Chapter Four

It was the single most torturous day on record, more excruciating than any other day he’d ever spent here. It was a day without Pam, a day without answers. Jim is shocked he was able to get through it.

Going home seems too depressing so after work he goes to Happy Hour but of course he is anything but. He sits at the bar, its two-fers at Chili’s and the after-work crowd can’t be more excited by that fact. It works well for Jim, in no time he’s on his sixth beer. The Phillies are playing and are three runs ahead but he barely even notices what’s going on around him.

Did he really think just saying the words would change everything? Jim grabs a tortilla chip and crunches it noisily. Naively, he actually did. He figured that was all she’d been waiting for, for him to say it.

But now, he’s not so sure. Now he’s thinking he’s underestimated things, underestimated Roy and most of all, Pam’s love for him. On the surface Roy was almost like a cartoon character, ignorant and uncomplicated.

If Jim knew Pam like he thought he did he had to face the fact that there must be more to it. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with him for no reason at all. It’s not something he really wants to think about, but until he sees her again that’s all he has, the endless possibilities and how some of them might not go in his favor.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sir James of Chilington.” Michael says as he sidles up next to him.

Nice. This is just what he needs. Jim sighs as he reaches for his beer and drinks deeply. “Good one Michael.”

“What brings you to this fine establishment?” Michael asks as he takes a cocktail the color of window wiper fluid from the bartender with a smile.

His eyes scan the pandemonium around him. “I’m thinking it’s the ambiance.” Jim replies and takes another chip.

“I hear ya, my man.” Michael looks lovingly around the bar, a glimmer in his eye. “There’s something so….special about this place. I’ve done my best work in this Chili’s.” Michael takes a sip of his drink, dribbling blue liquid down the front of his tie. “Actually. I’m glad I found you. I really could use your advice. You know, mano a mano.”

To his dismay, Jim doesn’t even have enough energy to correct Michael on his use of Spanish, nor to make a hasty exit. He simply sighs again and signals for another round. “What’s up?”

Michael lowers his voice and begins. “I need you to tell me what it’s like – being in a ménage a trois.”

“Wow.” Jim’s eyes fly open wide. “That’s a very personal question Michael.”

Much to Jim’s horror, Michael keeps going. “I mean you and Pam and…Roy, all sharing the same bed…”

Now that is an image he does not even want to contemplate. Jim takes another sip of his beer to wash the bad taste from his mouth. He has no idea why he’s still taking part in this conversation as he answers, “OK. I have never shared a bed with Roy...” He has to take a deep breath as an image of Pam fills his mind, “…or Pam for that matter…”

Michael looks at him, exasperated. “I don’t mean literally, Jim. I mean the whole triangle thing…like Brad and Jen and Angelina all tangled up in the sheets…” He stops for a second and ponders. “Man. How hot would that be?”

“Do you have a point here, Michael?” Jim asks as he stares at the TV screen.

“Well yes Jim. I do actually. You see, I’ve found myself in a little predicament. On one hand, I’ve got Jan – and you know Jan’s…great.” Michael sighs dreamily before he continues. “But on the other there’s Carol. My realtor? She’s equally…great. And you see, Jan’s - she's all about New York and well, Carol, she lives right here in Scranton.”

Michael leans closer and whispers softly and deliberately. “So here’s my question. Do you think there’s enough of the Scottster to satisfy both of them?”

The Scottster? Jim rolls his eyes. He downs the rest of his beer in one gulp. I can’t do this, he thinks desperately as he takes out his wallet. “I think…” He stands and claps Michael on the back. “There’s much more of you than one woman could deal with.”

A satisfied smile fills Michael’s face as he watches Jim walk away.

He’s finally able to breathe again as he makes his way outside. Jim wanders over to a bench and eases down onto it. He’s too buzzed to risk driving home just yet. He leans back and closes his eyes, startled when his cell phone chimes, signaling a text message.

He reaches for his phone and flips it open to retrieve it. His heart beats faster when he sees who it’s from.

I’m sorry - I missed you today. At my Mom’s. Talk to you Monday. P

Jim stares at the phone. His mind starts to analyze every word, every syllable.

I’m sorry. Is she sorry because she’s made her choice and it’s not him?

I missed you today. Missed as in, she simply didn’t come into work so she didn’t see him or missed as in missed, like she’d been dying to see him but didn’t? The only thing he knows for sure is which missed he’d have meant if he’d been the one sending the message.

At my Mom’s. OK. This can only be good. He knows that she’s not with Roy…for the moment at least.

Talk to you Monday. Well, at least now he knows just how long the torture will last.

The warm night air surrounds him as he reads the message over and over, a smile forming before he can stop himself from hoping again. His pulse slows a bit and he's calmer than he's been all day. There’s nothing for him to do now but wait and see.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It is so good to be home. At dinner, Pam didn’t have much of an appetite but it was always nice to have someone take care of you for a change. Her mom had made all her favorites, listened to her talk when she needed to, gave her space when she wanted time to think. Pam knows that just being here is the best thing she could have done.

She thinks of the message she’s just sent to Jim. It took her an hour to find the right words. After the conversation she had with Roy, telling him that she just had some wedding plans to take care of she felt somewhat guilty. Guilty not just about lying to Roy, but also about not talking to Jim.

Pam couldn’t call him, the words he’s suddenly saying are too much for her to hear, particularly when she’s trying to sort it all out. Still, it only seemed right to let him know where she was.

She’s now in the living room, sitting beside her father as he watches some documentary on World War II. She smiles because just like always, he’s snoring between the commercials. Her dad hasn’t said much at all about her being here, and Pam can’t even be sure her mother has shared the reason with him. It would make him anxious. There was no reason to worry him just yet.

They know each other so well. She thinks with a smile. When she thinks of them together she knows it’s exactly the type of marriage she always dreamed she’d have herself.

Pam opens the sketchbook resting in her lap. While the television drones on, she draws the interior of the church where they’re supposed to have the ceremony, carefully adding every minute detail. The beautiful stained glass window behind the altar, the candle she and Roy will light, signifying that they’ll be joined together forever.

Forever seems like such long time right now.

She flips to a new page, the pencil in her hand moving across it as if it has a will of its own. She just lets it happen, not trying to think too much. It’s such a relief to have something to distract her and she’d always been able to find solace in her drawing.

It’s just that lately she hasn’t really bothered to take the time to do it.

She quickly can see it’s a house, the one she’s always dreamed of. It’s not the first time she’s drawn it of course, but this hope fills her heart as she begins shading the terrace on the second floor.

They don’t make houses like this in Scranton. She thinks to herself again as she draws it. Another thought fills her mind before she can stop it. Do they make them like this in Stamford?

She flips back to the picture of the church, painstakingly adding a pair of figures at the send of the aisle. She draws herself in profile, dressed the fairy tale gown she’s always dreamed of wearing, the very one that’s hanging upstairs in the closet. She draws Roy, handsome in his tux, smiling out at the crowd with those dimples she’s always loved.

With tears in her eyes she flips back to the house, adding a series of stone pots overflowing with flowers along the perimeter of the terrace. She roughly sketches a dogwood tree shading half of it.

She adds a bench and draws herself sitting on it. She draws a night sky, she’s always imagined sitting out there on the terrace at night, just staring up at the stars. She used to wish on them all the time when she was little but again, that’s something she hasn’t done in a while.

When did she stop wishing? She wonders. When did she simply decide what she had was enough?

Her hands moves over the paper again, a figure taking shape on the bench next to her. It takes her only a second to realize it’s not Roy she’s drawing this time, but Jim. And though she’s drawn herself with her eyes titled up to the sky, she’s not as surprised as she should be to find that she’s drawn him staring directly at her.