very moment. Phyllis was counting the pencils on her desk, like she did every morning. Dwight was looking under his desk to make sure the computer hadn’t magically unplugged itself, and Pam... He felt his throat hurt. He imagined Pam sitting there, looking up at his desk, his old desk, wondering where he was. He shook his head and grabbed the door handle, putting his head out into the rain, and let it hang there for a moment, his eyes blinking back rain, or tears, he wasn’t entirely sure.

*

Claire moved to the door, watching her father and this unfamiliar woman move about her kitchen as though they were waltzing. Her dad, putting dishes in the dishwasher in a rate so quickly she thought he was going to break the dishes, and Pam standing there watching.

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Pam whispered. Claire watched as she pressed her hand against her forehead, completely ignoring her there.

“For you?” Jim spun around, his hands drenched in water and soap. “Pam, I told you how I felt about you, and you turned me down. What was I supposed to? Go back to work on Monday and pretend none of it ever happened?” He hung his head. Pam held her breath, feeling her heart pound against her chest, but all she could do was stand there.

“I loved you,” he raised his head back up and stared at her. Pam looked away, seeing Claire standing in the doorway she immediately looked back at Jim who then noticed her.

“Claire, get upstairs,” Jim said curtly, making his way toward her.

“What did I do?” she asked, Jim pressing his hands into her shoulders and leading her toward the stairs. She turned around to face him, making eye contact.

“Please,” he quietly begged, “just go upstairs and I will come get you later.”

“Fine,” she turned around and stomped up the stairs. When he turned around Pam had moved to the door and was putting on her shoes, one hand holding onto the wall, the other trying to get a shoe on—but failing.

“I never should have come here,” she muttered. Frustrated, she sat down in the mud-room and slipped on her other shoe. Jim felt as though his feet were glued to the floor, his eyes transfixed on her. “I don’t know what I thought would happen if I came here. It’s just been too long.”

“Pam, I-“

“Please,” she looked up at him, her throat aching from trying to hold in emotion. “Just stop,” she pleaded.

“I want to talk about this.”

“About what?” she snapped. Jim jumped; he’d never heard her speak like that. Both of them stood silent, looking at each other desperately.

“I didn’t forget you,” he said quietly.

“You got married. You had a child,” she said dully.

“You told me you couldn’t. You were engaged. What was I supposed to do? Wait around to fall more in love with you?” His voice cracked on the tail end of his sentence.

“You should have tried again,” she had started to cry. She felt silly, sitting in this almost-strangers house - they were too late, like always.

“I’m sorry,” he turned around, facing the living room, and twirled his wedding ring around his finger. He could hear her taking her coat off the rack and putting it on.

“You love her,” she sighed, and opened the door. He turned back around, the wind coming in the entry way and lifting the hair off his forehead.

“Sarah’s sister owns an art gallery uptown,” Jim rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “It just opened and she’s looking for a manager,” Pam glanced at the floor and then back at him.

“Bye Jim.”

”Jim,” she laid her hand on the side of his face, resting it there for a moment as Jim closed his eyes, taking in the feel of it. He remembered being sick as a child, his mother coming in and touching the side of his face, holding his little hand; this was so much more than that. This was sensual, like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“I want you to…” she stopped talking and instead put his hand on the top of her jeans, waiting for him to make the next move. He swallowed, feeling sweat beads start to form on his forehead. He wasn’t sure what to make of this beautiful woman pulling her shirt off in front of him, her skin pink and freckled, pulling her body on top of him.

“Pam,” he breathed, pressing his mouth to hers, letting his fingers slip into the curls of her hair, running his pointer finger and thumb along a strand. He was letting his whole body press against her, trying to get closer to her; he wasn’t sure if he could even physically get closer than this.

“Dad!” Jim jumped in bed, his eyes opening to a dim-lit bedroom, his daughter standing in the doorway in her pajamas, watching him. He glanced at her, wiping his face and eyes with the palm of his hand. “You were yelling,” she finished, pushing her bangs out of her face.

“Was I?” He asked, pulling the covers around him closer. Claire moved to the bed, and Jim put his hands up, “Um, sweetie, can you go downstairs and turn the coffee pot on?” He awkwardly felt around the bed, feeling the warm wetness underneath him. Shit, he sighed. She raised an eyebrow at her father and then turned around, slumping down the stairs.

Jim groaned, getting up quickly and shutting the door to his bedroom, pulling his underwear off. He searched for a new pair, or at least clean pajamas from the pile of laundry lying on the floor. He made a mental note to do laundry later that day as he felt Claire’s cat crawl between his legs, nudging her head against his shin.

“You hungry munchkin?” he asked the cat, scratching her orange fur, and moving around as to not step on her paws. She meowed at him in response, and he started down the stairs, stopping at the bottom and wondering if Pam standing there had been a dream. If last night he just fell asleep on the couch like normal, watching some bad movie on TBS, a continuation of a dream. When he saw the dishes in the sink, however, he realized it wasn’t his reverie. Pam Beesly had been in his house last night, and now she wasn’t. He didn’t know where the hell she was, but there was a part of him that was determined to find out today.

Jim Halpert didn’t believe in coincidences. He believed in opportunities, in fate (or at least something like it) opening doors for him, showing him signs of things he should and shouldn’t do. Letting go of Pam years ago, was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He remembered days, looking at Sarah dancing around his kitchen, or playing with his daughter and wondering about an alternate life. Wondering what it would be like if the mother of his children was someone else. But fate had its ways, and he knew Sarah was in his life for a reason. And here Pam was, knocking on his door, and he couldn’t help but wonder if fate was looming about again.

He moved to the kitchen, finding Claire seated at the island eating cereal.

“What time did you get up?” He asked her, taking a mug from the cabinet and pouring coffee.

“Eight.”

“Are you doing something today?” he asked.

“I dunno, maybe? I was thinking you and I could go do something.” He wasn’t sure if what she said was a statement or a question.

“You want to take a drive with me?”

“Sure,” she shrugged.

Jim took a sip of his coffee, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, stopping at his face and scratching it.

“Where are we going?” Claire inquired.

“I dunno. We haven’t gone down to Pennsylvania in a while-“

“Wait…you want to go all the way to Pennsylvania?” Claire’s mouth dropped open a bit.

“Philly’s not that far,” he smiled. “Come on, I’ll get you one of those cheese steaks you like so much,” Jim winked at her.

“Okay….” She raised an eye at him, “I feel like there’s a catch. Did you…go in my top drawer?”

“Wait. What?” Jim shook his head, “No….why? Should I have?”

“No.” Claire dropped her head and began busying herself with her food.

Jim laughed, and got up from the table, “Go throw some clothes on, I want to leave soon.”

*

Pam’s lip burned from the warmth emanating off the rim of the coffee mug. She stared at the empty seat at her dining room table and the boxes packed up around her; photos and shoes spilling out of them, and just ignored them. Her apartment was half packed, half still put together. It was the room of a woman who wasn’t sure if she was staying or going. Hell, she didn’t even have a place to go to, just the dream of one looming around her apartment.

She’d gotten home late that night after convincing Emma she was ill and needed to go back to Pennsylvania to just ‘sleep in her own bed.’ And now here she was, up earlier than the sun, wondering where her life was going. Her date book sat in front of her, along with untouched oatmeal and a ballpoint pen. She had a list of things going on the small pad of paper in the black binder, things she could do. Things like call Mom and search online for jobs, but nothing was sounding appealing, and right now she’d much rather sit and mope. She deserved that for once.

And there was Daniel. An opportunity for growth, for doing something she wanted to do. There was the stranger, Daniel, and there was Jim. She’d been in his house and she’d smelled that cologne he wore, the one that smelled like pine and pumpkins and everything autumn. She could almost sense what that close shave would feel like along her cheek. She shook her head and closed her eyes. The almond roast scent traveling up her nose was making her cough. She had Daniel’s number tucked away somewhere in her purse, and knew that with a call she probably could get herself another job. But that would mean moving to Connecticut; a place she’d never been to, only spent afternoons wondering what it looked like. She’d wondered what the ocean looked like there, if it lapped the shore on rainy days like it had when she was a little girl on her trip to Maine with her family.

She remembered her father dragging her down to the beach, she in his arms, pretending to kick and scream but he knew from her fits of giggles she was enjoying herself. He’d dragged her pink speckled toes through the water and Pam had yelped, the freezing Atlantic burning at her toes. She felt herself smiling; she missed the way her father would pose everything he said as a question. How he smelt of cinnamon all the time from the altoids he’d constantly chew. It had been about six years since he’d passed. She was pretty sure that she was the one affected most by his death, because when she told her mother that he’d passed away her mother had chosen not to speak about it after she told her.. Pam liked to think that it hurt her though, that what her parents had was love and that when the person you’re supposed to be with passes away—there’s a sting that never truly goes away.

She grabbed her cell phone off the counter going through the contacts until she reached her mother’s number.

“Hello baby,” Helene cooed into the phone. Pam pulled her phone closer to her ear and cradled it with her neck.

“What are you doing today?” Pam asked. She began to look around her apartment, the lights were low, and papers cluttered her counter. When did she turn into such a hoarder?

“Nothing. Your Aunt May is getting divorced again…so I told her I’d help find her a lawyer. Jonathan’s angry and he’s going to fight her for everything.” Pam smiled on the other end. Her Aunt May has been divorced six times, Jonathan was number seven and every time she dumped one of them she ended up with more money.

“Can I talk to you later, maybe?” Pam asked.

“Of course. Why don’t I swing by in an hour or so and I’ll make some tea.”

“That sounds great,” Pam clicked the phone off, and sighed, wishing that her mother had been free to talk to her for a longer period of time. She tried to clean up her table, setting the pad of paper on top of the counter and wiping up the spilled coffee in front of her with the bottom of her pajama shirt. She grabbed her purse and began to pull everything out of it; she dropped her keys, wallet, and Chap Stick on the table, followed by some old receipts and a tampon before she found his number.

*

Claire was asleep in the seat next to him, all balled up, leaning against the window with one iPod earbud hanging out of her ear, and the other one in place. He snorted at the site of her, and then went back to looking at the road. Ever since she was small, riding in the car always put her to sleep. If he took her anywhere further away than an hour, Claire would promptly fall asleep in the back seat and stay asleep the entire duration. The sign on the side of the road said that Philadelphia was only thirteen miles away, and Jim needed to stop, gather his thoughts and find out what the hell he was actually planning on doing when he got there.

Jim stepped outside of the car, and quietly shut the door, walking around the rest area. He locked it, and then moved over to a patch of grass in front of his car, and sitting down on the bench. He scratched his face, thinking about the last time he’d been in Philly. He and Sarah had taken Claire here the summer before last; they’d spent their days visiting the Philly Museum of Art, eating amazing food, and then relaxing in their hotel they’d rented for a few nights. He loved little family trips like those, ones where he didn’t have to spend four grand to take the family to Europe—they’d tried that when Claire was four and it went terribly—but trips where he could truly relax and enjoy what a vacation was supposed to be.

Jim had no plans for the day, it was almost eleven, there was grading to be done for Monday, and Claire had a dentist appointment early Monday morning, but all of that could wait. He could call in sick, reschedule her appointment, and they could—

“Dad?” Claire moved towards him, sitting down on the bench with him, and laying her head on his shoulder. “Why’d we stop?” she asked, letting a yawn escape her mouth.

“Hey sleepy-head,” he tousled her hair; Claire swatted him away.

“Hey Dad—“ she looked up at him, and he knew. Knew that she was going to ask about Pam, about Philadelphia, about something and so he stayed quiet, wondering if he kept his lips pinned together if she’d forget or just move on.

“Did you really love Mom?”
*

Claire toyed with the radio in the midst of a silent car. The trees were passing by them quickly as they drove down the interstate, a mix of evergreen and lime blurring past. Jim’s hand rested on his head, he’d been silent since they left the rest stop unsure of how to speak to Claire about the subject of her mother. He reached over, placing a hand on hers only to have it pushed away as she pulled herself closer to the window, huddling up to it.

”Of course I loved your mother,” Jim remarked after a moment. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand along his daughter’s hair. “Why would you ever think I didn’t love her?”

Claire bit her lip, “Because I saw how you looked at Pam, you didn’t look at Mom like that…ever.”

Jim furrowed his eyebrows, was he that obvious? “I loved your Mother,” he said quickly, almost spitting the words out of his mouth before thinking about it. That was the truth though; he did love Sarah, with all of his heart. She was the mother of his child, and the woman that helped him get through everything with Pam.

“If you loved her than why are we on this wild goose chase to find Pam?”

Jim cursed himself for bringing up such an intuitive daughter, she got that from her mother. “I told you we were just going-“

“Dad, I know we’re going to Philadelphia to see Pam. She told us at dinner the other night that’s where she lived. It’s not the Philly’s season…we just had cheesesteaks a few weekends ago, there’s not a reason in the world to go there,” she rolled her eyes and started walking to the car.

“Claire, wait. You don’t understand the half of this,” Jim grabbed onto her shoulder as she spun around.

“It hasn’t even been a year yet, Dad! I get it, you want to move on from Mom, you want to be happy again—so do I, but that doesn’t mean you should just run off with some woman who you don’t even—“ his telephone rang in the middle of their conversation. He tried to ignore it, but Claire huffed and got into the car slamming the door.

“Hello?” He pulled the phone close to his ear, leaning against the trunk of his car. “Oh.” He raised his eyebrows and got into the car, “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can…bye.” He slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and got into the car.

“We’re going home,” he mumbled and started the engine, backing up out of the spot.

“Why?” Claire spat.

“Pam’s not in Philly…” he looked over to her, waiting for some sort of response. “She’s um…we’ll she’s actually back in Stamford,”

“Let’s just go,” she remarked and placed her headphones into her ears drowning him out.
*

Pam changed lanes on the interstate driving at least seventy-five miles an hour trying to reach Stamford by one. Emma had called her a few hours earlier telling her “to get her ass up here immediately” because she’d landed the job and needed to find an apartment. Pam had agreed only in desperation after the conversation she’d had with her mother earlier that day. The truth was, her bank account was dwindling and she barely had enough money for rent for the next month, never mind food. So her mother had suggested going and talking to Daniel about a possible job at his art gallery. It was completely out on a whim, and Pam was almost 100% sure nothing would come from it, but it was an opportunity right? And Emma lived there too and…

She whipped her phone out of the glove box and searched for his number dialing it. She was getting annoyed when it had rung five or six times before he answered it,

“Hello?” finally…his voice. It sounded frustrated, and rushed, and at the same time Pam couldn’t be more ecstatic to hear it on the other line.

“Listen, I’m not calling to apologize, so get that out of your head right now,” she waited to see if he’d respond and when he didn’t, she continued, “But, I’m coming to Stamford, apparently your school gave Emma the job and she needs to find an apartment…but I think we need to talk.” Again, it was silent.

“Okay?” She asked.

Telling her he would be back in Stamford eased the knot in her stomach. She’d feared she’d catch him on a day he was out of town, or that he wouldn’t want to talk to her. This was a day entirely of taking chances, and Jim was the biggest chance of all. Here she was trying to run after a job that probably didn’t exist with a man who no doubt had forgotten her name, and praying on a relationship with a man who’d just lost his wife. A man that she’d know before children, before paying rent; a jokester, the only person who could make her smile at her worst moments.

“Get it together Beesly,” she whispered, taking the exit for Stamford; her heartbeat pulsed against her neck.
*

Jim sat at the kitchen table alone. He’d brought Claire to a friend’s house for the afternoon, trying to make a peace treaty. She’d willingly accepted and promised to be home before nine. So there he was, sipping at a warm soda can trying not to wait for the telephone to ring. Pam was in town, probably looking at apartments with Emma, maybe even talking about him; he felt entirely pathetic.

When the phone rang and it was just his mother he had to stop himself from being angry with her on the phone. He’d promised to send the school pictures of Claire to her ‘straight-away’ and then got her off the phone. What would he even say to Pam? The last time he’d tried to make conversation with her it had just turned into a “why did you do this/that?” argument and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for another one of those.

Biting a nail he thought back to what her lips tasted like, what she smelled like all those years ago before her hair hung in loose curls, before she dressed in blazers and suits, the days when her priorities were filling a candy dish and making yogurt cap Olympic medals. He jumped from the kitchen table and bolted upstairs rummaging through his top drawer; he knew that he still had it somewhere in there. His hands filtered to the end of the draw, fingers curling around the object that was tangled around old receipts and socks. He pulled it out, the paperclips curled together and stared at it for a moment. Resisting the urge to smell the cap he slipped it into his pocket.
*

Pam and Jim both agreed that maybe another visit to his house wasn’t the greatest idea…at least not now, so when she sat in the coffee shop that she’d visited just a few weeks prior-Abel’s Brew- she couldn’t help but think about Daniel, and his smile and that accent. Who knows, maybe it wouldn’t be a complete waste to check out his gallery, see if he needed someone to run it.

When the chimes to the door rang twice and Jim Halpert walked in, a satchel around his shoulder, she couldn’t help but smile to herself at how young he still looked. Maybe what everyone said is right, men get more handsome as they get older and women look their best when they’re young. She crossed her arms over her chest suddenly feeling self conscious, and then remembered that signals you’re not open to other people. She fidgeted for a moment before resting them on her lap.

“Hi,” he hesitated before pulling out a chair. She gave him a nod and he took a seat pulling the other coffee towards him. “Thanks,” he smiled.

“Look, I’m sorry for the other night—“

“No, it’s me that should have been sorry,” Jim shook his head, “I should have told you Sarah had passed and that Claire was still having a hard time with it and—“

Pam laughed and Jim stopped talking, his face falling into a line.

“What’s so funny?” his eyebrows raised as she shook her head trying to contain herself.

“Nothing, we’re just always apologizing…all the time, nothing’s changed,” she smiled, composing herself and leaning into him.

Jim’s brain tried to remember back to college psychology, when body language represented someone’s emotions, her coming toward him had to be good, right?

He smiled at her, reaching his hand out and cautiously setting it on her thigh. She looked down, the wedding band was gone, and it was replaced by a thin strip of white skin, skin that hadn’t seen the sun in some time.

“Listen, Jim, I…I’m here to find an—“ he stopped her, reaching out and pressing his lips to hers so quickly she wasn’t sure it even happened. He pulled away, his face close to hers, waiting.

“You’re not seeing any—“

“No,” she pulled his face back to hers, her hands catching in his unruly hair behind his ear. Her lips touched his again, this time lingering there a moment, taking her time finding every coordinate of his lips. She breathed into him, and then remembered this was a coffee shop, in the middle of Stamford—this is definitely not what she should be doing. He pulled away, a smile on his face.

“Wow,” He shook his head in disbelief. “About that apartment…”

She laughed, always appreciating his comedic timing. “Yeah, about that,” she cocked her head to the side, smiling, taking him in. Maybe there were some good things about Stamford.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emma’s hands looked as though they were permanently attached to her waist. Her hip jutted out and her toe tapped angrily on the floor, “I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon.”

Pam shut the door behind her, “Sorry,” she apologized. Her cheeks flushed, and a smile glued to her face.

“What are you so happy about?” Emma grabbed a box and shoved it in her hands. “Help me unpack this,” she grumbled.

Pam just laughed, “What are you so unhappy about?” Just five minutes earlier Emma had called with an address and told her to meet here there—apparently she’d driven up to Stamford with a truck filled with her belongings and had counted on getting an apartment. That was just like Emma, assuming everything would just fall in her lap—and it did.

“I’ve been looking for apartments all morning in this heat,” she spat out the last word. It happened to be ridiculously warm for a November morning and Pam did feel a little bit bad. Although, she did spend the morning with Jim, sipping coffee and trying to sort out the past eleven years of their lives, which turns out—was no easy feat. It was becoming difficult for her to empathize with Emma when she’d had such a festive morning.

“Explain something to me Pam…just a few weeks ago you were whining and complaining about coming to Stamford, and when I called you this morning to apartment hunt you were in the car before I even finished my sentence…what’s going on?” Emma raised an eyebrow and sat down on the bare carpeted floor of the make-shift living room.

“I saw Jim this morning,” Pam sat down near her, cross legged on the floor. She felt like a child again at a slumber party about to tell her best friend that she kissed a boy for the first time…and not just any boy---“He kissed me,” she blurted out with a laugh.

“What?!” Emma yelled. The emptiness in the apartment didn’t help the echo that cascaded off the walls with her shout. “You did what?! You just told me the last time we talked that he had ‘unfinished business’ or whatever, and now you’re kissing him? You need to back up, girlfriend,” she snapped her fingers and all Pam could do was laugh.

“I’ll make this very short. I felt bad for being snippy with him in his own house, suggested we go to a coffee shop and talk since I was coming up here anyway,” she rolled here eyes dramatically, “and all of a sudden he’s kissing me in the middle of the room. It was…”she looked off at a spot on the wall, “familiar,” She finished.

“Well…” Emma sighed, “You’re here now. Let’s start unpacking.” Pam shook her head, typical Emma to not really care about the fact that her life was changing. This was what she’d been waiting for since she’d moved to Philadelphia—that ‘what-if’ chance with Jim and now she had it. Now all she had to do was convince Emma to let her rent the spare bedroom.

“Emma,” Pam asked, her voice an octave higher as she rummaged through a box of feathers and other random objects that were obviously unnecessary.

“What’s up?” She called from the bathroom—she was trying to fix a light fixture that seemed to be broken.

“Remember when—“ there was an ‘oof’ sound and a crash that came from the bathroom, “are you okay?” Pam called, quickly standing up.

“Fine, fine,” she could see Emma waving her hand from the doorway, her gaudy blue rings glimmering in the sunlight.

“Remember when you offered to let me rent a room from you in the new apartment…would you still be alright with that?” Pam closed her eyes in hope that she said yes. She’d find a job doing whatever, even if it wasn’t at the art gallery, even if she had to wait on tables. This time, she was not saying No to Jim Halpert.

Emma strolled out of the bathroom, a hammer sticking out of the top of her pants. “Sure.” She smiled and nodded.

“Really?” Pam’s eyes widened as she set a dish down on the counter.

“I told you it was fine before, I’m not going back on my word,” she nodded and opened up the pizza box that was on the counter, grabbing a cold slice and sticking most of it in her mouth.

Pam smiled, walking over to Emma and wrapping her arms around her. “Thank you!” she squealed.

Emma laughed, “Look I know your libido’s on overdrive…but you need to stop, you’re suffocating me,” she fake-coughed.

Pam laughed and picked up a box bringing it down the hall, “Guess we’re going to need another moving truck,” she called.

*

Jim’s face was flushed as he pushed open the door to his empty classroom. Sometimes, he’d come into work on Saturdays to do grading there. It got him out of the house and also gave him time to think. He sat down, pulled a stack of essays on Lord Of The Flies close to him and began to flip through the first one. He got to the second paragraph before he reached up and placed a finger on his lips. Plump and slightly red, he ran a finger along them, remembering Pam. He laughed a moment, thinking of the irony of it all before getting up and leaving his work behind on the desk.
~

“Claire!” Jim hung his bag up on the hook on the wall, and slipped his loafers off. He saw the residue of a glass of milk and some toast on the coffee table where she’d most likely been watching television. “Claire!” he called again, this time louder, sifting through the mail. He looked up, seeing the fridge door propped open. “Leaving the refrigerator door open is awfully expensive air conditioning,” he hollered. When she didn’t respond, he furrowed his eyebrows and came around looking in the bathroom to see if she might be in the shower; the lights were off. He looked down the hall and into the guest bedroom but there was no sign of Claire.

“Sweetie, where are you?” He climbed up the stairs, first checking her room. The door was cracked and the light was on but she wasn’t in there. He quickly moved into his bedroom, the only other place she could be. He prayed silently as he opened the door to his bedroom. Claire was curled up under his sheets facing the wall. He let out a sigh as he walked over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on her back.

“Hey,” he cooed, she opened her eyes and grimaced at him. “What’s going on? Why are you in here?” He asked, pulling his watch off and placing it on his nightstand.

“My stomach hurts, “he could see her hands were wrapped around her stomach, her body pulled into a fetal position. He pulled the sheet off of her,

“Move your hands for a second,” she plopped her arms down on the bed. “Have you been throwing up?” She just nodded at him. He pulled her shirt up a bit and pressed down on her side,

“Dad!” She pushed his hand away screaming.

He groaned, “Why didn’t you call me Claire?” He got up and grabbed a sweatshirt out of his closet.

“The same thing happened to your Mom and I, I’m going to put fifty dollars on the fact that you’ve got appendicitis,” he slapped his back pockets to make sure he had his wallet.

“What?” her eyes widened, “No, Dad, I’m fine, really,” she sat up and swung her legs around the bed and stood up. She immediately keeled over, “Oh my god…” she mumbled.

Jim moved briskly toward her putting an arm around her. “Let’s get you to the car,” she whined as he helped her down the stairs and out the front door. Crawling into the back seat she spread out.

“Am I going to have to have surgery?” She sat up a bit as Jim met her eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Probably,” he glanced at the time on the dashboard. “I hope we don’t hit traffic,” he sped down the interstate keeping his eyes peeled for cops. Taking the hospital exit, Claire peeped up again.

“Dad, this hurts!” she called, and before he had the time to say anything, she’d vomited on the floor of his car.

“Oh God,” he groaned and moved around the outside of the car getting her out. There was some medics around the entrance with wheelchairs, “Can we get one of those?” He called a bit too frantically. Jim was never good under stress.

A middle aged gentlemen in green scrubs came over and helped Claire into it. “I think it’s her appendix,” Jim said as he followed the man and Claire into the building. “I’m not a doctor but…” he laughed uncomfortably.

“We’ll take her into the emergency room right away,” the man assured Jim as they brought her into a small examination room. “Someone will be with you right away,”

Jim watched as she eased onto the bed lying down and staring at the ceiling. It was only moments before a nurse had come in, popping a thermometer in her ear, and slipping a bracelet around her wrist.

“Are you allergic to barium?” She asked in a monotone voice. Jim rolled his eyes; he was hoping they’d at least have someone a little friendlier attending to her. Claire shook her head no,

“No…at least, I don’t think so,” she looked to Jim, “Am I, Dad?’

“She has no allergies, and she’s been admitted here before,” He said, sitting up further in the uncomfortable metal seat. He could feel his nose turning up at the smell of latex and too-clean hospital floors.

“Alright, we’re going to get her down for a quick ultrasound and then most likely off to surgery. Even if they can’t see that it’s her appendix they usually take it out, just to be safe than sorry,” the nurse mumbled and stepped around Jim grabbing a wheel chair from behind him.

“Both her Mother and I had ours taken out—“

“Okay, Claire can you hop into the chair for me?” she completely disregarded his comment.

“Should I go?” Jim pointed to the door with his thumb.

“Mr. Halpert, why don’t you wait right here and when she’s done we’ll bring her back in,”

“Dad!” Claire looked over at him frantically, her eyes bulging out of her head. Jim stood up walking over to her and leaned down.

“Hey,” he took her hand in his own. “You’re alright, this is going to be just fine,” he cocked his head to the side, a smile appearing. She stared at him, not letting go of his eye contact, there were no signs of relief on her face. “I promise, I’ll see you in like, five minutes.” He kissed her forehead and stood up.

“Alright Miss Claire lets get you down there,” he watched as the metal wheels slipped upon the linoleum and felt his phone buzzing in his pocket.
*

Pam sat outside Emma’s apartment at a little table and chairs next to the coffee shop she lived above. She ran her finger along her cell phone, looking at the time. Jim was twenty minutes late. He was supposed to be picking her up to get dinner that night and talk more about...well, everything. Finally she flipped her phone open and searched for Jim’s number sending him a text message.

Hey Jim, already late for our first date? Wow, your definitely a loser. Calling everything off. :) –Pam

She laughed and then pressed send, glancing up at the street in front of her. She could smell the ocean in the air and couldn’t help but let her sappy side get the best of her. She hadn’t felt this giddy in a long time.
*

Jim glanced down at the text, “Shit,” he mumbled, throwing his head back and groaning. “I am an idiot” he rubbed his hands through his hair and let out a sigh. Claire had only been gone about five minutes, there was no way he’d be able to see Pam tonight. He quickly replied back.

Looks like Claire’s appendix is acting up. And no this is not a terrible ploy to get out of our date. Stuck at Stamford Hospital...rain check next week?”

He felt like a moron when there was no reply back, leaning his head against the wall he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.


Pam made her way down the hospital corridor, feeling slightly bad for telling the woman at the front desk that she was Claire’s aunt. She moved through the hallway, her white sneakers squealed as she walked. Poking her head in the door, she didn’t see Jim anywhere in site. Claire was there however, sleeping in the bed, the sheets pulled up close to her chin.

She bit her lip, a bit uncomfortable with going in there without Jim, but the hospital was quiet and dark and so she made her way in, taking a seat near the bed. She waited a moment before getting up to look at a pamphlet near the bed. It was some sort of booklet for caring for your children after surgery. The small television was also on, some movie was playing on TNT and it didn’t exactly look appropriate for a thirteen year old girl. She switched it off,

“What are you doing?” Pam jumped and turned around, accidentally throwing the remote to the floor.

“You’re awake,” she squeaked.

“Obviously,” Claire brought an arm up and scratched her head. “Why are you in my room?” Pam moved over, further away from the bed.

“I’m looking for your Dad; he said you had your appendix out…” she pushed a curl behind her ear. “Are you feeling okay?” Pam sat down, her eyes empathetic.

“I guess so,” Claire slipped further into the bed and laid her head against the pillow. It was quiet for a while the two of them just staring at each other. “My Dad likes you, you know.” Claire itched at the tube around her nose, “He likes you, likes you.” She laughed a moment.

Pam wasn’t sure whether or not this was some sort of trick. She was almost a hundred percent sure Claire hated her guts, and this was not the Claire she originally met.

“Where is your Dad?” Pam asked.

“He went to get me ice chips. Look,” Claire fiddled with the white blanket, “I just want you to know, if you want to hang out with my Dad, or whatever it is you old people do, I’m alright with that. Just don’t….” she paused, “just don’t tell me what to do, okay?’

Pam grinned, “Deal.”

“Pam?” she heard his surprised voice as she turned around in the doorway to find a distressed Jim. His shirt was un-tucked, his hair unruly, and he held a Styrofoam cup in his hands presumably filled with ice.

“Hey,” she couldn’t help but smile, the two of them in this hospital room it felt so familiar and yet distant at the same time. It was like being in another life, in a world where this was her daughter, and their marriage, and she was here to take care of their little girl. Claire’s obtuse personality would be quick to pull her from her thoughts, however.

“I don’t know why she’s here Dad, she just showed up.”

“Be nice Claire,” Jim eyed her and came and sat down. “I didn’t know you were coming…I didn’t miss a text or something did I?” He patted his pants pocket looking for his cell phone.

“No, no,” Pam laughed, “I just showed up actually,” she picked a bag up and held it up to him, “I thought you might be hungry,” she smiled sheepishly at him.

“I’m starving!” Claire propped herself up on her hands and looked at the bag.

“Sorry kid, you’re on liquids until tomorrow,” Jim took the bag from Pam, “so…you brought dinner here, good thinking Bees,” She felt her stomach jump inside of her and instinctively pressed a hand to it. “Oh god,” Jim looked down, “Your appendix isn’t going too?” he joked.

“No, I’m fine,” she smiled and dug open one of the containers of Sbarro’s pizza she brought.

“That.smells.so.good” Claire whined. Jim looked over to her,

“Can you hold the fort for twenty minutes while we eat?” He asked her.

“Yes please, just get that away from me, I might start frothing at the mouth,” She was clearly not as groggy as before. Jim handed her the cup of ice, and led Pam out of the room.

“We probably shouldn’t even get near her, for all we know she’ll smell garlic on our breath and claw our eyes out,” He said with a chuckle.

They took a seat on the cold floor, the only light coming from the nurse’s station down the hall.

“I’m so sorry all this happened,” Jim took a bite of pizza; “I came home to get ready to meet you and found her curled up in bed.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Pam shook her head and took off a piece of pepperoni on her pizza and placed it in her mouth.

“You still do that, huh?” Jim eyed her.

“What?” She squeaked, defensively.

He smiled at her and grabbed a piece of pepperoni, “Take your pepperoni off and then eat it…can’t just eat it on the pizza, can you?”

She blushed, “I’ve been doing it—“

“Since you were eight, I know,” he said quietly and stared down at his crossed legs.

“Pam, I don’t even know how to begin to talk about all of…”he waved his hand in the air, “this.”

“You don’t need to,” she placed her lips around the edge of her can of Sprite.

“No,” he nodded, “I do,” he licked his lips and glanced up at the ceiling, “I have to start by saying that I loved Sarah, I did.”

Pam nodded, stuffing more pizza in her mouth seeing it was the only thing she could think to do.

“But, that doesn’t mean that I ever stopped loving you.” She looked up at him, catching his eyes.

“What?” she shook her head, her eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t understand. You never called, you never—“

“I know. I know. I’ve literally gone over this a thousand times in my head; I don’t know what I was thinking. I moved to Stamford and Sarah found me in the grocery store. And she was so different than you and—“

“Thanks,” she muttered. He could hear the bitterness in her voice.

“That’s not what I meant. Pam, I—“he moved in towards her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her lightly, “She wasn’t you, and that was what I needed. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Literally, every.single.thought I had was about you and it killed me Pam.” She swore she could see his eyes tear up.

“I don’t know what to say,” she put her plate down. “I was alone Jim, for years. Wondering about you, and you never called. I didn’t even know where you were until I found your number on my friend Emma’s table,”

“Yeah,” he hung his head. “I wanted you then Pam; you knew that…I don’t even know if,” his hands made his way to his mouth—he did this when he was uncomfortable, “if I even stopped wanting you.”

“I don’t even know what I want anymore,” she could smell the sleep on him, see the creases in his face from where he had his hand when he fell asleep, and all she could do was fall for him. Let herself slip back into that place she was thirteen years ago, when he had a baby face and a knack for pranks.

“I want a chance with you, Pam. It’s been months since Sarah passed away, and as,” he rolled his eyes, “corny as this sounds, I know she’d want me to move on,” he rubbed the side of his face with his hand. She smiled, moving her lips to his cheek, kissing it and taking it in her hand.

“You’re going to be okay,” she rubbed her thumb against his cheek, against the rough spots from where he hadn’t shaved.

He stared at her, letting himself be worried about...for once. “We’re going to be okay,” he kissed her fingers before moving toward her, wrapping his arms around her frame.

“Claire’s going to wonder where we went,” she laughed uncomfortably.

“She’s fine,” he leaned in and kissed her.

She pressed a hand against his chest, “We’re in the hallway of a hospital making out,” she laughed, “maybe we should wait to do this,”

He pulled away, “You’re right,” he held onto the wall and stood up with a groan, “Ugh, I feel old,” he shook his head.

“Because you are,” she teased, getting up with ease.

“Watch it, grandma, you’re two years older than me,” he squeezed her hand as he walked by her and into Claire’s room again.

She was asleep, her arms pulled up near her chest, and the blankets kicked off. A smile tugged at Jim’s lips, she looked so tiny when she slept. Leaning against the doorway, he watched her for a moment.

“She’s exhausted,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Pam said, turning around to face him.

“Oh, nothing. She’s just beat,” he crossed his arms. It was quiet, the only sound of the heart monitor beeping steadily at them.

“Hey—“Jim reached out to her, his hand grazing her shirt, “why don’t you come over on Friday. It’s movie night, but Claire will probably like the company.”

“That actually sounds…great,” she smiled and slipped her hand in his.
*

Claire was bedridden to the couch, on a diet of ginger ale and crackers. She’d watched pretty much every movie that had been on television for the past three days she’d been home, but she couldn’t complain; she’d gotten out of going to school and everyday a few get well cards would come home with her Dad from some of her friends. It was nice when everybody thought you were dying.

She flipped through the television, occasionally stopping on different channels for a moment and then continuing through.

“Dad, there’s nothing on TV,” she whined, leaning back against her pillow and sighing. “This sucks,” she said to no one but herself and adjusted her stomach so it would stop aching.

“I picked up a movie on the way home from work,” Jim called back. She could hear her father moving around the kitchen, and could almost swear he was whistling. He was being disgusting.

“Why are you so happy,” she called back and heard him enter the living room from behind her.

He leaned down and kissed her head, “Because you’re my daughter.”

She snickered and reached up to slap his face, “Watch it,” he warned, playfully grabbing her wrist.

“Ow,” she played, “cut it out!” she wrenched away from him and slipped further into the couch.

“You’re lucky you’re injured,” he took his usual spot next to her on the couch, and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

“What are you making?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Something you won’t like, so you don’t whine all night,” he took the remote from her and shut the television off.

“Hey!” she called, trying to get it back from him.

“I want to talk to you,” he said, pulling his legs up on the couch. When he did that, he meant business. “I invited Pam for dinner tonight—“

“I know Dad, you told me like thirty times,” she interrupted him, attempting to get the remote again.

“I just want to make sure you’re going to behave,” he pursed his lips, “and that you understand that Pam and I are,” he raised his hands into air-quotes, “dating.”

“Ew, Dad, stop,” Claire scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue, “that’s gross.”

He laughed and brought out the DVD from beside the couch, “I got your favorite,” he showed the cover to her, “Classic Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon,” he said in a deep voice.

“How convenient,” she crossed her arms and stared at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked in defense getting off the couch.

“Step-Mom Dad? Are you trying to subtly send me a hidden message? Because if you are, you’re sucking at it, big time.”

He broke out into laughter, “You like this movie, Claire, and it was the first thing that caught my eye.”

“Whatever.” Her favorite word.

“Just no attitude, okay?”

“Right on,” she was flipping through the channels again. Jim sighed, going back to his chicken; he had approximately thirty minutes until Pam would be there.
*

There was a pile of sweaters lying on his floor and the only thing he’d been able to decide on was the chocolate brown slacks he had draped over the bed. He was standing half naked in the mirror, water dripping from his hair onto his back and causing him to get the shivers every few moments.

“Ten minutes!” Claire was continually giving him the time until Pam arrived. He groaned and threw on a button down green shirt with a brown sweater. Trading in the chocolate brown for the khaki ones, he quickly through on his pants. Jim took a moment to study himself in the mirror. His hair, brown for the most part was spewed with a few gray hairs and it lay on his forehead. He smiled, wondering if this face looked the same as when he first met her. She looked the same, her skin still soft, but her curls were shorter, bouncier and tamed. This Pam Beesly had grown up, had her head on straight, and knew what she was doing with her life. And as he stared at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but think he looked exactly the same—still unsure of what he wanted out of life. Like he was still twenty-seven and in love with the woman he couldn’t have, and scared out of his mind.
*

By the time Pam had already slipped off her pea coat and crawled onto the couch next to Claire, she knew it was going to be an interesting night.

“That’s Dad’s seat.” Pam looked over to find Claire staring at her as she got up quickly and moved to the rocking chair.

“Sorry…I,” she looked down, “I didn’t know,” Pam finished.

Claire handed Pam the DVD case. “Will you put this in?” This child didn’t miss a beat.

“Sure,” Pam lifted herself up and placed the DVD in the player, turning it on. “Oh I love this movie!” She exclaimed finding her way back to the chair again.

It was silent as the Tri Star logo came up on the TV.

Claire looked over at Pam, “If you think we’re going to dance around to Ain’t No Mountain High Enough don’t get your hopes up.”

“Don’t worry,” Pam grinned, “I’m not as pretty as Julia Roberts,” she laughed.

Claire eyed her and then let out a laugh. “You’re right,” she giggled. Claire patted the seat next to her, “You can sit with me,” she said quietly.

Pam coughed, waiting a moment and then got up to sit with her. “Do you cry at the end?” Claire asked, motioning to the movie.

“Oh my God, every time!” Pam exclaimed.

Claire giggled, “Dad always makes me turn it off before the very end, says he’s “tired.” I just think he doesn’t want me to see him cry,” she had broken out into a fit of laughter.

“You’re father’s always been a wuss,” Pam smiled.

“What was that?” Jim came into the kitchen with two steaming plates of food, hanging one to Pam.

“Oh nothing Dad, just that you never watch the end of Stepmom with me,” Claire shook her head and sipped at the ginger ale in front of her.

He bit into his chicken, “Claire I’ve seen the ending a hundred times,” he rolled his eyes playfully and smirked.

“I’ve never ONCE seen you watch it,” she sat up straighter.

Pam laughed, “I bet he stays up late and watches it all by himself, Claire,” she teased.

Jim smacked her lightly on the arm, “Watch it,” he played, “I could have poisoned the food.”

“Okay, Jim,” Pam smiled; a living room had never felt so warm as it did that night.

Claire toyed with the edges of her now shorter hair, constantly feeling the back of her neck surprised at how short it was. She still wasn’t used to the “grown up cut” her stylist gave her just that morning. Her eyes drifted over the boxes that piled up in her room, each of them labeled something like “College Stuff” or “Useless items Claire refuses to get rid of” and her father’s favorite “Shit I don’t know what to do with.”

She smiled, picking up the frames that lined her bed and packing them into boxes, one by one she took a moment to study the photo. Many of the photos were of her and Amelia, some from when she was first born, to silly recent photos of the two of them. Her favorite was a shot of Amelia leaning in to kiss a sleeping Claire on the couch. Sighing, she placed them all in a box marked Fragile and stopped at the last photo lying upside down by her pillow. The cherry stained Popsicle sticks were cracking around the edges and when she turned it over it was almost a surprise.

Photos of her mother started disappearing about a year after her death. It wasn’t that her father didn’t want to see them, Claire just assumed it was difficult for him to look at them every day. Jim began bringing in the photos to her, even their wedding album, and telling Claire to pack them away for when she got older. She remembered clearly the last photo being taken down that sat atop her piano. Amelia was sitting in front of the piano, banging on keys and when she looked up and asked who the woman in the photo was, Jim explained as simply as he could and handed it to Claire.

Her mother’s dark features were striking in that photo; her long hair pulled into a bun. She assumed it was when her father and mother had first started dating, they looked much younger. She laughed at how goofy looking her father had looked with his hair in his eyes and that lopsided grin he still couldn’t control. How she acquired that photo she wasn’t entirely sure, but she had no plans of giving it up. Resisting the urge to press a kiss to the glossy paper, she placed it in the box with the others and taped it up.

“Hey Sweetheart?” She glanced to the open door, “Your dad’s almost done cooking dinner, come eat.”

Claire got up from the floor, and walked over, Pam wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “You nervous?”

She looked up and smiled, “Kind of...I don’t like how bare my room looks.”

Pam laughed, “Dad’s threatening to rent it out once you leave.”

Claire shook her head, making her way down the stairs, “I’ll kill him,” she played, taking a seat at the dining room table.

“Claire!” Amelia’s eyes lit up as she sat down, the way they had every day for the past few years, and still Claire had not grown sick of entertaining her sister. Pam walked by pressing a kiss into her daughters curls.

“Guess what?” Amelia was a story teller, always having something to say.

“What?”

“Daddy said when you go to school we’re going to get a doggie!”

“So, that’s how you’re replacing me Dad, with a dog?” Claire watched her father enter the dining room with a plate of hot chicken.

“You got it kiddo,” he grinned at her taking his usual seat next to Pam, “we’re going to let him sleep in your bed too.”

Amelia’s tiny hand reached over to Claire’s, “he’s silly,” she rolled her eyes, it was her new favorite thing to do since she’d learned how.

“You’re sassy, sissy,” Claire smiled, looking at Amelia’s tiny fingernails that were chipping with cherry-red polish.

“Sassy sissy?” She cocked her head, confused at what she’d said.

“Mama?”

“Hmm?” Pam looked up, her mouth full, and wiped it with a napkin.

“What’s sassy mean?” Amelia asked, re-situating herself in her plastic booster seat.

“It means you’ve got at-ti-tude,” Jim snapped his fingers as Amelia broke out in a fit of giggles.

“Daddy’s sassy!” She pointed, having forgot all about the food in front of her.

“Ew. Dad,” Claire raised an eyebrow, “You stopped being cool years ago.”

“According to your sister I’m cooler than sliced bread,” Jim smiled.

“Huh?” Amelia piped in.

“Nothing baby, you just think I’m awesome, right?”

Amelia nodded vigorously at her father. “It’s cuz you like pizza, Daddy. And cuz you um,” she pushed herself up further to the table, “um cuz you sing and stuff when we are in the car, ‘member?”

Jim nodded, “Yup, when we go to school, I do,” he spooned some mashed potatoes into his mouth, “you’re a good singer too, Melly,”

Claire couldn't help but smile, ever since Amelia was born four years ago, she’d grown into this little..person, and she was gaining a personality. She looked more like her stepmother, but her father’s demeanor was most definitely shining through.

“Is it a dessert night?” Claire asked as she finished the last of the chicken that was on her plate. Ever since Pam had moved in with them five years ago, things had changed in their house. It was like order and normality had come back again. They had dinners that didn’t come from boxes, and certain evenings when they were allowed to have dessert and nights when they had fresh fruit. They’d taken family vacations again, seen things like the Grand Canyon, and Walt Disney World, and sometimes it made Claire miss her mother even more. But having Pam in the house was like the next best thing; Claire knew Pam loved her just as much as her father did, and there was comfort in that.

“I have an idea,” Jim wiped his mouth, setting the cloth napkin back in his lap, “Why don’t we all go out to Olive Garden and get dessert.”

“Yes!” Amelia lifted her arms in the air and closed her eyes with excitement.

“On a school night?” Pam raised an eyebrow, and linked her fingers with Jim’s.

“Aww it’ll be fine, we’re bringing Claire to Bard tomorrow, we need one last family outing,” he pouted at his wife.

Pam laughed at him, “Fine,” she sighed dramatically and grabbed the plates to bring into the kitchen, “but this is not turning into family sleepover,” she warned from the kitchen.

Claire got up from the table and walked up to the sink setting her plate and cup in. “Thanks Pam,” she kissed her on the cheek and walked over to the fridge, grabbing another soda can.

Pam’s eyes widened, looking over, “For what?” she asked, pushing her pony taill off her shoulder.

Claire stared at her for a moment, “Everything.”

*

“Claire?” Amelia had not exactly mastered the art of whispering. Claire propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes squinting toward the dark doorway, a light peeping through from the nightlight in the hall. “Are you awake?” her soft voice echoed through the empty room.

“I am now,” Claire mumbled as her sister padded through the room and hopped into the bed with her, pulling the blankets up around her neck. “What are you doing in here?” She pushed further down into bed, her nose almost touching Amelia’s.

“I can’t sleep,” Amelia’s hair was sprawled out onto the pillow, tickling Claire’s forehead.

“You can sleep in here,” Claire sighed, turning over to face the wall. Within a few moments she felt a hand on her shoulder, Amelia was propped up against her.

“Why are you going away?” Claire turned back over, facing her and then looking up to the ceiling.

“I’m not going to be gone forever, Melly. We talked about this remember? I’ll be home for Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and everything will be fine,” she could feel herself tearing up. Fortunate for the darkness, she let her eyes moisten.

“Yeah but you’re not gonna be able to get me from preschool and stuff,” she grabbed onto the ratty stuffed animal that Claire had had on her bed for years, “and aren’t you gonna miss Mama and Daddy?”

Claire nodded, she was beginning to question whether or not she was even ready to leave home yet. The weeks leading up to this, all she could think about was how excited she was to leave home, and meet her roommate, and join clubs and finally be an adult. She didn’t think leaving was going to be this hard. “I am going to miss them, and you too, pumpkin pie, but I promise,” she leaned in to kiss her nose, “that I will call you every single day, and before you know it, i’ll be home soon.”

“Can I be apple pie and not pumpkin?”

Claire laughed, “You can be whatever you want, Amelia.”

“Like you sissy? An artist like you’re gonna be?”

Claire never considered herself an artist, that seemed so snobby of her. Sure she liked to paint, and draw, and with Pam’s help she actually had gotten better, and now she was leaving to go off to Bard to major in art education and her sister had just called her an artist.

“I thought you wanted to be Big Bird?”

“Well, duh, I do! But I can be Big Bird and an artist right?” Her eyes widened and she laughed a little too loudly.

“You bet,” Claire sighed. “We gotta go to sleep now, kay?” She pulled Amelia closer to her and wrapped an arm around her, letting her eyes close.

*

Pam moved over in bed, her hands finding Jim’s chest as he turned over to face her.

“What’s going on?” he asked, opening his eyes to find her face in the darkness.

“I don’t know, I’m not sleepy, I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow.”

Jim chuckled, “Neither can I, it’s the only thing that’s been on my mind for weeks now,” he laid down on his pillow, smoothing a hand over his jaw, “I’m afraid she’s going to hate it.”

“Yeah.”

It was quiet before he turned over and kissed her, “You’ve helped her so much, you know that?” He asked as Pam brought her hands onto his bare shoulders, kissing them.

“You tell me all the time,” she smiled.

“I know, I just,” he looked down at the bedsheets, “you’re like a mother to her, and that’s--” his voice cracked, “you gave me Amelia, and helped me with Claire and I just don’t know how to thank--”

Pam put a finger up to his lips quieting him. “I love you,” she whispered, “You don’t ever have to thank me--I know.”

Jim sighed, crawling off of her and back onto his side of the bed, reaching for her hand. He squeezed it before shutting his eyes, running his fingers along the side of her wedding band.

*

Pam ended up having to bring Amelia to school that morning because she’d managed to run back from the bus three separate times to give Claire hugs.

Finally they’d managed to get her into the car and buckled and off to school, with a little bribery of course. She was not pleased that she was not going to New York with them and that she had to stay at Grandma’s for the night, but Pam and Jim had promised to bring her back something.

It was only a little over an hour to her school, but with her father and Pam in the car, it was feeling like much longer. Jim had forced her to listen to the “when I was in college..” speech and then Pam had asked her to explain her entire schedule out to her. She’d almost wished she’d brought herself to school, but the popup trailer they were hauling would not have attached to her beat up Honda. That and the school didn’t let freshman have cars which she thought was ridiculous.

She’d watched her father carry her fridge up four flights of stairs and almost give himself a hernia, refusing to take any help all the way up. When they first walked into the dorm, she was certain she was moving into a prison cell half the size of her bedroom back home. But with Pam’s help, she managed to hang up all her posters, and set up her furniture so it resembled a room. She was pleased with the brown and blue hues that everything adorned, Jim was even impressed.

“See, it’s not so bad Claire,” he pulled her in for a hug but she stopped him.

“Dad, your sweaty and gross,” she held up her hands and stepped aside. Nodding, he crossed his arms awkwardly in front of him.

“So...is this everything?” Pam asked, leaning against her closet.

“I um,” Claire looked around, her eye catching her new macbook she was excited to open and set up, “yeah I think this is everything.”

“Are you guys hungry?” She asked, looking up at Pam and Jim who had managed to make their way to her bed and were now holding each other. “Stop kanoodling” Claire laughed.

“Let’s go get sandwiches.” Jim exclaimed, getting up and heading toward the hallway, Claire could tell he was nervous about something.

*

“We got you something,” Pam started, picking up a Crate and Barrel bag from the floor.

Claire propped her chin in her hand, “You two got me enough,” she sighed and scooted in towards the table.

Pam pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper and handed it over. Attached to the ribbon was a set of paintbrushes. Claire looked at the two of them confused, “I already have all my art--” Jim just held up his hand and nodded for her to continue opening it.

As soon as she tore open a small piece of the brown paper she grinned. The familiar strokes of brown and green and gray appeared under her fingers as she pulled out a painting she’d done years ago.

“You kept this?” She asked, running her fingers along the lighthouse’s frame and the ocean behind it.

“It was the first thing you’d ever painted,” Jim looked up at her. Claire felt a lump in her throat as her own eyes darted over his misty ones, “it all started with a paint by number.”

Claire couldn't’ pull her eyes away from the painting, she’d been so proud of it, it had hung in her parent’s bedroom for years, like something they’d gotten from The Met.

“Thank you.” Her voice was full of gratitude as she walked around the table hugging both of them.

“Promise me you won’t party too much,” Jim lectured standing outside her dorm, Claire in front of him, hanging onto the side of the door, ready to shut it.

“I won’t Dad,” she rolled her eyes.

“And promise you’ll do your work, and call us every once in a while, and stay out of trouble--I know what guys are like here..I was one.”

“Okay Dad,” she groaned.

“Claire,” he paused, coming in closer to her. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re going to go great here. I know it,” he kissed the top of her hair, “and if you absolutely hate it just call and--”

“I’m not going to hate it,” she assured him, “I’ll be fine.”

He pulled away, catching her eyes. “Paint outside the lines baby,” he squeezed her fingers and pulled the door shut behind him leaving Claire staring at the image of a fire escape.

“You can do this.”