Waking up in her own bed, with her blue earrings on, didn’t quite make the difference she expected it might.

If anything, her sleep was more restless and unsettled than it had been while she slumbered at the Stewart's.

She still awoke in the same anxious state, with her heart racing and her mind struggling to reconcile where she was and where she had gone overnight. The feeling of disorientation no less palpable even as her eyes took in the familiar walls of her own bedroom. Maybe it was due seeing them with a clarity she wasn't accustomed to instead of the hazy blur that had always been her view before she reached for her glasses or put in her contacts.

But something told her it wasn't just that. Just as with each morning since the Friday following her repeated outing on Lake Wallenpaupack, there was an unease as she wakened, a perception something hugely significant had happened while she slept but just what, she couldn’t put her finger on.

An awkward sense of not knowing what was real and what was part of the visceral dream.

A feeling a lot like déjà vu, but with the acute awareness it was no mere glitch in her memory making her feel like the days she was living had already passed, even as she went about them taking new actions and engaged in new activities. 

And how each unique thing she experienced left a discordant imprint of the day in her head.

It was no wonder every morning began in the state of flux it did.

But as with every other daybreak of the last week, once the heart palpitations slowed and she reconciled the two divergent days with any overnight visions she added to the mix, she was almost able to accept the reality she was in.

And while her slumber had been more troubled and broken up, the morning fretfulness subsided faster than usual. Maybe being home did help after all.

Perhaps, the difference today was the touch of the surrounding familiar, the comfort of her bed, the sound of a fire truck's siren blast as it passed by outside her window and the scent of her sheets, a mix of her regular fabric softener blended with the faint whiff of Roy’s masculine aroma.

Her existence, as she knew of it in this other dimension, seemed more believable and real with the backdrop of her own house and her more recognizable life, and yet she couldn't one hundred percent trust that it was. Especially with the house so silent and only her reflection in the bathroom mirror to confirm she was there and keep her company.

Into it she stared, touching her face to sense its realness and searching it for hints of the happiness she expected to have upon returning to the home she made with Roy. Seeing only a vacant expression staring back at her, she reached back to gather her hair off her face in preparation for the three-step cleansing routine she had forgone while at the Stewart's. Though she missed many a day too at home when too distracted in the morning to do more than splash her face with water, she expected the full week of neglect was in some way responsible for lack of glow on her skin. 

It was here she caught the sparkle she had been looking for in her eyes, flashing off her ears instead, the faceted blue stones gathering the light refracted from hot bulbs in the wall fixtures and sun streaks streaming in through the window. 

The reminder of what the gems represented, and the upcoming event they were intended for, brought a genuine smile to her face that lingered for a beat, until seized upon by a breach into the vault where she had stored all the new information collected while reliving her past life and shoved all the unspoken feelings the knowledge stirred up inside of her.

What was supposed to be impenetrable, closed off with an airtight seal, was showing to have gaps where the doubts and the what-ifs seeped in to taint what she thought she knew and how she felt.

However, in this mixed-up, backwards situation, where time was layered back over itself and events were not always as they presented, it was hard to even trust what she saw with her own eyes, what she heard with her own ears and what effect being aware of it all had on her heart.

Real or not, she was trying desperately to not let any of it sway her intentions of moving forward. Knowing the depth of what Jim so clearly still felt for her, despite his telling her it was a little crush that was over a long time ago in the yesterday of her other life, should have no bearing on her circumstances.

Accepting it didn’t make her any less engaged or any less devoted to Roy.

At least she wanted to believe that.

But as she stood in front of her own image what she saw staring back was not the face of an elated soon-to-be bride. Even when she forced her lips to curl up into a smile, it didn't spread wide enough to reach her eyes. It didn't remind her of the resplendent glow that came over Gabby's face as she shared the tale of her and Randall’s romance. It didn't even match the radiance that she recalled on her own face as she stood across from Jim when they first reached the railing when back on the boat.

How she longed for her poor eyesight at that moment, wanting nothing more than to blur out what was in front of her. Turning on the faucet, she didn't even wait for the temperature to warm before she splashed the water to her face, obscuring her vision but not the memories of the week she just relived.

As she exfoliated and scrubbed, she kept her eyes closed while her mind wandered about, thoughts of all the emotions brought to light from conversations she witnessed and rather interesting ones she had; realizations about herself and the two men in her life taking on an intensity that reminded her of the more experimental pieces of art she and Gabby admired the other day at the Met.

Recollections of times Roy made her feel small and insignificant lined her mind like sharp-edged formations of angry violets, shocking indigos and gangrene olive hues, whereas thoughts of fun times with Jim seemed just as vivid but more like splashes of paint that in their haphazardness screamed of the playfulness and optimism he seemed to always have for her.

But randomly popping up were also the many good memories with Roy. As she continued with the foaming cleanser, the second tier to the process she'd been practicing since her acne-filled high school days, many more of these arrived, she supposed taking so much longer to reach her consciousness because they had to travel from further back.

They were more like watercolors, subdued and diaphanous, but she was sure they only seemed less vivid because they were blunted and watered down by issues and fights that the last few years with him were layered with. Every relationship had them and it was only because she was not in a romantic one with Jim that his colors seemed brighter, that the abstracts she associated with him had fewer of those harsh edges.

Moreover, she was wary of letting the things she saw and felt while in this dimension become the catalyst for change in the other, since she was still not sure what this other dimension even was.

No matter what she experienced here, on the other side was her real life and she was afraid to jeopardize what she’d waited so long for.

It was a week ago now, or was it three, her brain no longer able to correctly track the passage of time, that at last she had seen the light at the end of the tunnel.  She would have her wedding and become wife to her man. That’s what she’d been waiting for and it was going to be worth the wait. It had to be.

Never mind that over the course of the week there were those misgivings hovering, making her doubt he was the one meant to be her man.

But even now as she tried to convince herself, seeing a marriage as the end of a tunnel just didn’t seem right. Marriage wasn’t a destination; it was a journey to take together.

But it was also a binding of hearts joined through a history and there was no denying she had that with Roy.

And he did love her.

Finding the earring yesterday was a reminder of that.

What could be a stronger sign from the universe that she was meant to be with him?

And she did love him, despite all his faults.

It was her homecoming with the one blue stud in her ear that brought that love to the forefront of her mind. As soon as she walked in the door, her arms full with her duffle and the small bag of groceries picked up from an out-of-the-way supermarket, purchased with her short supply of cash, she felt his both his presence and a small sadness that he wasn't really there.

Unloading what she bought, a smaller yield since for it was only what she needed for herself, she felt odd not unpacking Doritos, which he devoured by the bagful and his Lucky Charms cereal and reflected on the thought that she had only herself to cook for this week.

There was a strange enjoyment she got from making him happy, buying his favorite foods and preparing the meals he liked. If he was around when she arrived home from shopping, he’d sometimes join her in the kitchen to unload, and the little smile that would come over his face as she unpacked his snacks, was enough to bring one to hers too. And even though they almost never ate their dinners at the table, he was no less full of praise for her cooking, both in his compliments or his greedy devourment of the meal as they watched TV.

After unpacking in the kitchen, and recovering the earring that she'd kept hidden in her dresser ever since the mate went missing, she moved on to unpack her travel bag, bringing her worn clothes from the week to the small room in the back where the washer and drier were. A basket of dirty laundry sat upon the machine waiting to be washed with Roy’s old jersey lain on top. She fingered the peeling decal that used to spell out Anderson as the name on the back had lost a few letters in the years since he picked her out of all the cheerleaders, female jocks, and other popular girls at Valley View to be the one to wear it the day after the championship game. The name that after nine years would at last be hers.

Back before that was even a thought in her mind, it just made her feel special to be his girlfriend, as she realized that’s what she was when after a few weeks of seeing each other only outside of school he finally let it be known she was the girl he was dating by grabbing her hand as they walked out of class and leaving her with a kiss at her locker.

Remembering that kiss and how, though it was no more than a quick peck it made her happier than if she had been named homecoming queen, something that even as Roy’s girlfriend was never going to happen at her school.  She could practically feel it on her lips and that same elation washed over her.  This time the kiss making it official would have a more accurate definition of the word since it would also be the one that made her his wife.

Just like back then, she lived through a period of uncertainty about what she was to him and where things were going that had her confused and self-conscious, but she had learned early on about his issues with taking risks and adapting to change.

The only place he had claimed to have no fear when it came to making big moves was on the playing field.

But everywhere else, he said it was paralyzing to him. She got that. It was a way they were alike, and one of the things that they found they had in common when they were first getting to know each other.

In their early days and through most stages of their relationship he assured her his hesitance was not about his not wanting to be with her, had no bearing on his love for her. He always had troubles with taking any big steps before he knew he was really ready. It was knowing this that allowed her to accept the six-year wait for the initial proposal and the three-year wait for an actual date.

But in the early stage of them, before she knew all this and before they went public, she had her concerns that he was only pretending to like her so she would keep helping him in class and tutor him in private. When she taught him enough that he no longer needed as much of her help but continued to come over for extra lessons or just to hang out, she let herself believe he was really into her and even though it was secretive, that they were dating.

There was something too, in the way he got so excited as she helped him to grasp the concepts that confused him and would gush over how no one else was ever able to get him to understand the science crap they were forced to learn.

She liked the feeling helping him gave her and felt gratified that she alone could reach him on a deeper level, and that she was the one he said made him a better student and even a better athlete with his desire to make her proud.

To this day he still would turn to her when there was something he didn’t understand and claimed she knew how to explain things in the way he could, whether it be comprehending the plot of a movie or learning how to set up an Excel spreadsheet to track his fantasy football players. And she still got a huge high from being his tutor.

Thinking back on those early tutoring dates had her reflecting about what else they did when they were supposed to be studying.

The make-out sessions that got quite intense and very quickly moved past kissing and heavy petting, as he tutored her in a very different subject.

That physical connection between them still existed. He, though a little thicker around the middle, still exuded a masculinity that she was still attracted to.

When it came to lovemaking, they had a familiarity with each other that came from his having been her first and only. He’d been only a little more experienced than her when they started dating, so they learned together what they liked and how to please one other.

Their sex life was good. Sure, sometimes she wished he concentrated more on what he knew she liked and paid a little more attention to her arousal before making it all about his but there were the times when he put that effort in it, and mmmm.  Even just thinking about it while stood alone in the laundry room had her blushing. As she thought about what he and her alter ego had been doing just the night before at the hotel, she felt her cheeks flame up even more. Just as their love life had once again heated up in the weeks after the night of the booze cruise.

It was one more confirmation to her that now that they were once again on track, their relationship would spring back to all that it once was, with the issue of his commitment, no longer clouding over what they had.

And while she knew setting the date didn’t fix everything and her life with Roy was not always perfect, it was good. And she could work a little harder too, to be the person who helped him be the Roy she fell in love with.

She decided she was going to be happy in her choice, stick to her original decision, the one to go ahead with plans to marry her high school sweetheart. She was almost convinced it was the right one for her.

Then why did she still feel so unsure?

She chalked it up to being alone in their house.

It wasn’t something new, it wasn’t even something she didn’t look forward to every so often leaving her to her books or control of the television, but today it seemed harder than usual to enjoy.

No wonder Michael seemed so desperate to spend his days in this existence with her. In his real life, except for the time he was at Dunder Mifflin, he was always alone.

As she thought more about it, she realized this week his time at the office was when the rest of his employees weren't there, so once he got kicked out of Randall and Gabby’s house, aside from the limited time he spent with her, he was pretty much alone all the time.

It had to be hard on him, like it was for her now.

She was doubly confused why he chose not to stay with her at her place, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. As much as she felt a little lonely, she knew it was safer not to have Michael as a house guest.

As the weekend passed, the time alone got easier and Pam found ways to busy herself, to keep her brain occupied and not focused on the men who without even knowing it, kept attempting to impinge on her thoughts and make a mess of her plans for the future.

The book she began again back when waiting on Michael was an even better read the second time, but she felt listless after more than an hour with a story she knew where was headed and took to taking breaks where she would sketch images of Clare, the artist featured in the novel. She was too afraid to depict Henry for fear he would have the face of a different man, just like when she drew Elvis. The one whose heart it still pained her to think of breaking now that she was choosing Roy.

She wasn’t sure who she identified with more, the artist left behind or the traveler who defied the science of reason, but when Henry would go to his other timelines, Clare would pass the time he was gone with her craft which is what gave her the idea to do the same.

Digging out her easel and watercolors she soon found the hours no longer interminable as she lost herself in painting.

Using a cup of tea as the first model, she carefully daubed at the paper canvas to recreate the ridges of the mug and the shadows it cast on the wall behind it. Setting up a bowl of fruit next, she had to use her imagination to conjure up the green grapes and pears that would fill it up. With her limited funds she'd only brought a small batch of red ones and three bananas, and they had been meant for her to eat, rather than be the subject of her still life art.

Her memory served her well and being quite pleased with the result, she used her mind's eye to evoke other images to recreate; a bouquet of her favorite peonies which she planned to feature at her upcoming wedding but in this case the vase was a reproduction of a ewer she’d admired in Gabby’s kitchen.

Her mind drifting to the office, she honed in on her internal memory to replicate the Swingline stapler that sat at her desk before trying her hand at an abstract, using splashes and sprays off her brush to represent the jelly beans she kept atop it.

Losing track of time, if that was even possible being these days in that she wasn’t quite sure if time was passing her and not the other way around, she painted through the hours and by the end of the weekend she had created enough pieces to have her own wing at the Met.

Even so, despite the craft she lost herself in, she still had bouts where too much quiet got to her.

It was mostly at mealtime, after the roar coming from her middle announced it was time for a break and a bite, when she left the easel for the kitchen and sat down to lonely meal after lonely meal.

While she’d eaten by herself many a night while Roy was at the bar or out with friends, even that first Friday dinner seemed much sadder and isolating after the lively dinners she’d been having with Gabby and Randall.

By the time Sunday night rolled around not only did she realize she had not heard from Michael in a few days, a concern in itself, but was also desperate for some company, and she decided to call him.

On the first night when he dropped her off, while on the way back to her place, they worked out a system so they could stay in touch with one another until the time she needed to vacate her house again. The plan involving her letting the phone ring a specific number of times and then Michael would ring her back and pretend to be a weight loss pill salesman. Of course, the fake salesman call back to her was unnecessary since it was only this Pam who was home to receive any landline calls, but it seemed to make Michael happy to be in on some form of secret plan so she went along. In the end having the arrangement was a good thing when on Monday he forgot the number of rings, not surprisingly as, by his design, they changed with the day. Eventually, Pam had to speak aloud after the third call she made to the two Michaels. Luckily, when both Michaels answered again and again, they both seemed to assume there was a delay and echo in the phone as Michael Scott here reverberated through it. She almost hung up as she had the first two times but, in the end, she used her own best sales pitch in a phony voice to sell them both diet pills, praying her Michael would figure it out, hang up and call her back.

She heard one of the lines disconnect and wasn’t quite sure which of the two left the call, only realizing who stayed on the line when he remarked how he had been overeating the last week and could use a miracle pill to help him lose the weight he was sure he had put on, but could she do better on the price.

When finally, she revealed it was a call from his Pam and not a cold-calling salesperson, she with apprehension invited him to join her at her place for lunch the next day.

It was as if she’d asked him to the prom, he reacted with such emotion, his voiced getting choked up as he accepted and asked what he should bring and how he should come dressed and if she liked red wine.

She immediately worried she was making a huge mistake, but still did not rescind the invitation.

“Wear what you would any other day, Michael. And don’t bring wine. This is not a date. After my last few meals by myself, I thought of you eating alone each day and thought you might enjoy the company.”

She thought she heard him crying on the end after she spoke and when she caught his indelicate snort, the inhaling of mucus and tears up though his prominent nose she knew he without a doubt was.

“But Michael, don’t make me regret this. It’s just lunch and while we eat, we can devise a plan for our Packer stakeout since we don’t want this whole trip to be for nothing.”

The sniffles from the other end which had all but tapered off came back as Michael seemed to remember the odors that overtook his office, first from Packer’s package and then from his horrible new carpet. 

“Oh yeah, Packer. Forgot about that. Good thinking my Pink Pamther.”

For a man who could tell her the name of the kid who tortured him in his middle school science class, she was more than a little nonplussed he didn’t remember how this whole tricky time travel situation started and who essentially, they had come back to stop from making the mess that began it.

Reminded again, how his memory of useless information had an elephant-like quality, but for important details was more like a sieve, she recited her address again. She didn’t need him knocking on the door of Roy’s relatives looking for her when he came by tomorrow for their 1:30 lunch.

“And Michael, park down the block and try to be discrete when you come to the door. Better yet, come around back so nobody sees you.”

Of course, the next day at 12:30 the front doorbell rang.

She hardly had to look out the peephole to know it was him but tiptoed up to reach the small circle just above her eye line. The distorted view of two Glider Diner bags held high next to Michael’s grinning face softened the annoyance she felt that he was both early and at the wrong entrance and she swiftly stepped back to open the door only to find he was no longer there.

The knock on the back door a minute later told Pam he just remembered his instructions.

Pam walked back through the kitchen to the rear door and ushered Michael in.

“I didn’t know what you liked so I got a few different sandwiches, burgers, cheese fries and of course, pie.”

Well at least because he was early, Pam had not yet started making the egg salad she had planned on serving and it was sweet of him to bring options. It was obvious he still was on the time traveler’s diet. Not only was he feeding the extra appetite that seemed to be a side effect of bending time, but seemed to no longer be worried about the pounds he gained by indulging that voracious hunger.

Pam had all week been trying not to give in to the demands of her often-ravenous stomach, eating only enough to quiet the sound of the insistent rumbles. Not only because her budget prevented her from overdoing it while food shopping but because of concern about which version of herself would remain at the end of this journey. The one that did would need to fit into a wedding dress by summer, and it was that she told herself when she still felt unsatisfied after her lonely meals.

But as Michael unloaded the sandwiches from the bag and the smells of bacon and burgers wafted through the room, she decided one day of overeating couldn’t hurt.

Over lunch they had a quite pleasant chat, about Michael’s explorations in the warehouse and his plans for his new disco café which she learned more about as they feasted on the abundance of food.

Even with the enthusiastic appetite they shared from their similar condition, they were too full after the big meal to enjoy the pie right away.

She hadn’t anticipated they would indulge in a multi-course feast, and hadn't expected the extended visit and she certainly hadn't planned on giving him a tour of her home, so the makeshift art studio she'd set up in the family room was still a haphazard mess. All the watercolors she had spent the weekend working on were left out to dry, the display of them covering most of the surfaces in the space.

However, Michael's request to see the rest of her place and the suggestion they retreat to the den wasn't so unreasonable. It just felt too rude to deny him that courtesy while they digested in order to make room for the delicious pie the Glider Diner was known for.

And if she were to one day be a true artist, the whole point was to have others view her work. Art was meant to be seen and shared. And it was just Michael, he had color-by-number paintings hung on his office wall. It felt silly of her to be so self-conscious but she was. Even being proud with herself wasn't enough to wash away her own self-doubt.

But reluctantly she set down her ice tea, hoping he would parrot her action before she invited him to follow her down the hall to the den. He trailed but with his hand still firmly grasped around the sweating glass.

As he entered the room, from behind her she heard the gasp and whipped around expecting to find his ice tea spilled on the carpet or worse, splashed all over one of her paintings.

But the glass still sat firm in his hand as his face lit up, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

“Wow, Pamcasso. You did these? Freehand”

Pam smiled demurely at first but soon she was grinning as his eyes darted from the easel where her most recent work was still in progress to the others that lined the table.

“Yup”

“My God. These could be tracings.”

As he gushed, warmth surged up from her nose as her eyes filled with moisture. Suddenly overcome with emotion, she stood back, trying to hide her teary face as he took in her art. The way he studied each piece with wondrous fascination was just as she had the other day while taking in Matisse and Picasso. Because she knew Michael had no poker face whatsoever, she also knew his reaction was genuine.

His eyes passed over the few still lifes on the table but it was when he turned to discover the series of buildings that sat atop a slipcovered couch that he became transformed.  

Right into his alter ego of Elvis Scott or Michael Presley as the character was also known as.

“Honey,” he said while curling up both his collar and lip. “You painted my beloved Grace Estate. Thank you, thank you very much.”

While normally irritated by the Elvis-impersonating Michael, today she was tickled by it, if not a little surprised he could identify the home she depicted. Of course, he didn’t quite get the name right but that was classic him.

“I’m surprised you know it, Michael.”

“He’s the King is he not? Doesn't everyone know about his palace?"

"First Michael, it's called Graceland not Grace Estate."

He dropped the bad southern drawl and uncurled his lip and the Michael Scott she knew was back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Michael, positive. And I think most people know the correct name but probably wouldn't know what it looked like, and wouldn't be able to identify it in a painting based off my memory of a photo I pulled up on the Internet. I'm quite impressed. You know Gabby is also a big Elvis fan and…"

Pam started to explain what had inspired her to paint the iconic residence of Gabby’s, and apparently Michael’s idol, but he seemed to have lost interest in anything Elvis as he moved on to the next painting. He took a step up to get a better look, the wet glass now dangerously close for her taste, but to her complete shock he realized it before the droplets running down the side dripped onto her hard work and he handed his drink off to Pam.

“Look at this one. Wow. You nailed it. That's our building Pam, our home.”

Pam walked to the nearby sill to set down the glass.

"There's my... window,” he continued to gush over the watercolor.

“...and there's my car! My real car, not the boring Honda I've been stuck driving this past week. Wow do I miss my Sebring. I miss you baby.”

He crooned to the painting, reaching out to pet the lone car depicted in the lot.

“Careful, Michael.”

She knew the paint had long since dried. All of them had, even the one still on the easel. She left them out because she could, because she felt proud of what she accomplished and with Roy not there she could keep them out a few days more to remind herself of the talent she had within her. The talent she felt she might one day put to use if she could just hone it a tad more and find a place where it was valued.

"I want it, Pam. I want to buy it for the office.”

“You’re kidding, right.”

“Why would I be kidding? That’s our building and you’ve done an incredible job capturing it. It needs to be on display and where better than inside the walls of Dunder Mifflin? So how much?”

Unable to keep herself from doing it, she reached her arms around her boss to hug him. Nobody had made her feel so talented before, not even Roy who’d been claiming to be a fan of her art since high school, and yet not a single item of her creation was on display in their home, until now, and due to the circumstances, this exhibition would have a limited run.

A limited run that following that afternoon had one less piece.

She didn’t want to take any money from him, considering that he’d been covering so many of the expenses over last week, but he insisted. Of course, when he went into his wallet for her payment, the only paper in there was an old dry cleaner receipt and a gum wrapper so her compensation was a chit.

Still, the slip that read I owe Pam Beesly for this absolutely stunning and awe-inspiring painting of art, was worth more to her than gold.

“Now, where can I go to get this masterpiece framed?” he asked as he picked up his purchase to admire it once more.

“Um, Michael’s”

He stared at her blankly

“Um, Pam.”

“No Michael. The store, Michael’s. You can buy a frame there.”

Had he really never heard of the craft chain that bore his name? She could only imagine the mini explosion happening in his head. Moreover, the bigger disaster that would occur when he entered the arts and crafts emporium being it was the kind of place that could inspire someone like Michael to try his hand at scrapbooking, candle-making, baking, floral arranging, and more, and all at once. 

She almost thought to suggest she go with him so he wouldn’t overdo it. She did want to pick up more paint and while it might be nice to spend the next month in artisan workshops in the conference room, she knew it was unwise to have the rest of the staff pulled away from their real jobs to make jewelry, decorate woodworks or commemorate memories into a book with stickers and other embellishments.

But she decided against it. For one her cash was almost gone and she herself often got carried away when shopping at Michael’s and knowing herself might blow the rest of it replenishing the paint she used up this week. She didn’t think Michael’s would take an IOU, even one from a fellow Michael, though she could see him asking how much of a discount they give for customers who bear their namesake, and that was only a fraction of the mayhem she predicted witnessing if she accompanied him on that shopping trip.

The trip she was already on with him had been trouble enough and though at that moment, she was basking in the joy of Michael’s tremendous praise, it wasn’t quite enough to ameliorate all the concerns their travel created.

Besides, she had something she wanted to do after he left her alone again.

»»»»»»»

Glider Diner’s pie never tasted so good.

Back in the kitchen, they refilled their bellies with the sweet taste of apples and spices, but for Pam it wasn’t just her stomach that was overstuffed. Her mind too was swirling with too many thoughts to fit comfortably inside.

One meditation taking up space in her head, was the confidence she was feeling about her talent. Sure, she knew it was Michael and his opinion wasn’t worth much but still she felt a boost to think about art classes or find some way to do something more with it once this vacation from reality was over.

But that wasn’t the only thing she had on her mind. Foremost in her head presently was the reflection that their home had not a single piece of her artwork hung up in it. How Roy’s reaction to her art was never even close to what her bosses had been.

She recalled the last thing she drew for him, the sketch on the homemade holiday card she attached to his gift, a colorful drawing of the jet skis, sinking into snowy fields instead of the lake where they regularly were put to use. Santa’s hat hung off one of the handles.

It wasn’t a masterpiece, but she was proud of how it came out, and while he made some comment about it when he opened it, she hadn’t seen it since and wondered had he tossed it away with the wrapping paper.

She knew he wasn’t as sentimental as her, saving every generic card that he bought, even though they always said the same simple three words…love you babe…and nothing more, ever, but she’d put so much thought into the picture and the note written inside, that she thought he might.

In the thought that he could have, once Michael left, she went looking for it. He didn’t have a decorative round box for mementos like she did so there were not a lot of places it could be, his dresser drawers, the shelf of the bookcase with his Xbox games, the closet with his sports stuff, and the bedside table she’d never before looked through, out of respect for his privacy. Privacy, and a small bit of a preservation instinct figuring there would be magazines or DVDs she didn’t want to know about.

But things were different this week, they felt somehow unreal and yet she felt aware of things in a way like never before. It was as if everything was heightened, each new discovery had meaning, the signs in this universe were like billboards, urging her to do things she might not do otherwise.

Plus, ever since Michael had fawned as he did over her paintings, the question gnawed at her. She needed to know if he had saved her card, or any card from her over the last nine years they were together.

She pulled open his drawer with only the slightest hesitation and sure enough there on top was a dirty magazine. Growing up, she knew her dad had a stash of Playboys. It was, according to her mom, quite normal for men. But the publication she stumbled upon she could tell was much raunchier than those featuring topless women and spread-eagle centerfolds. This one featured a kind of debauchery that made her feel both dirty and ashamed, and at the same time inadequate in that her fiancé felt the need to look at pornographic images for erotic stimulation.  

Oh, gross Roy.

The picture she formed in her head of him in the bathroom or bed with the magazine she quickly pushed aside. It was so not what she was hoping to find for as she looked for proof of his love and pride and way more repellent than she expected she might. And this was what he was ogling in their home, in the bed where he made love to her.

It was too much to think about and she slammed the drawer shut, deciding she didn’t need to know if her card was in there if it was in the same place as his filthy porn.

For the first time since arriving back in time, she had no appetite, not even hours after their lunch feast. She couldn’t paint, or concentrate on the pages of her book, and even the television couldn’t settle her mind, so she washed up and turned in early for bed, hoping her dreams might erase the images she hadn’t even opened the cover to see but were all she could.

She had trouble sleeping at first, still thinking about the magazine that she found and the card she didn't. However, once she did, she fell hard, only stirring as she continuously shifted her head on her pillow, even in deep slumber unable to find a position she could settle on.

Without fully awakening, she discovered the culprit of a physical discomfort, the extra-long post of the small blue earring jabbing at her skull at every contact with the pillow. It happened in a hazy state, her conscious mind not in any way aware of her finger's movements to twist off the backing and remove the stud. In the dream, the earring made it safely to the bedside table, to be recovered again once she awoke. But dreams, no matter how real they seem, can't change the pull of gravity which drew the gemstone to the ground as her hand missed the surface of the side table, and buried it within the fibers of the carpet.

She had no memory of the midnight activity. In the morning her head was far from any thoughts of the symbolic jewelry, preoccupied again by a search for the card or any other sign he was proud of her talent. Willing herself to forget what was still there, she returned to go rummaging through the same drawer. Now that the sacred seal was broken, she couldn’t help herself from what she tried to justify wasn’t snooping since she had a particular item she was searching for.

Removing the offensive magazine from the top, she found a holiday card. It wasn’t hers, but a promotional mailer from The Vitamin Store plugging supplements to maintain good health during the season of overindulgence.

This he saves?

Under it was some sort of receipt, the sales slip folded in half, which upon her opening it she discovered was a note, the computer-generated text faded and covered by a rounded and looped handwriting undoubtedly scrawled from the hand of a woman. If there was any doubt of that, what was written on the small paper made it clear.

If you change your mind, give me a call. -Kathie.

A tiny heart dotted the i of her name and her phone number was printed in large numbers below.

Change his mind about what?

About cheating?

About getting married?

The note itself wasn’t exactly proof that he’d done something wrong, only that he’d met some floozy named Kathie, probably on a night she’d left early from Poor Richards, and this Kathie was interested in him.

If anything, what she had written was indication she knew he wasn’t available.

But why had he saved it? Why was it here, stashed in the drawer and not immediately crumpled up and tossed out as she would have done had she been hit on by some rando in a bar. Of course, she would never let it get to that point, never get so cozy with someone that they would make their move, knowing full well she wasn’t single, just as he wasn’t.

Doubts and suspicions flaring up like an outbreak of eczema that she knew would only get worse by scratching, she still continued digging through the mess of CDs and pens, ticket stubs and random keys, playing cards and

…box of condoms.

It could have been from years ago, back when they were still using them, before she went on the pill. Somehow, she doubted that, since she’d gone on her birth control before they moved in together and the whole bedroom set was part of the furnishings that came with the house they rented from his aunt and uncle, a clear indication this box was a purchase made after then.

There was that spell when she was on antibiotics for a sinus infection. She warned him about how the medicine would significantly reduce the efficacy of her birth control, something he didn’t quite understand until she plainly said if they didn’t want to get pregnant, they would have to use condoms for the month. Maybe these were from then, even though she distinctly remembered they never did wind up using them. Instead, he insisted on the pull-out method since he hated the sensation of, as he described, having his thing choked in a tight, plastic wrapper. Given that they would be married soon enough, or so she thought at the time, she acquiesced, but worried every time she might wind up a mother before a wife.

He must have bought them just in case, she told herself now. She remembered how it had taken a lot of cajoling on his part to get her to take the risk and if it came down to wearing one or going without, he’d do what he needed to do. There was no way he’d practice abstinence for a month. He grumbled and complained enough through the week she was sick, he was sure to have condoms ready if that’s what it took once she felt well enough to resume sexual activity.

Yeah, these were from then. She was sure of it; she even had the faint recollection of him buying them. They must have sat in the drawer unused for years, except on closer inspection she saw the seal had been breached.

The open box was a complete gut punch but it was finding it was one short that had her running to the toilet ready to lose her lunch.

Looks like he may have changed his mind.

As a teenager, Pam was a huge fan of theme parks. Her favorite, the roller coasters. Bravery, hard to summon in other situations, came naturally to her here. Of course, they were just rides, no real risks were being taken, but knowing she could do something others were afraid of, even her six-foot-four boyfriend had to be coaxed to go on Lightin' Loops, gave her a little high.

It wasn't without some trepidation, and she wasn't completely impervious to the wave of nausea brought on by the jerky motion and anticipation of what lie on the other side of the ascent, but after the first rise and fall she could suppress the ill feeling and embrace the exhilaration of the experience. But when a ride was brand new, when she had no prior familiarity with the arc of the twists or how long the drop would last, then the vacillating movement combined with the anxiety awaiting the unexpected, kept her queasy throughout, though in a sort of thrilling way that made it more fun.

But the older she got, the less she went to places like Six Flags or Hershey Park. The thrill rides she once so enjoyed, no longer seemed worth the long waits and didn't have that same ability to make her feel courageous.

This whole time-travel trip was like being at a brand-new theme park, on a ride that though she’d been on before, felt unexperienced and unfamiliar. For days, she’d been ping-ponging between emotions, between the draw of two different tracks she could take. One was the safe one, the one she knew didn’t always excite her anymore she’d been on it so many times, but at least knowing what to expect, didn’t make her want to throw up. The other, untested and unknown she knew would make her feel a little unwell at first but once that feeling passed would be the more exciting way to go down.

But now, her safe track was the one making her nauseous, but not in that kid at an amusement park, fun overdosing, too much excitement, kind of way. This felt more like the bug that came on the next day, from all the shared germs and unhealthy eating and the not quite fully cooked hot dog and greasy French fries that constituted lunch.

She managed not to vomit, but couldn’t help the tears that exploded from her eyes as she lay across the tiled floor in the bathroom.

After an hour, maybe more, it felt like hours but her watch said otherwise, she got up and tried putting the house back in the order she’d found it when she arrived. She needed to vacate again tomorrow since she and Roy were due back while she and Michael simultaneously had a stakeout planned to catch Packer and keep him from defecating in his office.

But it was hard to motivate, hard to do much more than think about her find.

Even though she knew nothing for sure, she spent the day unable to shake the ill feeling she had.

Every bit of new information she was gaining in this trip to the past seemed to be slowly chipping away at her future, and this last piece, if he had cheated on her with this Kathie or some other unnamed floozy, felt like a giant sledgehammer knocking it all down. This offense was more than could be repaired with any amount of plaster or even the most heart-felt apology.

But had he? She couldn’t be sure. It was one condom. For all she knew it could be in his shaving kit on the trip with them. There had to be some explanation. As much as the evidence seemed to be pointed that way, Pam didn’t want to believe that Roy would actually cheat.

But until she was reunited back with herself in the current timeline, she had no way to find out and even then, she wasn’t sure how she might figure it out unless she straight out asked him. And she still had no idea if she would remember any of all this or how this trip would even end.

Unable to clean or eat or do much else she went to bed early again.

She woke the next day to a damp pillow stained with the salt of the tears she’d cried all night. But somehow, as if the river that she drowned herself in baptized her with a new resolve, by morning she was strong enough to focus on what lie ahead, the last few days in the past, the transition to the future and all that would come from where she’d been.

She still had no answers, the decision she thought was solid was no longer irrevocable, if ever it even had been, but she had the determination to keep it together as she completed the journey and figured out who she wanted to be with and more importantly who she wanted to be.

At least she hoped she could.