She's only seen him cry once, and she didn't know how to handle it. She's replayed that single tear falling over and over in her mind, constantly asking herself where she'd be if she'd done things differently.

That single tear, she's decided, she can handle. She can handle it because she caused it.

These tears that are flowing almost nonstop? She can't really handle them at all.

She wonders how to tell him. She's six months along, now, and it's getting harder and harder to do everything for herself. This couldn't have happened at a worse time. Yes, it could've. Could be three months from now. It happens, she reminds herself. Death is part of life.

"Dunder-Mifflin; this is Pam," she answers.

Jim looks up every time she answers the phone, just to hear her voice. He doesn't care for what she has to say next, though.

"Oh...Larissa...No, no...Yeah, oh my gosh...I'm so sorry...Yeah, I'll tell him. Um...Yeah, I mean no, we're off every weekend...Yeah, we'll be there tomorrow. Okay....Yes...We love you, too...Bye."

He gives her a questioning look, and she hits a button on her phone and motions towards the kitchen. He follows quietly, knowing what's coming.

Why? Why now? This should be the happiest time of his life. He's having a kid. He's married to his dream girl.

His father's passed away.

He doesn't cry at work. He doesn't help her pack. He just sits out back in his folding chair, staring down a full beer bottle and watching the sun set.

She packs for a week. She calls Jan ("No, I don't know when he'll be back...Yeah. Um. We'll be back as soon as we can, I guess."). She's ready. She thinks so, anyway.

Sometimes, iced tea just doesn't cut it. She sits on the little brick 'fence' that boxes off the patio in the back yard, leaning forward and watching him.

"Sixty-two." Jim mutters. He cries silently. "Too damn young."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her eyes search his face. He suddenly looks much older, much more distant. It's selfish, but she touches her stomach. She can't do this alone.

"Let's go," he whispers.

"Tonight? In the Corolla?"

"We'll rent something bigger. C'mon." He stands up. "I need to be there. It's only an hour away."

They ride in silence. The Corolla's not her idea of comfort, but he'd do the same for her.

She unpacks in silence (God bless Larissa for giving them the downstairs guest room). He sits with his mother in tears.

They make preprations, she and Larissa. Jim and his brother sit around and talk.

Jim cries at night. He won't hold her, it hurts to look at her. He wishes it didn't, but he knows why.

The kid'll look like him. He looks like his father.

She can't do this alone.

Who knew funerals were so boring? He can't concentrate. He can't look at Pam. He can't look at his family. He won't shake hands. He just cries. He stares at the floor, watching his tears puddle at his feet.

What good is carpet if liquid puddles up, anyway?

They stay a few more days. He can't handle Michael. He really can't handle Michael.

It's been a week. She starts to wonder. He sees her distance herself, now, the way he's been doing for seven days. That night, he sits up in bed, holding her. He cries, and she holds his hand. He tells her stories, he tells her lies and love and why it hurts so badly to know this kid's a boy.

She can't do this alone.

She won't have to, he assures her. He promises. She won't have to do anything alone.

And she believes him, because he's never been more honest than when he's crying.

She believes him when he cries.