* * *
Three weeks after he’d both woken and destroyed her with a kiss, Pam started having vague, misshapen nightmares that she could never remember afterwards. She would wake up in the middle of the night, sheets tangled maddeningly around her limbs and a weight on her chest. Every part of her body screamed at her, aching and awkward, until she was desperate for relief.
He was long gone, escaping whatever spell (or curse) she had unknowingly cast, and his empty desk bruised her in ways she couldn’t explain.
Three straight nights she woke up suffocating, and she was too afraid to try and fall back asleep. The kiss had served its purpose; she was awake, wide awake now.
She crept out of bed on the morning of the third day, feeling haggard and worn and ghostly. She was stirring sugar into her tea, watching the spoon circle round and round, and it was then that the first clear thought she’d had in years broke on her like a freezing wave. She couldn’t stay. She was scared, so scared of leaving, but she was even more afraid of what it would mean not to.
In the end, it was saying goodbye to Roy that hurt worst of all. They both cried, and Pam thought they had never loved or hated each other more than when he held her one last time.
She chose Philadelphia. In part because she was still a little too timid to brave New York, and also because after calling in favors and reaching out to friends she hadn’t spoken to in years, she found an acquaintance that needed a roommate downtown. Tara was neat and sensible, no-nonsense in a way that relieved Pam immensely.
And just like that, for the first time in her life, she stopped thinking. Or at least, she stopped dwelling and simply did. She had no one to answer to, no one to worry about. She was uprooted and no one was calling her back, not even the man she quietly, irrationally kept hoping would show up at her door.
She hardly gave herself time to eat, let alone sleep, and it made her a little anxious to realize how much older she felt than she really was. She took two jobs to support herself and to pay for tuition and books and art supplies that ran out so fast she wanted to cry. She waitressed nights, in a local bar that was dingy and comfortable, and where the regulars were an assortment of blue collar family men who liked making the pretty new girl smile.
The second job – the gallery job – was a gift. Her neighbor Mr. Redbanks was a genial older gentleman who longed to retire somewhere warm but couldn’t stand being too far away from his grandchildren. She visited him sometimes, often with a treat for Ernie, his lazy border collie. They would sit together quietly, munching on cookies she’d baked or fresh fruit she’d bring over, content to mourn their small losses in companionable quiet. Mr. Redbanks had lost his wife two years ago; they had been together for fifty. He talked to Pam about her sometimes, about what a staid, funny couple they made, both shy and reserved.
“I finally got the nerve to walk her home from church one day, and before we knew it I was walking her to our own little house.” Pam loved the inevitability of their courtship, its plainness like whorled wood. She pictured long skirts and sweet, almost-smiles, and maybe linked hands and wildflowers.
He was her second friend in Philadelphia. He called a ‘sensible young woman’, and liked her drawings and her small gifts and her company. He was especially pleased with a watercolor she’d done of his newest grandchild, a baby girl with big, black eyes and a puckered mouth. “This is very fine,” he had said to her smiling, and two weeks later he had it framed and hanging on the living room wall. She blushed and thanked him, turning her attention to Ernie until the heat had left her cheeks.
A few days later, Mr. Redbanks handed Pam a business card. She looked up at him questioningly.
“My niece Mabel, she owns a small gallery in town. Business is good, and she’s looking for help. I told her you might be interested.”
And so she had left early the next morning, venturing to the address printed neatly in crisp, raised font. Wonders looked tiny from the outside, wedged between a salon and flashy boutique that made her grin and think of Kelly. She thought about them sometimes, Kelly and Michael and Dwight and even Angela, and wondered if they ever thought about her. She had drawn them each a small portrait on Dunder-Mifflin’s best cardstock and written a note on the back; she gave it to them on her last day, right before her going-away party ended. They had all hugged her tightly, and Phyllis and Michael had cried. Later she took Michael aside and gave him another portrait.
“What -?”
“For Jim.” she cut him off softly, her voice trembling just a little. “If he ever…if you ever, I don’t know.”
For once Michael said nothing, only nodded and turned over the portrait to the note on the back. On the others she had written happy goodbyes and recalled good memories of the last few years. On Jim’s she merely written: You deserve better.
Michael hugged her again, and she was glad that her last memory of her wayward boss was this sad, gentle moment. Pam waited until she got to her car before she began to cry, because she hadn’t told anyone where she was going, because she was leaving behind people who knew her, and because unexpectedly beautiful things had happened to her in that ugly building.
She shook herself out of her reverie and turned her attention back to the waiting gallery, hesitating only another moment before pushing through the glass door. It was as small as it looked, a single square room, though Pam caught sight of a door behind the reception desk that promised more. She stepped further inside, and soft chimes echoed through the hall. Each wall had a different surface; the far wall was pure white, the right was dull metal, behind her was jet black, and the left was a smooth, paneled wood that begged to touched. Every surface was crammed with artwork, overwhelming and raw.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”
Pam spun around at the voice. A woman emerged from the back door with a sheaf of paper resting gingerly on her bent arm. She was tall, and a little angular, with a curtain of iron gray hair that fell in a slant across her cheek. Her suit was impeccable, her hands immaculately manicured, and her black heels in excellent taste, but there were deep laugh lines in the corners of her eyes that softened her sharp demeanor. “Mabel Redbanks,” she said, extending her hand. She had a voice like ivory, rich and low, and Pam found herself slightly dazed as she reached for the older woman’s handshake.
“You don’t look like a Mabel,” she blurted out, and then gasped when she realized she had said it out loud. “Sorry,” she said softly, feeling the heat rush to her face.
Mabel only laughed (God, that voice) and waved it off. “I’m so glad you think so. I’ve spent my entire life pretending I was named Estella.”
Pam smiled shyly in response. “I’m sorry, you must be wondering what I’m doing here. My name is Pamela, Pamela Beesly? Your uncle gave me your card and…” she trailed off, lifting a hand self-consciously to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.
“Yes, yes of course. Uncle Martin told me all about you. And he showed me that exquisite little portrait you drew of Deirdre. I take it you haven’t had much formal training?” She paused for a moment when Pam ducked her head in acknowledgment. “Oh you mustn’t be embarrassed my dear, there’s nothing wrong with that. You are taking lessons, though?” Mabel peered down at her almost sternly, and Pam felt a sudden wave of relief that she had an acceptable answer.
“Just classes at the community college for now, but it’s still been pretty useful.”
“Excellent. Can you answer phones?”
Pam raised her hand to her mouth quickly, but couldn’t keep the laugh from escaping. “Ms. Redbanks, you have no idea.”
The woman raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Please, do call me Mabel. I think we are going to get along quite well.”
Working at Wonders was an education in and of itself. Mabel prided herself on a keen eye for innovative new artwork, and Pam became an eager pupil. She learned to tell good from mediocre, and honed her sense for color and line. And she began to extend herself past still lifes, feeding on the creativity that surrounded her on all four walls.
Summer passed, and she settled into new habits like a second skin. She thought about reaching out to him sometimes, in the small hours when she could catch her breath. She thought she might call him when the radio played a song that twisted her insides just so. And once she was caught in the rain, but the sun was still shining and she could still see the blue sky; it was the loveliest thing she had ever seen and it made her want to drive to wherever he was and just breathe the same air for a moment. But the strange new pieces of her life didn’t seem to have room for him.
* * *
Author's Chapter Notes:
So it's been a while since I updated this story - my apologies! Just to be clear, this probably will be updated rather sporadically, I'm afraid. I'll do my best, though!
Chapter End Notes:
Bear with me - I'm a little rusty.
