He pushed away some clothes that were scattered across the bed and sat next to her. 

“Yeah,” he managed to say finally. His response was more of a general reaction to what was about to unfold.  It was as though he inherently knew where the conversation was headed.

“I’m sorry Jim, really… I was putting our stuff away and it fell out,” she explained, her voice not concealing her apparent excitement.

Jim couldn’t find the words in order to respond.  Instead, his eyes focused on the ring that she held between her fingers.

“Jim… seriously.  Are you mad?  Honestly, it was an accident.”

“Not mad… just….” He couldn’t do it.  She was waiting for him to propose; she’d found the ring that he’d carefully hidden for so long. And now-- as he’d started to doubt their relationship-- she’d found it.  There were no words, no explanation for his behaviour; nothing would be able to make this alright for Karen.

“Oh my god,” Karen’s face fell, realizing the truth of the moment. “I just assumed…  Really… it’s fine.  Totally okay….really. My fault for jumping to conclusions.”  Karen held the ring to out him.  Hesitantly, Jim took it from her and replaced it in its box.

After some time she finally said, “three years Jim…”

“I know.”

“Why haven’t… when were you…?” Karen’s words were barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know Karen…there were lots of times when I wanted to.”

“The Poconos?” She asked.  Jim nodded. “Cooper’s?”

“…the mini putt, the Spanish Steps, dinner at that restaurant our first night here, the Sistine Chapel…” he finished for her, staring across the room, not daring to meet her eyes.

“All of them?”  His defeated expression answered her question.  “Why… why couldn’t you?  I don’t get it.”

Jim took a deep breath.  “I couldn’t… I don’t know if I can give you an answer.  I wish I could…”

“Jim look at me.” He turned his head slowly to face her. “Do you want to marry me?” She asked.

For several months Jim had pictured the first time that Karen saw the ring to be momentous.  He would be on bended knee slipping it onto her finger.  What he didn’t count on was her impending realization as to why he couldn’t propose- why fear gripped him.

He couldn’t answer her question; it was too difficult to verbalize the truth.  Being in Rome and messaging with Pam after all these years dredged up too many old feelings he’d long figured were gone.

Instead, he slowly shook his head. 

“Oh.”  It was all she could say in return.  Part of her, he was sure, wanted to scream at him, remind him that she’d spent three years with him under the impression that there would be a time when they would become husband and wife. They’d talked about their future together before-- about the possibility of marriage.  They were already friends, confidants and lovers; marriage seemed like the next logical step.  They practically already lived at each other’s houses.

“Why the ring then?” It was the question Jim knew was coming and one he didn’t particularly want to answer. In answering it he would be admitting that he was again pre-occupied with thoughts of Pam, that he was still in love with her. Even after three years of separation the smallest things-- paintings in the Sistine Chapel, a message through Facebook, a vision at Trevi Fountain-- they caused his heart to beat a little quicker and he was instantly reminded of her.  Pam may have left his life physically those three years ago, but it was very apparent that she’d never truly left him.   

“I wanted to Karen, God knows I wanted to,” the words were now tumbling out, wanting to end the disaster that he’d created. “I wouldn’t have bought it in the first place if I’d known…”

“Known?” 

He slowly nodded in reply. His voice breaking, the words more difficult than ever, he continued: “…I don’t know… it’s so damn complicated.”

“What do you mean complicated?  You either want to marry me or you don’t.”

His face was one of regret. With shoulders hunched, he contemplated just explaining his irrational attachment to Pam- that he was still fixated on the past.

“Jim. There has to be some logical reason- people don’t generally buy rings and do nothing with them.”  She paused, waiting for his response.  When none came, she continued: “Is there someone else?” Her voice indicated a sudden panic and a fear of betrayal.

“No…” Jim sighed and paused. “Well…”

Perhaps it was his look-- Karen had seen it before.  Or maybe it was his avoidance of giving a straight answer. Regardless, she seemed to inherently know.  “It’s not Pam, is it?” She asked. 

Without saying a word, Jim simply nodded.

“What?” She asked, dumbstruck by his confession.  Deep down she’d known the truth, was afraid of it.  But to have him admit it was an entirely different matter altogether.

Jim couldn’t verbalize his answer; she’d understood what he’d just admitted. To actually say it out loud would only succeed in hurting her more.

“Jim? What the hell?” Karen’s voice was beginning to rise, its tone one of indignation. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Karen-”

“No, Jim. I don’t get it, I don’t get you! Pam?  Fucking Pam, again?”

Jim sat in silence, unable to formulate an explanation.  He wasn’t quite sure he understood it himself.  He knew there was very little chance that he and Pam would be anything more than friends, but to stay with Karen when he was still fixated on her and what happened more than three years ago was unfair.  

Karen ran her palm across her mouth, bringing her chin to rest on it.  “I just don’t know what to say anymore.”

“I know,” he agreed meekly. “I never meant for this to happen.  Not this way.”

For many minutes they sat in silence, Jim recognizing that he couldn’t undo the damage he’d caused, Karen realizing she’d loved a man who couldn’t love her with the same intensity.  Both were heartbroken for very different reasons. 

That night their human weaknesses were on display; it was the most raw and honest they’d ever been with each other.  By dawn, both knew it was over. By morning, Jim had checked himself out of Hotel Aurelius.

***

Pam sat at the computer in the lobby of Parco Tirreno and chewed her bottom lip as she stared at Jim’s last message.  It was obvious that he had no idea that she too was in Rome. She had to make a choice in her reply: explain to Jim that she was in Italy as well or pretend that she was simply in Buffalo and that he’d mistakenly seen someone else.

She was stunned to discover that he had, in all likelihood, been only a few feet away from her.  Where, she was unsure, but it hardly mattered at this point.

Reply:

Not ridiculous at all.  In fact, I’m in Rome doing some art work for a project back in Buffalo. The city is beautiful, don’t you think? Hope you’re having a fantastic time with Karen.

Pam

Pam hit the send link and swallowed the lump that had quickly grown in her throat.  It pained her to be so abrupt in her email, so distant. And somehow writing Karen’s name into the message reminded her that he was with her.  She’d seen it with her own eyes at the Forum the day before.

As she gathered her bag, preparing to head to her room for the night, an attendant at the front desk stopped her.

“Signorina?” He asked.

“Yes?”

“You know Santa Maria Maggiore?”  Santa Maria Maggiore or the Basilica of Saint Mary Major was a beautifully ornate church that held artwork dating as early as the fifth century.

“Yes,” she answered, excited.  She had hoped at some point during her stay in Rome to sketch its wooden coffered ceiling.

“Well, today is… eh… five August.”  Pam nodded, patiently allowing him to continue. It was apparent that his English wasn’t as strong as the others’ had been.  “Tonight they have the Festa della Madonna della Neve… you know… eh… Madonna of the Snows, a festival.”

Pam shook her head, unfamiliar with the local custom.

“Santa Maria Maggiore, there will be big party.  Celebration…eh…snow, si?”

“Snow?” She asked, a smile on her face.  Snow in Rome, in August no less, seemed virtually impossible.

“Si, snow.” The clerk nodded his head in excitement.  “Tonight, party, eh… dancing…You go?”  He handed her a flyer that detailed in Italian what she figured was the start time and musical talent.

“Why not?” She said, beaming. The clerk didn’t seem to understand and gave her a quizzical look.  “Si,” she reiterated in Italian.

“Ah, si!” He gave her a thumbs up, signifying his comprehension.

Pam turned and headed toward the elevator.  A quick shower and a change of clothes later, she’d hastily pulled her hair into a ponytail and headed out the front doors toward Cornelia metro station.

***

La Griffe hotel was convenient; it was centrally located, and he’d previously noticed its crisp, modern exterior while visiting the Spanish Steps.  In consideration of the fact that he had less than three days remaining in Italy and they had an available bed, Jim wasn’t about to become picky.

After he checked into his room he couldn’t figure out what to do next.  It didn’t feel right to go on tours and visit the sites -- it seemed unfair in some way. 

So rather than spend the rest of the afternoon and evening watching dubbed episodes of “Friends” he found himself wandering the city, aimless. He felt almost lost, yet he had a map.  Each passing street seemed exactly like the last.  All the beautiful architecture blended together; the people around him a blur of laughter, friendship and love.

As he neared Piazza Esquilino, the faint sound of folk music began to fill the air.  Locals all around him seemed to be headed in the same direction.

Caught up in the crowd, Jim soon found himself in the midst of what appeared to be a celebration. There, at the bottom of the stairs of the Basilica to Santa Maria Maggiore was the source of the sound.  A five member band, each dressed in traditional costume, led the crowd in its lively dancing.  The accordionist’s fingers ran the course of the keyboard, allowing his instrument to fall open and then returning it to its closed position.  The tambourine with its metal circles added a sound similar to clapping, its player using his free hand to beat against its one-sided drum frame.  Two guitarists and a keyboardist completed harmony.

People all around him were dancing to the upbeat music, their bodies swirling and bouncing, waving their arms to the rhythm.  Their feet kicking forward and back, some were beating their own tambourines as they turned and called out with laughter.  Friends and partners hooked arms with each other, spinning and clapping.

Suddenly, white rose petals showered from above.  From the top of the basilica, just below its two domes, Jim could see several men overturning baskets of petals, allowing them to be carried by the wind.  The petals fell over the crowd as they danced, creating the illusion of snow. 

There, amidst the swirling petals, he saw her.  Her unmistakable smile, a smile he hadn’t seen in so many years.  The curls of her hair bounced as she took the hand of a young boy, spinning him, laughing.  Her shoulders rose and fell with the tempo; her feet moving backward, then forward as she danced, completely oblivious to any set pattern. Raising her arms above her head, she- along with the others in the crowd- spun, the shyness he’d remembered completely abandoned.

“Pam?” He called out, wondering if his eyes had been deceiving him. They hadn’t.  While people danced around her she stopped and turned toward the direction in which she’d heard her name being called.

All sound was drowned out by the sudden and unexpected thumping of Pam’s heart in her ears.  The cheering and laughing became faded; it was as though she had tunnel vision.  It was Jim. His hair disheveled, golf shirt loose from his khaki shorts. 

At that moment all inhibitions vanished from Pam’s mind.  The crowd around her seemed to disappear and within seconds she found her arms wrapping around Jim’s neck.  His immediately found their way around her waist, as he soaked in the faint smell of her perfume mingled with sweat from her having danced in the August heat.  

“Hey you!” She said with laughter in her voice.

“Hi,” he replied, pulling back from the hug, still completely in shock.  “What’re you doing here?”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“No… um… haven’t been able to- God! It’s so great to see you.”  He was already beginning to lose his focus; she was so stunning in the darkly lit street as the petals continued to fall around them. 

Pam smiled; it was really great to see him too.  She’d forgotten how familiar his eyes were, how warm his smile was and how comfortable his voice made her feel.

“Where’s Karen?”  She asked, reality beginning to seep in.

“It’s a long story,” Jim began.  “Really... It’s so great to see you, Pam.  Unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, unsure of what to say or how to respond.

“What’s going on here?” Jim asked at last, pulling a petal from her hair.

“Oh!  It’s some kind of festival,” she explained.  “I’m not exactly sure, something about snow.  But they’re dancing…” She shrugged, her face unable to hide her excitement.

“And you’re so very good at that…” he teased.

“I know!  I think they’re planning on making me a dance instructor here.”  His eyes didn’t leave hers.  It was as though the crowds, the music, the dancing- it all meant nothing at that moment.  She noticed it, could see it on his face.

“Did you want me to show you?” Pam asked, her voice breaking slightly, recognizing the sudden nervous tension that had quickly come between them.

“Absolutely!” He grinned.

Taking his hand, she pulled him into the crowd.  “It’s called the Tarantella,” she said loudly over the noise.   “I’ve no idea what the actual steps are, but there’s a lot of kicking and swinging.”

“Okay…” he laughed, following her lead by beginning to clap in time to the beat.

“Now you kick out your heels,” she explained.  Jim followed her instructions, his smile extending the width of his face.

“And spin!” She declared, hooking one arm into his, a skip in her step as they turned in a circle. 

After several spins, Pam stopped, leading them into the next step by grabbing his hands.  “Kick out your foot and make a circle with it…”

Practically bowled over in hysterical laughter, Jim followed suit. Both he and Pam were notorious for their two left feet and never in his wildest dreams would he have pictured sharing a moment like this with her, in Rome no less.

An older Italian woman dancing nearby lightly touched Pam’s arm. “Tuo ragazzo?” She asked, pointing toward Jim.

Pam smiled, understanding her question and its implication. 

Your boyfriend? 

Shaking her head, she replied, “È solo un amico.”

He’s just a friend.  She remembered seeing the sentence in her phrasebook; it had stuck with her, as it had been her mantra- a way to remind her of the truth as she replied to Jim’s messages in Facebook.

“Fancy New Beesly speaks Italian too?” Jim asked, pulling her aside, away from the crowd, a look of surprise written across his face.

“I told you,” she explained, a hint of playfulness to her voice. “I’ve evolved into a world traveler.”

“No kidding.”  After a beat, Jim added, “Lonely Planet phrasebook?”

Pam burst into laughter.  “Busted!”  She pulled it from her purse and held it up with a smile.  “Have you ever looked at these things before?  There’s some seriously bizarre sentences translated in here.”

“Like…?”

Pam flipped the book open, now dog-eared from use. “Il tuo ego è fuori controllo.”

“Which is…?”

“Your ego is out of control,” she grinned. 

“Awesome!  Let me have a look,” he took the book from her and began to turn the pages, looking for something to use.  “Here we go: Scusa.  Non so ballare.”

“Which is…?”

“Sorry. I can’t dance.  Might be something you should learn, eh Beesly?” Jim gave her a quick wink, his teasing smile leading her to land a swift hit on his arm.

“You’re bad!” She chastised.  “It’s not like you’re Fred Astaire either.”

“Okay, okay!  Let me try another one.”  Jim turned the pages, scanning his eyes over the various expressions.  Pam noticed his face grow suddenly serious.

“What did you find?”

“Cosa fate domani mattina?” He said after some time, his voice lowered, nervous.

Afraid to ask for its translation, Pam simply shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

“What’re you doing tomorrow morning?” He translated.

Pam’s heart did a quick leap in her chest.  “Are you asking me or telling me?”  She said quietly, unsure. 

“Asking.”

Swallowing hard, she replied: “Nothing…”

Hesitantly, he continued before he lost his nerve. “We need to talk…”

“I know.”  It astonished her to see his face after so many years look at her in that familiar way again. 

Taking a deep breath, she gathered what courage she could muster and offered: “Why don’t we meet tomorrow around noon?  There’s a portico at Santa Maria in Cosmedin that would be a good place to talk.”

“Do I know what a portico is?”  He asked, the tension beginning to break.

“You’ll find it,” she said with a nervous smile.

“Great.” 

“It’s getting late,” Pam said motioning toward the dissipating crowd around the basilica. 

“Yeah,” he replied simply.

“I should get back,” she continued, slowly.  He stared at her, almost seeming to ignore her, soaking in every feature of her face.

“Yeah, probably.”

“The… uh… phrasebook,” she said pointing to the book still open in his hands.

“Oh! Right,” he looked down at it.  With a suspicious smile, he began to flip through the pages again.  After a moment, he stopped and said, “sono innamorata di te.”

“What’s that mean?”

Closing the phrasebook, he handed it back to her.  “That’s for you to figure out.”