He's unlocking his car door when he hears her.
"Jim!"
And she's jogging towards him now, apparently undeterred by the fact that he clearly purposely left when she was in the bathroom.
He should have just called from Stamford to tell Michael he wasn't coming back. Jan would've understood. He wouldn't even need an elaborate excuse, he could just say the word "Michael" and she would nod, lips pressed into a line. It would have been that easy.
Instead, he's now standing there, key in the lock, watching her advance toward him and preparing himself for the fact this is the end he'd been avoiding. As she approaches, he turns his eyes towards his hands and stands, motionless, as if she won't see him as long as he remains perfectly still.
She stops at the front of his car. She seems to be waiting for something, but he doesn't give it to her. He just stands there, staring at his car door and wondering if dread is something quantifiable. He wonders what the concentration in his blood is at this moment. He thinks he might be sweating it.
"Jim." She says his name, but instead of following it with any other words, she simply wrings her hands at him and he thinks it is worse than anything she might've possibly said.
But he's wrong, because finally she just says, "I'll miss you." And her indecisiveness, which at the very least assured him he wasn't crazy but at the very worst made it clear that there could've been a chance, has been replaced by resignation. She is accepting his loss, her life, her indecision. And so must he.
He nods slightly, staring at the key in the lock and watching her in his periphery. She stands there, waiting. Unsure. Resigned.
"Your shoe is untied," he says finally. And she kind of gapes at him, and then looks down at her untied left Ked, and now he's opening the door and is climbing in and is convincing himself that this can all be over in about ten seconds if he'll just not look at her again. But before he can close the door she says his name again, and he glances up to catch her pleading expression and her wringing hands and doubt doubt doubt but all she'll give him is his name. He can't bear to hear it again.
He pauses, looks at her face. She stands there, waiting. And he tries to smile at her one last time, to release her, to say goodbye. It is all he can possibly do for her now.
He closes the door, starts the engine, and begins to leave. She pretends to bend down to tie her shoe but instead just cries into her hands. He pretends not to watch her in his rearview. They are both liars.