Later that afternoon, Harley was fiddling with the coffeemaker as Pam got ready to drive out to the house. She tilted her head up for a kiss on Pam's way out but stayed uncharacteristically quiet.
As Pam pulled the Prius into the driveway and cut the engine, she thought about Rick. Her . . . husband (she forced herself to acknowledge reality) was a fugitive from the law, wanted for murder. Why had he run, instead of staying and talking to the police? Surely the situation could be considered a justifiable homicide.
Pam shook her head to clear it, stepped out of the car, and climbed the front steps. But there was a brand-new lock on the front door, and her key didn't work.
She stood on the porch, for once unsure of her next move. Her mind wandered to the time she'd impulsively followed Harley outside after their first disastrous dinner in this house. Pam could still see the way the light had shone on her blonde pigtails, could hear the rumble of her motorcycle . . . a rumble that got steadily louder now, until Pam was snapped out of her memories by the sight of actual Harley on her actual motorcycle.
Pam crossed her arms, leaned against a column with a small smile on her face, and waited. Harley pulled into the yard and jumped off the bike almost before it had come to a stop. She marched right up to Pam, yanking off her helmet and running a hand absently through tangled blonde locks as she climbed the steps and faced her.
"Hi," said Harley, breathless and wide-eyed, fidgeting with the helmet in her hands.
"Hi," said Pam, still smiling.
"Um, I thought I should come," Harley said, looking down at the porch. "Because this is hard for me, but it's gotta be super hard for you too, and, you know . . . I'm here for you." She looked up at Pam then, scrunching her nose in such a Harley-esque way that the redhead straightened up, took the helmet and tossed it into the bushes, and pulled Harley into her arms. "You're not supposed to throw safety equipment like that," Harley said, her voice muffled, and Pam felt the shorter woman grin against her collarbone.
They pulled back after a minute. Harley leaned up to ghost a quick kiss on the tip of Pam's nose and said, "So, should we get your stuff?"
"We're locked out of the house," Pam said.
Harley took the key and tried it for herself. "Hmm, that's weird. I'll go try around back." She gave Pam a squeeze and a grin on her way off the porch. Pam cupped her hands against the front window, trying to peer inside.
A few seconds later, Harley called, "Pam-a-lamb? I think you should come back here."
When Pam rounded the corner of the house, she couldn't suppress a gasp. All of her belongings – her furniture, her clothes, everything – were piled in the back yard. Her eyes felt hot suddenly, and she blinked a few times.
Harley took her hand, looking at her uncertainly until, after a long moment, Pam cleared her throat. "Well . . . at least he didn't burn them."
Harley let out a snort of laughter, then quickly clapped her free hand over her mouth. She snuck a sideways glance at Pam, who was resolutely not meeting her eyes. Pam's shoulders were shaking, and for a second Harley thought that she was crying – but then she recognized the unmistakable signs of suppressed laughter, and then Pam lost it, and then Harley lost it, and they stood there in the back yard laughing uncontrollably, surrounded by the relics of Pam's former life.
Naturally, Pam was the first to recover. "Well," she said, wiping her eyes, "should we load some of this crap into the Prius?"
"Why, Ms. Isley," drawled Harley, "I do declare you're speaking my language now."
Pam gathered an armload of dresses, muttered out of habit, "It's Dr. Isley."
Harley grabbed an end table and started carrying it out front to the car. "Lawdamercy, a lady doctor?! What's become of society today?"
Somehow, she managed to dance away before Pam's light ankle kick could land.
They loaded up the belongings Pam wanted to keep – she would arrange a donation pickup for the rest tomorrow – and leaned against the car, watching the sun set.
Harley pulled an envelope out of her jacket and said, "Oh! I almost forgot! This was in the mailbox." She handed it to Pam, who opened it neatly along one edge and pulled out a cashier's check.
"He – he must have sold the house and this is my half of the proceeds," Pam said, stunned.
Then she burst into huge, gulping sobs – what Harley would call "ugly crying" on anyone but Pam, who somehow still managed to look gorgeous. Harley nestled up against her side with her arms around Pam's waist, holding her tight, her face against Pam's neck.
Eventually, Pam's sobs quieted, and she drew a shuddering breath. "So," said Harley, "less than you were expecting for the house, huh?"
Pam let out a sobby kind of chuckle at that. "Well," she said, "it's not a lot, but it's something – we hadn't had time to build much equity, and – oh shut up, I know you were kidding!" because of course, Harley was giggling against her shoulder now. Then she sighed. "I guess this is his way of making a clean break, since the house was in both of our names. It's probably more than I deserve."
"Okay," said Harley, "we'll come back to that little comment in a minute – but how did he sell the house so fast? And without your involvement?"
Pam shrugged. "He probably knows a guy," she said.
They were still leaning against the car, Harley curled against Pam's side. Now she stepped around to face Pam head on, putting one hand on Pam's hip and using the other to gently tilt her head up from where she slumped. "Hey," Harley said gently. "What's going on in there? Are you scientific-method-ing this?"
"Not exactly," said Pam. "Just processing my emotions like – what did you call me? – a cyborg, I guess." Harley wrinkled her nose, looking sheepish, and Pam pulled her in close.
"You can talk to me," Harley said.
"It's just – this is what's left of my marriage," said Pam, knocking a hand against the car window. "This is a lot to handle all at once – finding out that I'm the opposite of the perfect wife I always thought I should be, falling for you, getting kidnapped and seeing a man murdered right in front of us . . ." Harley winced at that, and Pam trailed her fingers up and down her back.
Then she stopped suddenly. "Jesus, Harley! I'm so sorry!"
"Hmm?" Harley said, not moving from where she was nestled against Pam's chest.
Pam sighed. "Here I am, talking about the end of my marriage – and this is your father we're talking about."
"Was," Harley mumbled, and Pam just held her tighter. She didn't know what to say to that.
After a minute, Harley said, "We did this all wrong, didn't we?"
"Mm, probably," Pam said. "I hear there are even couples who skip the step altogether where one of them marries the other one's father."
Harley huffed out a dry chuckle at that, then said, "You were right before. These last few days have given us an insane amount to handle." Then she stepped back and looked Pam in the eyes. "We haven't actually talked about this during our –" she squinted, doing the mental math – "54-hour courtship? But you're moving in with me, right?"
"Is that o–"
"YES!" Harley squealed, planting a wet kiss on her. She'd brightened almost instantly, and Pam didn't know whether to be impressed by her resilience or concerned about her denial. "Man, talk about U-Hauling!"
"And what exactly do you know about U-Hauling?" Pam said playfully, straightening up now and settling her arms more solidly around Harley's waist.
"Ooh, are we having the 'have you been with a woman before?' talk?" said Harley. She nudged closer to Pam, pressing her against the car with her hips. "Because actually, no, I hadn't. But the first time I saw you, BAM! – all of a sudden, it didn't matter if you were man, woman, or . . . vegetable. It was all over for me."
"Vegetable?" said Pam, quirking an eyebrow at her.
"Oh, shut up, you know what I mean!" Harley said mock indignantly. She took a step back. "Now can we go home already? We need to start cleaning."
"Why?" Pam said as she opened the car door.
"Because," said Harley, bouncing off to retrieve her helmet from the bushes – "we're throwing a party!"