Pam stared intently at the monitor as she fumbled her way through the FedEx website.  Normally, Ava handled all the shipping for the gallery and Pam was thoroughly frustrated with the navigation tools on the website.  On a normal day, she might’ve had the mental capacity to click straightaway to the tracking page, but today was by no means a normal day.  When she finally found the page she wanted, she studied the packing slip in front of her to make sure she selected the right number on the screen.  Already twice today she’d psyched herself out thinking that the package had been delivered when actually she’d chosen the wrong item from the list.

What in God’s name had she been thinking, anyway, sending that picture to Jim?  He was probably going to either have a good laugh at what a loser she was or get a restraining order against her.  Fuck, fuck, fuck!  Pam moved her index finger along the ridiculously long tracking number as she squinted back and forth from the paper to the screen.  Finally satisfied that she’d selected the right item this time, she double-clicked the number and held her breath while she waited for the screen to update.

Pam felt a rush of excitement and nausea when she saw that the package had been delivered and signed for.  An hour ago.  She swallowed hard as she mentally calculated how long it might take a package to wend its way through the corporate office to Jim’s desk.  He either had it now or he would very soon.  Unless he was on a business trip or something.  Or vacation.  Oh, God.  If it took him forever to respond, she couldn’t know if it was because he was actually pissed at her overture, totally uninterested, or just out of the office.  This was gonna make her nuts.  How long would it be till she had some sort of response from him?  Would he call her?  Email?  Or, God forbid, use the return shipping label?  That would just kill her.

Jim snapped out of his reverie to reread the card Pam had written.

“If you could say it in words, there would be no need to paint.”  There have been so many things I wanted to tell you and I just couldn’t get the words out.  This pastel says pretty much everything I’ve wanted to say to you for years.  I just needed you to know.  Once.

What did Pam want to tell him that she hadn’t been able to get out for three years?  Jim’s heart was pounding as he began to unwrap the frame.  When the last of the paper fell away, what he saw took his breath away.

In the foreground of the picture was a small breakfast table set for two.  Coming into the frame from the right, a pair of disembodied hands held a teapot – her teapot, his teapot – pouring tea into one of the two mugs.  Behind the table was an open, airy room painted in warm and sunny colors.  An easel was set up the room and it held a work in progress:  two lawn chairs on a deserted rooftop.  A sofa protruded in through the left side of the frame, and a pair of lanky, jeans clad legs and bare feet were propped up against the coffee table.

The lazy Saturday morning tranquility of the scene made him smile ruefully.  This was exactly the life he used to envision for them.  His smile broadened a bit as he contemplated the little details she’d included that no one but the two of them could appreciate:  the teapot that he’d given her stuffed with bonus gifts and the painting of the special, private spot they never shared with anyone else.

Jim leaned back in his chair and propped the pastel up on his legs, leaning it on an angle against the edge of his desk.  It was obvious how much Pam had matured as an artist over the past two years.  The picture looked so – confident?  There was nothing tentative about it.  The shapes and the shadows were almost tangible.  The composition was kind of dynamic, with the hands and the legs pushing their way into the frame.  But the colors were so peaceful.  He was overwhelmed at how accomplished it was, at how much a real artist she’d become.

As his eyes wandered over the piece, admiring Pam’s technique, he began to notice more personal details scattered throughout the composition.  Elements of his life inhabited the room comfortably.  On the end table by his legs was displayed the photo of him with his brother, Jon, that he’d had on his desk in Scranton.  Two copies of Sports Illustrated lay strewn across the coffee table.  A guitar was propped up against the wall. 

Other features of the room were totally unfamiliar to him.  The room was painted a warm, soft, buttery yellow.  A large unframed landscape dominated the far wall; it made him smile to think this vibrant and bold painting might be Pam’s work.  The furniture looked just like what they would buy together.  It had clean lines and an interesting geometric print – attractive without being fussy.  It looked comfortable to flop in – a key consideration in Jim’s furniture-buying decisions.  Karen had overruled him when they furnished their loft and he never really felt at home in his own place.  This room was more welcoming to him than the one he’d lived in for three years.  Was it Pam’s apartment, or a figment of her imagination?

As Jim studied the picture, he felt a wave of contentment wash over him.  It really was as if she was speaking to his heart.  “If you could say it in words, there would be no need to paint.”  So, she’d wanted to tell him she could see them having a life together?  His eyes fell back to the teapot and he remembered how euphoric he’d felt that she traded that damn iPod for the little thoughtful gift he’d gotten her.  He used to love seeing her use that pot every – holy shit, how had he missed that?  The hand cradling the teapot was wearing a wedding set!  His heart began to pound as he now began to scour the picture seriously for any other details he might have missed.  And there, he saw it.  The second mug on the table was turned so that only the ends of the words were visible:

LD’S
T
DDY

And there, in the place where a fork should be, was a white stick with a red plus.