Jim mailed the envelope in the morning before work and spent the entire day thinking about it. Something this amazing just begged to be talked about, but who would listen? Nobody would believe him. It wasn’t like he could call up one of his friends and explain that he was finally falling in love... with a woman from 1924. He couldn’t even explain why he was so sure that he was falling in love. Maybe, he reasoned, that’s how you know it’s falling in love - because it doesn’t make any sense. It’s probably the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

When he returned home from work, he found Mrs. Castellani outside, collecting her mail. She insisted that he join them for dinner again and Jim agreed. If anything, it would help keep his mind off the desk.

After dinner, Mrs. Castellani brewed some coffee and sat down at the table. “Jim, are you sure you don’t want anything else to eat? There’s plenty of leftovers.”

Jim patted his stomach. “Really, I’m full. Thanks though.”

“Okay,” Mrs. Castellani replied. Jim could tell by her tone that she was going to send him home with a plate of leftovers.

Jim got an idea. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“Sure,” Mr. Castellani said. “Anything.”

“Well, I was wondering if you knew anything about what Scranton was like in the 1920s.”

“Not much,” Mr. Castellani replied. “Both of us were just babies then. Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, uh... my niece is doing a project,” Jim lied. “I told her I’d ask the smartest people I know.”

“Oh, flattery,” Mrs. Castellani said, smiling. “I could get used to that.”

Jim smiled. “I aim to please.”

“You know,” Mr. Castellani said, “I think I actually might have something that might help you. My mother was a real shutterbug when she was younger. I think I may have some of her photo albums in the closet, would you like to look at them?”

“That’d be great,” Jim said.

Mr. Castellani got up from the table and disappeared into the next room.

“He loves looking at those pictures,” Mrs. Castellani said. “He used to take a lot of pictures himself, until that old camera of his broke. He never bought himself a new one for some reason.”

Mr. Castellani came back into the kitchen, his arms laden with photo albums. He set them on the table then pulled an album with a beat-up brown leather cover from the pile. He placed it in front of Jim and said, “There ya go. Those are my mother’s photos from when I was small.”

“Thanks, Mr. Castellani,” Jim said. He ran his hand over the album’s cover then flipped it open.

Most of the photos showed signs of their age, but the pictures were still clear. Mr. Castellani’s mother had documented everything from the family’s first house to weddings to children’s birthday parties, and even simple things like flowers or trees. A few pages in the album were dedicated to the streets of Scranton. Jim stared at the street photos for a long time, imagining Pam walking down these streets. He wondered what her house had looked like then and if it was still there now. He knew the address by heart.

He closed the photo album. “Thanks. That was really great. I wish I could’ve seen what Scranton looked like back then. You know, with my own eyes.”

“You want to take the albums with you?” Mr. Castellani asked. “You can let your niece look over them and then bring them back.”

“Sure, thanks,” Jim said. He stood and collected the albums in his arms. “I think she’ll really like this.”

Jim said good-bye to the Castellanis then took the photo albums up to his apartment. He set them carefully on the desk before grabbing his keys and leaving the apartment again.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted to see the house. It wasn’t like she still lived there. But he had to see. He just had to know. He drove down North Washington Avenue until he found the right house. He parked across the street and rolled down the window.

The house was big, way bigger than the house he had grown up in. It was obvious from the size and construction of the house that it had been built in a time when people put more thought into their homes and didn’t just plop a condo down on a piece of land. Six stone steps led up to a large front porch and there were windows all over. Whoever lived there didn’t want for sunlight, that was for sure. There had been some modern additions to the outside and it appeared that the house had been made into a duplex, and rather sloppily.

Jim wouldn’t tell Pam about this. He doubted that she’d like to know that someone came along and tore her family home literally in half.

He sat there for fifteen minutes, just staring up at the house and wondering why the universe played games as cruel as these.