Patches of snow clung to the ground around her, as she stood there in the dark looking at his house. It was inviting, dark blue shutters trimmed neatly to a white, two-story house. The light was on outside the front door, and the blinds were open, illuminating his living room like an invitation into a private world.
She ran a hand along her tummy and knocked on the cherry wood door. She studied the gold designs lining the small windows at the top of the doorframe. When it opened suddenly, Jim was in front of her, and all preparations of staying sane left her. His hair was combed back, he was wearing a hunter green sweater and a pair of khaki pants, and Pam felt her hands start to shake; all of this was too familiar.
“Pam! Jim beamed, stepping aside and beckoning her inside his house. His hands reached to her shoulders and pulled her coat off, hanging it on a hook. “How are you?” he asked.
“I’m good,” she smiled, trying to focus on him instead of analyzing the decorations and photos around her.
“Claire!” He hollered up the stairs, waiting a beat before calling again. “Pam’s here!”
Pam watched as she appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister. Claire made no movement to come down. After a moment, she came out of the shadows that were covering most of her and sat down on the first step.
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled. Jim looked at Pam apologetically and then moved toward the kitchen.
“I’m sorry; she’s been acting strange all evening. Usually she’s very friendly,” he shook his head and then began to move about the room. Pam stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, watching him, her arms hugged tightly around her frame.
“You hungry?” He asked, coming over and pulling a chair out from the dining room table.
“Yeah, definitely,” she smiled and sat down in the chair. He left the dining room again, and when he did Pam glanced at the square plates on the table. There was only placement set for three.
“Is Sarah out tonight?” Pam called into the other room. There was a moment of silence and then a door slammed from upstairs. Pam furrowed her brow and Jim appeared back in the door frame, holding a bowl of pasta in one hand and sauce in the other. He brought them over to the table, pulling the oven mitts off his hands. He sat down, not making any motion to grab food; Pam wondered if he’d even heard her question. Before she had the chance to ask it again, he looked up at her.
“You and I haven’t spoken in so long Pam, and you don’t know how nice it is to have someone over the age of 12 to have dinner with,”
“It’s-“
He interrupted her, “I um,” he paused, looking down at his fingernails, and began to pick at his cuticles. Pam watched him, and when he raised his eyes to look at hers, she met them. “Sarah died about two months ago, in a car accident.” She watched as his eyes started to moisten, and resisted the urge to put her hand out on top of his.
“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, and looked at his ring again. If only for a moment, the bitterness that had resided right down into the deepest part of her, the irritation of being alone for all of these years—the wondering, left her.
“I’m sorry,” he shook his head and stood up, going towards the door, “I didn’t mean for that to come up,” he said, rising and bringing glasses of water and a pitcher back to the table. The two of them sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the clock tick on the wall and the dish washer running.
Pam dug her fork into the pasta, the room still quiet but it wasn’t bothering her. She kept looking across the
table, wondering if that was where Sarah sat.
“Have you talked to Michael?” Pam laughed at the absurdity of his question.
“Is that all we have to talk about, Jim?” She asked, pushing a curl away from her shoulder. He smiled up at her over his glasses.
“Sorry,” he looked down and then back up at her, “what I mean to say is, where are you working?”
Pam chewed on a meatball for a moment, and then swallowed, “I’m not actually. Not at the moment anyway.” He took a sip of water, listening. “I actually was working for a graphic design company.”
“That’s great,” Jim grinned.
She chuckled, “Not really, I quit. I hate computers.”
Jim looked over at the laptop sitting open on his hutch. “Woops,” he chuckled.
She shook her head at him, “I guess that’s what brings me here. I quit my job, Emma wants a new one, and well, here I am,” she held her hands up.
Jim cocked his head, “And Roy?”
Pam set her fork down, “Things just didn’t work out,” she said quietly.
“Oh,” he changed the subject. “So, I thought my kid liked you. But her performance tonight is making me think otherwise.”
Pam laughed, mesmerized by his composure and fluidity with his words. She was waiting for a slip up, some reminisce of the Jim she once knew.
“Is she shy?” she asked.
“There isn’t a shy bone in her body.”
“Like her dad?” Pam grinned, setting her napkin down.
Jim blushed, “You could say that.” Silence returned once again, except for the occasional clink of a fork edge on a glass. “How long are you in town for?”
“Just until tomorrow,” she spun her head around to find Claire pulling a seat up to the table and wordlessly grabbed some pasta and spooned it on her plate.
Jim caught eyes with Pam and then looked at his daughter. Her bangs fell into her eyes and a hood covered most of her head.
“Hi Claire.” Pam smiled at her as Claire mumbled something back, possibly a hello.
Jim knew better than to make his daughter do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. She had her mother’s spunk and intensity- something that was not always positive. So because of this, Jim ignored the mood that she decided to be in all through dinner. It had made absolutely no sense to him; Claire was so excited to have Pam come to visit, up until the moment Jim had told her that he used to work with her years ago.
He stood up from the table, grabbing some plates and carrying them into the kitchen. Pam got up and helped him, but Claire just watched everything. Jim, for the moment he was alone, steadied himself on the kitchen counter, his mind going in a hundred different directions. Most of them concerned Pam and Sarah, and he felt his stomach tighten up.
“Thank you for this.” He felt Pam press her hand against his sweater.
Turning to face her, he studied her face, his lips pursed, “Why didn’t you call me?”
He wondered where that came from. He literally wished he could place his foot in his mouth. Looking back into the sink, he missed Pam’s mouth falling open into a little “o.”
“What do you…” she shook her head, forgetting his daughter was still in the other room. “What do you mean, why didn’t I call you? You left!” There was a hint of hysteria in her voice. She didn’t want to do this. More than ten years had passed since she had seen or heard from Jim—this was the fight she wanted years ago, not tonight.
“Nothing,” Jim placed his hand over his mouth, trying to shut himself up before he said something stupid, “forget I said it.” He walked away from her, clanking dishes in the sink as Pam stood watching, one hand on the counter, the other on her hip.
Pam stood at reception, holding the phone to her ear listening for messages. Each one just like the last, an upset customer, a customer looking for their fax number, Michael calling in three times to let her know he was going to be two…three…thirty minutes late to work. But none of them explaining the reason why Jim Halpert’s desk was empty. She pictured his bag draped over the back of his swivel chair, and how every morning it was his ritual to get his coffee, blow on it twice, and then roll up the sleeves of his shirt.
She set the phone down on the hook and slumped into her chair. Jim had only missed work once in the past year, and it was because he’d been sick with the flu. She smiled, thinking of the conversation they’d had on the phone, Jim telling her that he literally couldn’t move off the couch and her offering to come over and make him something to eat. Instead, they’d spent the morning on the phone; Jim telling her the highlights of all the bad talk shows. The office seemed to be going on without him. Even Dwight seemed uninterested in Jim’s absence, not mentioning the fact that there was no one there to irritate him. Pam moved to get up from her chair at least three times before actually doing it and knocking on Michael’s office.
“Michael?” she stepped inside, finding Michael transfixed on his computer screen, his thumb and forefinger cradling his chin. He looked up,
“Oh, hello Pam,” he scrunched up his eyebrows, “Do you know what Play Pal is?”
Pam shook her head,
“Michael, do you um,” she crossed one foot behind the other, looking down at the toys on his desk, “do you know where Jim is today?” Michael’s head shot up from the computer screen.
“He didn’t call in today?” He asked, grabbing his own phone and dialing the number for corporate. Pam shook her head no and then moved towards a seat against the wall. It would be the last time she’d say his name for a very long time.
He sat in the parking lot for quite some time facing the ocean. He’d never seen it like this before, all rainy and drizzly, panging down on his car, obstructing his view—but the ocean was still there; gray, distant, and haunting. His hair was still wet from getting in the car this morning, leaving an apartment that wasn’t decorated, barely his, and cluttered. He put a sheet on the bed and had slept like that last night, and now here he was outside of an office that was unfamiliar and ugly.
He glanced down at his cell phone, the time blinking back at him. There had been no calls from Scranton. He knew everything that was happening at that very moment. Phyllis was counting the pencils on her desk, like she did every morning. Dwight was looking under his desk to make sure the computer hadn’t magically unplugged itself, and Pam... He felt his throat hurt. He imagined Pam sitting there, looking up at his desk, his old desk, wondering where he was. He shook his head and grabbed the door handle, putting his head out into the rain, and let it hang there for a moment, his eyes blinking back rain, or tears, he wasn’t entirely sure.
Claire moved to the door, watching her father and this unfamiliar woman move about her kitchen as though they were waltzing. Her dad, putting dishes in the dishwasher in a rate so quickly she thought he was going to break the dishes, and Pam standing there watching.
“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Pam whispered. Claire watched as she pressed her hand against her forehead, completely ignoring her there.
“For you?” Jim spun around, his hands drenched in water and soap. “Pam, I told you how I felt about you, and you turned me down. What was I supposed to? Go back to work on Monday and pretend none of it ever happened?” He hung his head. Pam held her breath, feeling her heart pound against her chest, but all she could do was stand there.
“I loved you,” he raised his head back up and stared at her. Pam looked away, seeing Claire standing in the doorway she immediately looked back at Jim who then noticed her.
“Claire, get upstairs,” Jim said curtly, making his way toward her.
“What did I do?” she asked, Jim pressing his hands into her shoulders and leading her toward the stairs. She turned around to face him, making eye contact.
“Please,” he quietly begged, “just go upstairs and I will come get you later.”
“Fine,” she turned around and stomped up the stairs. When he turned around Pam had moved to the door and was putting on her shoes, one hand holding onto the wall, the other trying to get a shoe on—but failing.
“I never should have come here,” she muttered. Frustrated, she sat down in the mud-room and slipped on her other shoe. Jim felt as though his feet were glued to the floor, his eyes transfixed on her. “I don’t know what I thought would happen if I came here. It’s just been too long.”
“Pam, I-“
“Please,” she looked up at him, her throat aching from trying to hold in emotion. “Just stop,” she pleaded.
“I want to talk about this.”
“About what?” she snapped. Jim jumped; he’d never heard her speak like that. Both of them stood silent, looking at each other desperately.
“I didn’t forget you,” he said quietly.
“You got married. You had a child,” she said dully.
“You told me you couldn’t. You were engaged. What was I supposed to do? Wait around to fall more in love with you?” His voice cracked on the tail end of his sentence.
“You should have tried again,” she had started to cry. She felt silly, sitting in this almost-strangers house - they were too late, like always.
“I’m sorry,” he turned around, facing the living room, and twirled his wedding ring around his finger. He could hear her taking her coat off the rack and putting it on.
“You love her,” she sighed, and opened the door. He turned back around, the wind coming in the entry way and lifting the hair off his forehead.
“Sarah’s sister owns an art gallery uptown,” Jim rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “It just opened and she’s looking for a manager,” Pam glanced at the floor and then back at him.
“Bye Jim.”
