It’s beyond awkward.  Two grown adults, one engaged to a man that doesn’t deserve her, and the other who’s convinced that he’s the one who does.  She’s got a better poker face on now than at the casino thing, with her hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel and her eyes never leaving the fast-moving road in front of us.  I have to give it to her for keeping so cool; I’m trying my best to do the same but it’s hard to keep down a grin when I can’t stop thinking about how a fantasy I’ve imagined more times than I’d care to admit actually came true.  Granted we were in a car, and there was definitely less clothing in the fantasy, but I’m not picky.  

Minutes tick by and neither of us has said a word, but we don’t seem to be too anxious to say anything.  What would we say anyway?  So, do you always use that much tongue?    

“So,” I start, because well, that’s something right?  “I think I need a better coat for Stamford.  I mean I’m by the water, so that must make it colder—“

She’s pulling over onto the side of the road, cutting off a few cars in the process, which earns us some angry honking.

“Uhh, Pam, is there a reason you’re—“

And then the lips are back, pressing hard against mine to the point where it almost hurts.  Her hands are clasped against my cheeks holding my head in place, and when I try to take them in my own, it seems to snap her out of it.  She pulls back breathless and sits back in her seat, once again staring straight ahead.

“I cheated on Roy.”

Oh.  Okay.  

“Look, Pam…we don’t need to do this.”  I swallow back the bile and pride that’s rising in my throat as I speak, and I hate it, but it’s my only option.  “We can just forget it happened and I’ll move and—“

“No.  No,” she states solidly.  “I’m not talking about…us…I mean—It was awhile ago.”

My head swivels toward her with surprise, my mouth gaping open like a fish.  It’s not the most tactful response, but learning that Pam has a history of infidelity is undeniably intriguing.

“Some stupid party in college.  Roy and I had gotten into an equally stupid fight, I ran into a guy from my art class, I had way too much beer and then…” she trails off and lets a shrug finish the story for her.

“So you….did ‘it’?” I ask with a laugh, because I sound like I’m in seventh grade all over again, scared to know the answers to all my questions in health class.

“It’s not funny,” she answers sharply and I hang my head in embarrassment.

“And no, I didn’t let it get that far.  We fooled around a little bit but when the moment of truth came, I panicked.  I went running back to Roy the next day, took the entire blame for the fight, and he never found out about what I did.”

I try to picture it: Co-ed Pam, shy and inhibited as she always is, being reckless for a few scandalous hours in a dorm room.  Cardigans and turtlenecks discarded on the floor along with reason and logic.  It seems completely out of character, but what occurred less than an hour ago along with this anecdote from the past seems to say contrary.

“Why are you telling me this?”  I ask, though I suppose it’s pretty obvious.

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly.  “It doesn’t make what just happened any better, I know it makes it worse.  But…I’m sensing a pattern.”

Pattern.  As in those kisses we just shared were nothing more than the next stitch in the pattern she’s woven for herself in two instances of unfaithfulness.  Nothing special, nothing unique, every bit as meaningless as a drunken night of fooling around.  I can feel myself starting to glare at the glove compartment as my thoughts begin to fester and I try my best to create a look of indifference.

“Pattern,” I repeat, trying hard to mask the bitterness on my tongue.  

“Yeah, you know, like…unhappiness leads to people making bad decisions.  But those bad decisions are really based on one previous, ultimate bad decision.  Does that make sense?”

“No, not really,” I chuckle.

She sighs in exasperation.  “I just…I’m wondering if these choices I keep making revolve around Roy.”

Obviously.

“I…don’t know what to tell you, Pam.”  

She mutters a “hmm” in return, turns the car on with a decisive nod and merges back on to the highway.  And that basically confirms all of my fears:  It was nothing.  Meaningless.  We can sweep this under the rug like every other stolen glance and “innocent” hand brushes and seconds of silence passing between us.  Unless…

“For the record,” I interject, refusing to let the subject change.  “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

She presses her lips together tightly out of…anger?  But I can see the corners start to turn up and maybe this was a good idea after all.

“How long?” she asks, her voice just barely cracking.

Even though it’s wreaking major havoc on my nerves, I love this new game we’re playing.  Like now that we’ve crossed the most dangerous threshold, and there’s no going back, we might as well enjoy it.

“Since your first day?” she pushes further.

I swallow and stare ahead at the road, hoping she can see enough out of her periphery to catch my slow nod.  

“Yeah,” she chuckles softly.  “Me too.”

It’s a small victory, but after five years, I’ve finally gotten some truth out of her.  

“Yeah?” I move my hand carefully toward hers where it’s resting on her thigh and curl my pinkie around her own.  She licks her lips and lets a long breath out of her nose.  Even if it was meaningless, there’s at least a small comfort in knowing that the smallest touch can have this effect on her   I bite my lip to keep from smiling as I start to graze her palm with my fingers.

“You’re going to make me crash this car if you keep that up.”  She tries to sound forceful, but it comes out strained, like she’s trying to ignore the fact that my thumb is tracing circles on her wrist.

I shrug innocently.  “Okay, I’ll stop.”  And I do.  I stop work on her hand move up her bare arm to the back of her neck, my fingers doing what I wish my lips could.

“Jim,” she warns, but I ignore her.  

“Do you blame me?”  There’s a darkness to my voice that should surprise us both, but after all that’s happened today, I don’t think much surprises us anymore.  Even still, the slow shake of her head, and all the implications it holds, is enough to send chills all along my back.

But the tension lifts as she straightens her back and gives the road the attention it deserves.  The moment passes as quickly as the cars beside us and while I can’t deny my disappointment, it’s for our own good (and safety) that we let this drop.  For now.

 I feel the car start to accelerate.

“In a hurry, Beesly?”

“Yeah I just…kind of want to get out of this car.”  

I take my hand away from her neck and settle into the passenger seat.  “Not too long of a drive, we’ll be in Scranton soon.”

“Good,” she says quickly.  I look over at her curiously, wondering how to take this sudden sense of urgency.  

She notices and assures me: “No, I just…I think we should really talk when we get back.  I mean, we could talk now but I feel like doing that while operating a car is a poor choice.” She smiles in hopes that I’ll understand, and even though I don’t and have no idea what the hell she wants to talk about (or maybe I just don’t know where she wants to begin), I smile back.

“Sure,” I say, closing my eyes and resting my head on the seatbelt.  “We’ve got time.”

4:59 pm