When he gets home, his house is dark and quiet.  There is a smell he can’t identify, although he thinks it’s coming from the kitchen...probably forgot to take the garbage out again.  There are no sounds to greet him except the closing of the door and the click of the lock. 

His eyes scan his house as he hangs his jacket and his bag on the coat rack.  Everything is tidy.   His furniture still looks brand new, even though it’s almost a year old, a product of the extra money he makes now that he’s Assistant Manager.  His mail is stacked in a neat pile on the counter, waiting for him to sort through and write out checks.   

He heads to the kitchen and fixes himself a bourbon.  His hands shake as he raises the glass to his lips.  It doesn’t take long for the warmth to course through his veins and numb him of the pain.

Sometimes it hurts him just to look at her.  But he has been not looking at her since he came back from Stamford.  Ironically, he thinks that hurts more.    

“Pam.”  Her name comes off his lips as a whisper.  His smile is bittersweet. For awhile, he thought there was a chance.  He had hope.  As time went by, he realized that hope is a waste of time.  It’s the stuff that fairytales are made of. 

So he goes through his days, pretending to be happy.  He knows that when he gets home, he can have a drink to take the edge off.  It’s not like he’s an alcoholic.  It’s only one drink.  But he finds that he starts thinking about that drink a little earlier than he used to and a lot more often than he used to.  Pretty soon he starts thinking that maybe one more won’t hurt...   

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When he gets home, the house is dark and quiet.  A smell that he can’t identify is coming from the kitchen.  There are no sounds to greet him except the closing of the door and the click of the lock. 

He drops his bag and jacket on the floor as his eyes scan the room.  Magazines have been left on the coffee table.  Clothes have been taken off and discarded.  Mail is all over the counter.  He thinks he should straighten up, but instead he walks over the piles and heads straight for the bedroom. 

He walks into his closet and loosens his tie.  He talks to himself as he hangs his tie on the rack.  “I sure wish I had some company.  It sure is lonely being all by myself.”   He hears a faint noise. 

“Why doesn’t anyone love me?” 

The noise gets a little louder. 

“I’m all by myself.  Don’t wanna be…all by myself,” he sings. 

Suddenly there’s uncontrollable giggling and two little girls spring out from the clothes in the closet and push him back to the bed.   

“You’re not alone, Daddy!”

 “We love you!”

 “We were tricking you!” 

“We tricked you!” 

“You didn’t know where we were!”   

 “Daddy, we helped Mommy make dinner!” 

“I stirred!” 

“I put it in the oven!” 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Daddy, sissy climbed on the couches again.  She got put on time out.” 

“We missed you!” 

“I wub you, Daddy.”  

He smiles as he listens to his girls.  He had thought that their hiding in the closet was a game they would tire of.  It has been four years and they still greet him the same way, every day. 

So he goes through his days thinking of ways to change up what he says in order to get them to jump out of the closet and attack him.  Sometimes they can’t help themselves and they fall into fits of laughter before he even says a word.   Sometimes he has to really be creative.  Today was an easy day. 

He looks over to the doorway and sees her hiding behind the door.  “Pam!”  Her name comes off his lips as a whisper.   His smile is genuine and sweet.

 She is smiling at him as she comes walking toward him.  She reaches up and touches his face and gives him a welcome home kiss.  The girls start giggling and pretty soon he starts thinking that maybe one more won’t hurt…