Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Big "Tanks" to Vampiric Blood and her magic red pen.
Later that evening
Jim pulled the quilt up over his son, tucking it gently under his chin. “Good night, Daniel, he said softly.
As the boy’s heavy eyelids dropped shut, he murmured, “Nite, Daddy.”
Jim flipped off the light and made his way out of the darkened room, pausing at the door to look back at his sleeping son. If he had to pick the favorite moments of his day, this would definitely be in the top three. There was something so satisfying about seeing your child drift off to sleep, happy and secure. He savored the sight for a few more seconds - he knew this wouldn’t last. Already Cece often chose to continue reading on her own for a few minutes after she’d been tucked in. His little girl was growing up, and soon, so would Daniel.
As if on cue, Cece came bouncing down the hall from the bathroom, dressed in her favorite fuzzy green pajamas, her damp curls flopping wildly. She took one look at Jim closing Daniel’s door and screeched down the stairs, “Mom!”
He and Pam alternated getting the kids to bed – the bath, the reading, the tuck in – and tonight it had been Jim’s turn for Daniel. Consequently, it was Pam’s turn to read to Cece, who had recently decided she could take her own baths. They heard Pam’s footsteps on the stairs, and Jim stooped down to give his little girl a hug. “Night, punkin’.”
“G’night, Daddy,” she cooed. He loved that grin with both front teeth missing. “Thanks for coming to school today,” she added, more seriously.
Mrs. Avery was a good teacher, he mused. He could picture her standing in front of the class this afternoon, wagging her finger, reminding the kids to “be sure and thank your dad for coming in to talk today.” It was nice to hear though, he admitted, and he accepted his role in the game. “You’re welcome, sweetie. It was fun.” And this is how we teach our children to lie…he observed to himself.
Just then, Pam arrived at the stop of the stairs and his two favorite girls disappeared into Cece’s room.
Jim ambled downstairs to complete his duties – whoever put Daniel to bed was supposed to put the dog in the garage for the night. Pam had turned off the first floor lights, but the moon was nearly full, and he could see well enough to avoid the stray toys on the floor. He made his way to the back door where the dog sat, waiting patiently, flopping his tail. The pooch trotted willingly into the garage, and Jim gave his head a little pat, “Good boy, Matic.”
Jim returned to the house through the back door, and as he pulled it to, he automatically lifted it slightly so it would lock. He shook his head – he’d been lifting this door up for twenty years. And man, he recalled, had his mother ever hated this door.
Jim’s thoughts travelled back to when he was ten or so. Their old wooden back door had warped beyond repair, and needed to be replaced. His dad had insisted on doing it himself - over his mother’s protests - because he said it was cheaper. And so his dad had installed the door. But it had never closed quite right and had to be lifted to lock properly ever since the first day it was put in.
One evening shortly after his dad hung the new door, Jim had happened into the room, only to find his mother sitting on the floor with her back against the door. Her head was bowed, but he could tell she was crying. She immediately jumped up and tried to cover the fact that she was upset, drying her eyes quickly, but she knew he’d seen her. Jim had innocently asked his mother what was the matter.
She’d looked at him and hesitated, but ultimately told him the truth. “Jimmy, I hate this door. It’s…hard to lock…and cheap..and…” Then she’d sniffled loudly and let it all out. “I wish your dad had taken that job in Philadelphia last month. I know Tom and Pete didn’t want to change schools, but it was a good job, and meant so much more money, and then maybe we would have…” she gave the door a hateful little kick ”…a back door that works.”
Jim had just stood there, shocked and silent. He’d never seen his mother like that - she was perpetually upbeat, cheerful, and...in control. She’d composed herself quickly after her outburst, and proceeded to pull the door upward and lock it. Afterward, she turned back to him, looking more like the mom he knew, and said, “Not a word of this to your father. He works hard and does his best for all of us. I’m just having a bad day, sweetie. Our secret?” She’d crossed her heart, and motioned for him to take the oath.
He’d nodded and crossed his heart. And he’d kept his word. He’d never told a soul. But now it made him curious about what other things his mother might have been unhappy with. Which led him to the nagging question: Did Pam ever have similar feelings that she kept to herself?
Pam would be with CeCe a while longer, so Jim pondered these questions as he meandered through the rooms of their house. The moonlight cast strange shadows, making his familiar little world seem foreign and new. Overhead he heard the murmur of Pam’s voice. He couldn’t make out which book she was reading.
They had always made reading a priority with the kids. In a parenting book they’d bought, the author had championed the importance of reading to your children, and also the importance of having your kids see you read. “Kids learn more from what you do, than by what you say,” was the message. Children learn by example, he’d stressed over and over. Yes, they do, Jim thought, as he entered the family room.
He plopped down heavily into the desk chair, deep in introspection. Is that what I learned from my dad? he contemplated. Family is more important than your job. Did I learn it too well? Is that why I’ve never included a career in my dreams?
He was so absorbed in his reflections, sitting there in the moonlit room, that he didn’t hear Pam walk up behind him.
“Jim?” her voice startled him and he jumped slightly.
“Um..hmm.” he replied, without looking at her.
“Are you okay?” Her voice was sincere and concerned. She didn’t mention Daniel’s comments, but Jim knew what she was thinking.
“Yeah, I’m fine, “ he nodded quietly, still not turning to face her. “Just doing a little thinking.”
“Come to bed?” she asked, putting her hand lightly on his shoulder.
“A little later,” he said simply. He knew she was tired. “You go ahead.”
“Jim…” her voice trailed off.
“I’m okay.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, faking a reassuring smile. “Go on - I’m going to stay up for a little while.”
“I love you, “ she said, but there was defeat in her voice. She couldn’t make this better and she knew it.
He focused on the paper animals Pam had created for the presentation - they were scattered on the desk in front of him, spilling out of the overturned tote. “Love you, too, Pam,” he answered in a whisper. “G’night.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then moved softly toward the stairs.
He stared at the animals for a long time – he wasn’t sure how long – and thought. Will my lack of ambition limit what my children might try to be? Will they have the drive to pursue a career they might have dreams about? The negative possibilities haunted him. Children learn by example - the truth of that statement stuck like a thorn in any rationalization he tried to make. Will the time I spend with them offset that effect? Will it make it worse? The uncertainties rolled over and over in his head.
He sighed heavily and began to toy with the little paper parrot. It was damp, stained with some sort of dark liquid, and the desk underneath it was sticky. Daniel’s grape juice, most likely, Jim realized.
He lifted the parrot to face level and pitched it into the wastebasket beside the desk. “Two!” he thought absently. Then he repeated the process with a similarly dampened swan, and with the nearly juice logged elephant, hitting the basket with each shot.
And that was when it dawned upon him. Of course!
He rose suddenly, strode purposefully to the kitchen and fetched both wet and dry paper towels. He dumped the tote of remaining animals upside down into the wastebasket and wiped the desk clean and dry. Then, he grabbed his laptop from the nearby messenger bag, opened it, and with an intent expression, started typing furiously.
Four o’clock in the morning
This time he was keenly aware of her presence, as Pam walked up behind him. He didn’t look around immediately, but held up one finger to say, “Just a minute.” He finished typing the last two sentences and then turned to her, his face sporting a wide, triumphant grin.
“What,” she asked, blinking her eyes, “are you doing?” She was puzzled.
“Look!” he beamed, full of excitement. He motioned toward his computer screen.
“Huh?” asked a still sleepy Pam. She rubbed her eyes open and tried to focus on the monitor. She read out loud, first as a question. “Full Court Press?” But then her tone changed to amazement. “A Sports Blog, by Jim Halpert.”
“Oh my! Jim?” She was definitely awake now, and she had to remember to quiet herself so as not to awaken the kids. “The design is great, but,” her eyes roved over the page, “you could use some graphics right here…” she pointed at the left side of the screen.
“I was hoping you would help me with that,” he said eagerly. “I’m going to write this, and maybe after some time, if it’s something people want to read, I’ll go to the newspaper and see if I can maybe cover some local games for them,” he said hopefully. “It may not go anywhere, and” - he feigned solemn concern - “…of course I won’t get as many mines swept at work, but…” He grinned at Pam like a fool.
She stood, silent for a moment – and then said simply, “I love it…”but her voice trailed off.
“What?” He lowered his chin slightly, willing her to finish her statement.
“Jim.” Pam's head turned sideways, and she looked at him with earnest sympathy in her eyes. “You know you’re somebody to us, don’t you? You don’t have to do or be anything else.”
“Yeah, I do, “ he assured her. “But I’m hoping the kids will see how you can go after something you enjoy, even if it’s not being president or” - an edge crept into his voice - “a zoo vet. Or whatever. That you can still put family first and do…something. Does that make sense? Besides, I’ve always wanted to do this.”
“Yeah,“ she answered, a smile spreading over her face. “It does.” Pam leaned down to give him a kiss. Their lips met softly at first, but the kiss deepened rapidly. Jim embraced his wife, easing her into this lap. She responded eagerly, and soon he pulled back to catch his breath and ask, “What time is it?”
“Four,” she whispered, her voice urgent as she began to unbutton his shirt.
Without taking his eyes off of her, Jim reached awkwardly to the side, closing the laptop. He kissed her again, with purpose, and then breathed into her ear, “Let’s take this upstairs.”
“The laptop?” she smirked.
“Hell no,” he growled and pulled her body tightly against his. After another long kiss, they reluctantly pulled away from each other, and he followed Pam up the stairs toward their bedroom. Her hips swayed magnetically in the moonlight, and Jim noted that this was one of his other favorite moments of the day – watching Pam walk into their bedroom. Yes, yes, definitely in the top three, he chuckled to himself, as he finished unbuttoning his shirt.
Four years later
Jim entered the kitchen to see Pam sitting at the table, staring at her laptop. Neat little stacks of papers lay all around her, and she was looking back and forth from a one of the papers to the computer intently. He walked up behind her and planted a kiss on her head. “Bills paid?”
She nodded, “Almost done,” and motioned for Jim to sit down beside her. He obliged and waited patiently. In just a few seconds, she sighed, placed a paper into one of the stacks, and focused her attention on him.
“Annie did not want to go to bed tonight,” he observed wryly. “I swear I don’t think she’d ever sleep if we didn’t make her.
“She sleeps less than Daniel or CeCe did,” Pam agreed, “that’s for sure.”
“But, she’s down now,” he said, relieved. “Daniel’s reading and CeCe’s doing homework.”
“Before I forget to ask you,” Pam changed the subject, “what time is the tournament game you’re covering tomorrow?”
“Seven. I’m sure Daniel will want to go. Maybe CeCe, too? Guess I should ask her.”
Pam snorted. “Oh yeah, CeCe definitely wants to go to the West Scranton game. She mentioned that she was going to try and get you to introduce her to Cory Wagner – that star forward they have?” Pam wiggled her eyebrows.
“He’s a freaking junior in high school,” Jim exclaimed in disbelief.
“Yup.” Pam smiled, unamused, as she looked over her glasses at him. “She said, and I quote – Cory’s sooooo dreamy.”
“God.” Jim said, a pained look on his face. “So, I guess we should go ahead and get that cage in the garage fixed right up for her – when can we let her out? Eighteen? No, was it twenty one?”
“And she’s not even a teenager yet, Jim.”
They laughed together, but exchanged looks of genuine fear.
“Well,” Jim said, rising, “I’m going to go finish up that article that’s due tomorrow.”
“Hey,” Pam stopped him. “Wait a minute. You’ll want to see this.” She handed him a piece of notebook paper. It was covered with Daniel’s handwriting and there was a red “smiley face” in the top right hand corner.
At the beginning was a typed prompt: Who is your hero? Jim read what his seven year old son had painstakingly printed in response:
My dad. Cause he rites about sports games for are paper and everbody reads what he rites. He goes to lots of big hi skool ball games and he has a speshal pass that gets him in for free. He got me won to and I can show it to the tiket man and he lets me in. it says PRESS. He sells paper to. He sells it to the skool so I may be riting on paper he sells. I want to be like him and he is cool. I love my dad.
Jim’s eyes filled as he instinctively held the paper to his chest for a moment.
He cleared his throat and met Pam’s eyes. “It won’t last, you know.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? He’s proud of you now,” she noted, smiling softly.
“Nope. Doesn’t matter at all. It’s just...” He paused. “Can I keep this?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to keep it in my desk at work.”
“Thought so,” she was grinning now. “Along with your cape, Superman?”
“Really Pam?” he admonished her, a little embarrassed now.
“Damn you look good in spandex,” she teased.
His face flushed as he turned his head sharply sideways. “Not nice.”
“Why don’t you fly up there and get the rest of your kids to bed?” she continued, unfazed, and then her teasing tone turned suggestive. “Maybe we’ll see if you’re made of steel tonight.”
His flustered demeanor disappeared quickly, and his eyes widened under raised eyebrows. “You are so bad, Beesly.” He shook his head.
“Yeah, I’m feeling very bad.” Her voice was sultry now, a half smile on her face. “Very, very bad.”
He opened his mouth to say something else and thought better of it. Jim put his hands in out in front of him, made a swooshing noise, and bounded up the stairs in three giant strides.
The end.
I can't get the end notes to work properly, so I'll just say thanks for reading and if you can spare a moment, any comments would be appreciated.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Jim wades deeply into the issues of parenthood, and ends up in spandex. Sort of.
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jazzfan is the author of 16 other stories.
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