As I drive over to my folks’ house to visit with my Dad and move some furniture for my mother, I’m thinking about how fast my life seems to be changing.  Marrying Pam, expecting a baby, and now, my Dad’s heart attack, it's all starting to shift my responsibilities away from just being their kid to being a real grownup.  Somehow I’d gone from being just a son with a girlfriend to being a husband, almost a father, and now, taking extra care with my parents in less than two years.  I find that the first signs of their aging are becoming a reality and I also find that I’m not alone with my worries.  Pam’s right there with me, stopping at their house on the way home from work a couple nights a week, calling during the day to make sure they’re okay, to see if they need anything.  It’s not the first time I’ve seen her quiet strength, how she seems to know just what to do and then just does it without making any kind of noise about it.  But this?  The way she is with them is just...amazing.  These are my parents, but she has her own way with them - the three of them have their own thing going on.  The love and affection between them is something special, something I’d never really expected, and it has nothing to do with me, really.  Oh, they love my brother Jon’s wife, Beth, for sure, but Pam…it’s like they need her.  She knows it, too, and she seems to love that, loves them needing her warmth and the brightness of her smile.  So, from the minute the call came, shocking us out of our Sunday morning laziness, she was ready to do her part. 

     I was still on my first cup of coffee.  Actually, my first quart, since I was hanging on to the HOT mug with both hands. We were curled up on the couch, her back against me, nestled between my legs under a blanket, trying to pick up where we left off with Good Will Hunting from the night before.  I was fast-forwarding and stopping, asking “do you remember this part?” and she kept nodding her head but I don’t think she was paying attention because she was running her hands up and down my legs, looking back at me, waggling her eyebrows, and I had to scold her, telling her I wasn’t her sex toy and her saying, oh, yes you are. 

     Both of us had fallen asleep the night before, about 20 minutes into the movie, and I woke up around 4:30 am, completely disoriented, not knowing if I needed to get up and go to work or even what day it was.  When my head cleared, I debated whether to leave Pam asleep on the couch or wake her up to come up to bed.  I thought she was completely out, but then she stretched and reached out for me and I asked “do you want to come upstairs?” and she said “yes” but then her hand was inside my pajama pants.  Hmm.  I asked her if she was dreaming about Matt Damon again and she said ‘yeah…how do you like them apples?’ and I laughed, wondering how the hell she could be so quick when she was half asleep.  As I pulled her pajama bottoms off I told her I wasn’t very good at math and she said, “show me what you are good at, then” and we made love in that agonizingly slow way where we’re barely moving, and I want to stay inside her forever, and it’s so...sweet, the way I know her.  The way I know when she’s had enough and wants me to move faster, or pull her closer.  I know this even before she changes the angle of her hips or tightens her grip on my hair or deepens her kiss, but if I’m patient and wait and wait, she’ll do all those things, but then she’ll say it, too. She’ll say my name and sometimes it’s a plea and sometimes it’s a command, but, God help me, sometimes I make her wait, just to hear her call my name.   

     I resisted her eyebrows for the moment, and directed her attention back to the movie. When we both said “who’s that guy?” I hit ‘play’ and about 15 minutes later, the call came.  I reached for the phone and heard my mother’s controlled but anxious voice saying my father was in the hospital.  He’d had a heart attack, it was a mild one, but could we please come?  He was in the ER at Mercy Hospital – but was being moved to the Cardiac Care Unit, so just come to the main entrance and go straight to the CCU and be careful driving.  We were backing out of the driveway in about five minutes, Pam driving because she insisted and I couldn’t think to argue with her.  We’d only half undressed to throw on jeans and sweatshirts and pulled hats down over our crazy hair.  She tells me he’s going to be fine, you know, he’s in great shape and I say yeah, I know, but what I was thinking then, and what I’m thinking now as I head over to check on him, is if he’s in such great shape, how could this happen?

     I yell “Good morning!” as I push my way into the back door, loaded down with food that Pam had sent with me. 

“In the living room, Jim!” my mother yells back.

     I set the food down in the kitchen and walk in to find my mother trying to move the couch and my father in the recliner directing traffic.

“Jesus, Mom!  Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Because your father won’t shut up about the glare on the TV from his throne!”

“Mom, get away from the couch.  Am I going to have both of you with the heart attacks, now?  Dad, why are you letting her do this?”

“Why is it my fault?  Like I could ever stop her from doing whatever she wanted.”

“Jim, you’re going to hurt your back!  Be careful!”

“Melinda, let the boy move the couch!  Why don’t you get us some coffee?  Jim, you want coffee?”

“No thanks, I already had a quart this morning.”

“Jim, you drink too much coffee.”

“It was a joke, Mom.  Kind of.”

“Watch your coffee.  Look at your father.”

“What, Mel?  Now it’s coffee that caused the heart attack?  Jim, every day, your mother has a new theory.  At this rate, I’ll be down to lettuce and herbal tea.”

My mother leaves us to go to the kitchen, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

“Caffeine isn’t good for you right now, Pop.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.  Nothing I love is good for me.”

My mother calls from the kitchen, “Jim, did Pam send food again?  Good Lord, that girl has been feeding us for weeks!  And Mrs. Kramer from down the street brought over a coffee cake…”

“…that I can’t eat because it’s bad for me!”

“Mom, Pam made a fruit salad.  Dad, you want some fruit salad?”

“No, I want to hear about how my girl’s doing.”

“She’s doing…great, Dad.  She’s great.”

“Don’t bullshit your father, James.  I’m on my deathbed here.”

“Holy Mother of God!  Steve, you are not on your deathbed!”

“I was talking to my son!  Nothing wrong with your hearing, Mel!” and then he whispers to me, “I love winding your mother up.  I figure, if she thinks I’m dying, she’ll be nicer to me.”

“Is that how you keep the magic alive, Pop?”

“Thirty-five years.  I must be doing something right.”

     My mother calls us into the kitchen and I reach for my father’s arm to help him out of his chair, but he waves me off.  He says he’s starting cardiac rehab tomorrow morning, so he might as well start working out now.  We sit at the kitchen table and my mother pours coffee (“it’s decaf!  You’ll get used to it!”) and juice, sets bowls out for fruit and slices a piece of coffee cake for me. 

“How’s Pam doing?” my mother asks.  There’s a hint of concern in her voice, not the usual inquiry.

“Wasn’t she just here night before last, Mom?”

“Yes, but I’m asking you, Jim.  She didn’t seem quite herself to me and I didn’t want to pry.  Even your father noticed.”

“She seemed kind of quiet, Jim.  Not the usual Pam.”

~~

     From the minute my parents met Pam, she was more like a daughter than a daughter-in-law.  I knew they were going to love her and that she’d fit right into the family, but it was almost like we’d been missing her all these years and we just didn’t know it.  Then she was there, she was part of us, and the family felt more complete.  They’d wanted us to come to the house for dinner so they could meet her.  Pam was so nervous and I kept telling her there was no need to be, but she’d fretted over what to wear and what to bring and asked all kinds of questions about them to try to get a feel for them.  I told her to try and imagine us…thirty-five years in the future. 

     When she walked into the house, my mother went straight for a hug and I saw my Dad wanting to, but he held back and shook her hand and told her what a pleasure it was and when he looked at me, I knew I was grinning like an idiot but I couldn't help myself, and he smiled.  Of course, Pam and my mother had the art thing in common and they bonded over that after Pam commented on a painting of my mother’s hanging in the kitchen.  But my Dad…he kind of fell in love with her, I think.  He rushed to pull her chair out at the dinner table, made sure her glass was refilled, and I caught him watching her and making her laugh, and watching me with her.  After dinner, Pam helped my mother in the kitchen and my Dad and I were shooed out to the porch with our coffee.  He gripped my shoulder hard, wearing an “I told you so” smirk on his face. 

“What?” I asked him, but I knew exactly what he was thinking.

     When Suzanne Peterson broke my heart in high school, my father sat with me on this same porch and we shared our first beer as he tried to soothe my wounded teenage heart.  “She wasn’t the one, Jimmy.  The Halpert men… when we fall, we fall hard.  But she wasn’t the one.”  I’d tried to protest, listing all of Suzanne’s wonderful qualities, and he’d listened and agreed that she was a great girl, but he insisted… she wasn’t the one.  

“The first time I laid eyes on your mother, I fell 100% mind, heart, body, and soul in love with her.  No mistaking it, denying it, or escaping it.  The minute I saw your mother, I knew there would never be another woman for me.  I knew I was going to marry her.  It was like a thunderbolt, and I hate to tell you, Jim, but you haven’t been struck by lightning yet.  When you do, you’ll know.”  And it had been just like that with Pam.  Exactly.

“Looks like a really bad thunderstorm rolled in, Jimmy!” he said, looking very pleased with himself and with me. 

“The worst,” I said, with a grateful smile.  “I’d take cover if I were you, Dad.”

     Later, my mother called for us to come in and there the two of them were, on the couch, surrounded by old pictures.  Pam had gotten her wish, and she looked up at me, her hands squeezed together on her lap and her legs straight out, feet kicking a little in glee.  Oh, man.  This was going to be painful.  My mother had all the old photo albums out and she handed one to my father and the three of them sat on the couch, Pam in the middle, and they told her all the family stories that went with all the pictures.  She got to laugh at all my class pictures and listen to my Dad crow about the state basketball championship.  She wanted to know about the girl in the senior prom picture with me, and my Dad, what a jokester, said, “What was that girl’s name, Jim?  I can’t remember!”  But my mother piped up.  “Suzanne Peterson and she broke my son’s heart.”  To Pam, she added, “She’s married now, with three kids.  Her husband…drinks.”  Pam and I both cracked up at her…wanting to make sure Pam knew this girl from my past posed no threat to her, at the same time pointing out to both of us what a mistake she’d made by dumping me and moving on. 

     The living room dimmed, the lamps were turned on, Pam’s carrot cake was served to rave reviews, and I watched them, the three of them just… charming one another.  It all felt so…familiar.  I kept reminding myself that this was the first time they’d met, when it really felt like she’d been with us forever.  I was so proud of her, so proud of myself for winning her and I saw pride in my father’s eyes because…yes, she was the one and wasn’t this going to be so fine?

     I finally called a halt to the evening when my mother suggested bringing out the home movies.  Pam begged to stay and watch but I said it was late and my Dad agreed but told her, “We’ll do it another night, Pam.”  Saying good night, he went for the hug and I nudged him, teasing him to stay away from my girl.  In the car on the way home, she chattered on and on about how much she loved them and how welcome they’d made her feel and do you think they really liked me?, when she knew as well as I did that the feelings were very mutual.  She said, the girl in the prom picture, Suzanne, she was really pretty.  I tell her, yeah, she was.  She said, you loved her, didn’t you?  I tell her that I thought I did, but it turned out she wasn’t the one.  She takes my hand and our eyes meet in the shadowy light from the dashboard and she whispers, that’s me, right?  I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her fingers and saying, yes, that’s you…it couldn’t be anyone else.

~~

I sigh and put my head in my hand.  I can’t hide anything from the people in my life.  Pam, my folks, they all know me too well and I’m too much of an open book.

“She’s not painting,” I say.

“What do you mean, she’s not painting?” This, from my father.

“She’s not painting anything, she’s not drawing.”

My father comes to Pam’s defense, like I’m accusing Pam of something, saying, “She’s pregnant, Jim!  Give her a break!”

     And then my mother chimes in, saying Pam needed a little break from school and talking about all the classes Pam’s been taking and how much she loves the scarf Pam knitted for her.

“I know, I know!  She did need a break from school and she’s getting her energy back.  She did need a break from school, I agree.  But…she’s not painting.”

Then, my mother gets it, and she gives my father a look.  “Steve, you know how it was with me.  How it still is.”

     And he does know.  He knows how she’s happiest when the brush is in her hand.  How after all these years of teaching art classes to 8th graders, she still has to paint for herself.  He’s witnessed her dark moods when the feeling won’t come or when the canvas fights her.  He understands this passion better than I do, even though she’s my mother and Pam is my wife, he’s the one who has lived with it longer, and he knows. 

“Jim, what’s happened?  What’s going on with my girl?”

“Dad, she pushes herself so hard, she’s such a perfectionist.  She got Bs in both her classes last semester, and she beat herself up for it because she didn’t get As.  Crazy!  Upset about getting a B!  I told her to talk with one of her professors, get some feedback…stupid… and he was an asshole to her…telling her she should rethink her career plans, that she’d have to choose between her family and a career and Pam thought it was just his way of telling her she just wasn’t good enough.”

“Who was it…which professor?” my mother wants to know.  The art community in Scranton is a small one, and it’s likely she knows him.

“Jennings.”

“Oh, Doug Jennings,” my mother says with a sad note.  “His wife…ex-wife, I guess.  They’ve been divorced about ten years, now.  It’s the saddest thing…she was diagnosed with ALS and their daughter was caring for her for the longest time, but she got so bad…she’s in a nursing home.  She was a lovely woman.”

     I feel the anger I was harboring for this man I’d never met drain away and now I understand.  That conversation…the one that devastated my wife, the words that had her crying and clinging to me…that talk that shook her confidence down to her core…it wasn’t even about her. 

“Mom, she’s lost her confidence.  She thinks I don’t know what she’s doing, busying herself with all these other things.  She thinks I haven’t noticed that she hasn’t touched her sketchbooks…hell, I don’t think she’s even opened the door to her art room in months!”

“Yes.”  That’s all she says, because she knows. 

“I have to tell her about Jennings…if she knew all that, it would make her see…”

“No, Jim.”  Now it’s my father’s turn.  “Don’t say anything.”

“But…why, Dad?  If Pam knew about this…”

“You can’t talk her back into herself.  You…just can’t.” 

     He’s talking to me but his eyes are locked with my mother’s and I realize he’s been in my shoes, they’ve seen this storm come and go and I would be wise to keep my mouth shut and listen for once.

“If Pam is anything like your mother, and I think she is…she’ll come around to it.  But…it will be in her own time.  You’re smart enough to know she’s not herself without this.  It’s the truest part of her and she has to come back to it because that's who she is.”

     My mother’s eyes are glistening when she turns to me and takes my hands. 

“You love her…and I’m so proud of you for loving her the way you do.  But don’t pressure her, Jim. 

"Mom!  I'm not..."

"I know you don’t think you are…but that’s what she feels.  Let her take all the crazy classes she wants…that passion to create something has to come out.”

“I just don’t want her to think she has to hide it from me, Mom.”

“She doesn’t want you to be disappointed with her, Jim.  She always wants to be her best self for you.”  And she’s talking to me, but she’s smiling at my father, and he takes over.

“Be patient with her…love her…that’s all you can do.”

     I should feel better…unburdened, after sharing this with them after keeping it to myself for so long, but I don’t really. 

“It…it doesn’t feel like that’s enough,” I say.  “I want to help her, I want to…”

“It’s enough, Jim” my father says.

“It’s more than enough,” my mother says.