On Saturday Marsha barely made it upstairs in time to check the receptionist's trash before the rest of the crew got there. She had spent the week deliberating about whether or not to throw out those first two letters, and although she hadn't reread them, she also hadn't been able to get rid of them. So they were still on her nightstand. She knew she was being silly and that it was really none of her business, but she also knew that tonight there wasn't time to hesitate and if she didn't act now, she wouldn't even get a chance to check and whatever was in that receptionist's garbage can would go straight to the landfill.

Not bothering with her usual system of starting with the back office, she made a beeline for the reception desk. Luckily the receptionist wasn't one of those people who put gross things in their garbage, and aside from a thoroughly scraped-out yogurt cup Marsha didn't see anything but papers. She quickly leafed through them and was rewarded with two letters, characteristically scrawled in that familiar blue ink. One was only a few lines long and the other filled almost a whole page. As she was about to start reading Marsha heard voices in the hallway. She thought about trying to sneak into the restroom to read them now, but instead decided to save them for a better time and hurriedly slipped both in her pocket. Somehow, knowing they were there waiting for her made the next few hours go by a little bit more quickly. It had been so long since she'd had something to look forward to that even just this little bit of excitement combined with the fact that she had to keep the whole thing a secret kept her on edge.

When she finally made it home she was once again exhausted, but couldn't wait to see what was in the letters. Sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water in her hand and staring at two little folded up slips of paper, she hesitated. This really wasn't right. She'd probably be furious if someone started reading her personal correspondence. Especially if it was a love letter.

A battle of wills began in Marsha's head.

"No one will ever find out"

"But it just feels wrong"

"You already have them here, you might as well read them"

"I don't have to read them. I could just throw them all away right now."

"Oh come on. You know you aren't going to throw these two away without even finding out what they say first."

"Oh fine. I'll read these two first. Then I'll throw them all away."

"Uh-huh. Sure you will."

"I will. Just watch me!"

And with that she opened the shorter of the two letters.

Jim, Jim, Jim,

Want to know something funny? Sometimes when I'm not really thinking about anything, like right as I'm falling asleep or when I'm cooking in my "one kitchen" or driving home from work all of a sudden I'll just say your name. Jim. I don't even know why.

Well, that had hardly been worth the internal battle, she thought. Although she was a little curious about the phrase "one kitchen." Maybe the next letter would prove more interesting. She opened it quickly so as to avoid going through another struggle with her conscience.

Jim,

I'm sitting here "taking notes" during Michael's conference calls, and he's driving me crazy. I would wish you were here so that we could laugh about his impression of the Numa Numa guy that he felt the need to do in the middle of a call with one of our biggest vendors, but at the moment I wouldn't wish Michael's presence on anyone. It's really bizarre how sometimes he can be such a good businessman and other times he's downright psychotic. It makes me wonder how he even-

You know what? Forget Michael. I don't really want to talk about Michael right now. What I'd rather do is say this: I wish there was some way to go back in time. I think if I could pick any night to relive it would be the one when we kissed. That probably sounds a little funny, but I swear for the longest time I hated thinking about that night because it felt like that was the night our friendship was officially over. And besides that I felt guilty about kissing you and I also felt, I don't know just confused about everything. It was painful to think about. But then I realized that if I was careful I could isolate specific moments and only think about those and not everything else that happened as a result. This is completely embarrassing, but sometimes in my head I can still hear you saying that you're in love with me and that you want to be more than just friends. And I hear it over and over. Like the way a song gets stuck in your head and you can't get it out no matter how hard you try. But the best moment to relive is that kiss. Why didn't you tell me you could kiss like that?

Sorry. I'm laughing in my head now because I'm picturing a conversation where you come up to my desk and say "Hey Pam, did you happen to know that I am a really great kisser?" I realize you'd be a lot smoother than that about it, but seriously, if I had known that it would be like that... I mean, I just... I wish that I had somehow known last year that I wouldn't end up marrying Roy, that in the end we wouldn't end up together. The truth is that I mostly stayed with him because I didn't know how not to be with him. I didn't even know my self. Roy was just always there and I couldn't imagine my life without him. I'm sorry. I know you probably don't want to hear me talk about Roy. Oh, wait you're never going to have to because you'll never actually read this. But if having to listen to me ramble on about my problems with Roy over the years was anything like what it's like for me trying to listen to you talk about Karen lately, well then you, my friend, are a saint. Then again, if talking about Karen is the only way to keep talking to you then that's what I'll do. Besides I feel like I owe it to you. You really are amazing. I hope you know that. I hope Karen tells you every day how incredible you are. Because you are. I don't know how else to say it, Jim you are... everything.

I should probably stop writing or Michael will actually expect me to remember exactly what he just told this customer. So I guess I'll just say, I miss you. Even sitting 10 feet away from you I miss you.

Your friend always,

Pam

Hm... Pam. So the receptionist's name was Pam. Interesting. Pam and Jim. She was the receptionist and Marsha had already figured out that Jim probably worked at that desk that was close to the receptionist desk, but faced the opposite wall. And they'd kissed. And he'd told her he was in love with her. But something had happened. Oh, maybe Pam had still been engaged when they'd kissed and that was why she had felt guilty about it. Yes, that made sense. And then Jim had left before she had called off the wedding and she hadn't told him. But where had he gone? And why hadn't he called Pam when he found out that she wasn't marrying Roy? Marsha picked up her glass, dumped the extra water into the sink and then loaded it into the dishwasher.

The pieces were starting to fit together. But she was still so confused as to what exactly had happened. And who was Karen? From what she could tell Karen and Jim were now involved, but how had that happened? She locked the front door and turned out the downstairs lights.

Pam's letters hadn't made Jim sound like he was the type of guy to be in love with Pam one day and then suddenly be dating someone else. But what if he was? What if Pam was throwing herself away on this guy who was ultimately just a jerk? No. That couldn't be right. They were friends, and it sounded as though they'd been friends for years. She couldn't imagine that Pam was such good friends with a jerk. Marsha was half-way up the stairs before she realized she hadn't thrown away the letters. They were still sitting on the kitchen table. Well, it was late. She'd throw them all out tomorrow.