Chapter Two: A Game of Chess.

They had driven nearly thirty miles before Pam broke the painfully awkward silence between them.

Pam began cautiously "Jim, I really am . . . " but, before she could finish saying she was sorry, Jim held out his hand to silence her.

"Hey, you know what? Why don't we play a game? It's called 'see who can go the longest without talking,' ok? That be great, thanks," Jim barks.

Pam turned and looked out her passenger window. She recalled the awful scene between them just an hour earlier.


"You did what?" Jim hollered, still dripping from his shower and covered only by a towel around his waist.

"I'm sorry, Jim, I don't know what happened. I'm really, really sorry and you can yell at me all you want on the road, but the vacation request needs to be at corporate this morning, so we'd better allot time for bad traffic into the city, so I think you should get dressed."

Jim paced quickly around the living room, not knowing what to say.

"Why would you do this, Pam? You know my ticket is nonrefundable!"

"I know, but we can go over this later in the car on the way there. Just please, we have to leave soon."

"You know, I never would have expected something like this from you. I don't know you at all, do I? How could you be so mean? You and Roy completely deserve each other." Jim stormed upstairs, leaving Pam choking back tears.


Another thirty miles ticked by awkwardly, made even more painful with the complete silence, with only the sound of the tires rolling. Jim hadn't even put on the radio. And Pam didn't dare try to touch anything.

Finally, Pam again tried to break the silence. "Please, Jim, this is torture. I can't stand it. I'd prefer it if you just stopped the car and kicked me out on the side of the highway to fend for myself rather than go the rest of the way to New York and back like this."

"OK, does this look like a good spot up here to let you out?" Pam initially looks horrified and then realizes that Jim is actually joking.

"Traffic is building up. We're slowing down," Jim says, looking at Pam.

"We left early, so we should still make it before noon," Pam offers hopefully, even as they start crawling along interstate 80.

Jim hesitates and then asks, "Pam, why did you do this to me? What did I do to you to deserve this?"

Pam starts to cry. Jim turns away in the hopes of putting out of his mind the impulse to grab her and kiss the spots on her face where the tears were falling. Even now, he thought, even after she does this, he still wants her so much.

"Jim, I didn't do it to hurt you, I really didn't. Honest. I don't really know why I did it. I guess, I guess I was a little angry at you—for scheduling your vacation the week of my wedding."

"Oh," Jim says flatly. Pam waits for more from him, maybe an explanation or something, but nothing comes.

Finally, she asks, "Jim, why did you schedule your vacation then? Of all the times you could have chosen, why then? I mean . . . " Pam stops, unable to continue.

Jim drums his fingers nervously on top of the steering wheel. He quickly tries to come up with some phony reason. And there are plenty possible excuses she might buy (she may well be desperate to buy some phony excuse), but he doesn't feel like lying today. Somehow, he felt too exhausted to go through the mechanics of deception right then. Yet, telling the whole truth seemed inconceivable too—like if he tried it, the words couldn't actually leave his throat. How is it, he thought, that someone like Pam, so smart and so attuned to him can't figure out something so obvious . . .

"Jim?" Pam finally interrupts his thoughts. Annoyed that he simply could not find a suitable answer, Jim shakes his head and finally says, "Can you really not figure this out? I mean, this isn't exactly the Riddle of the Sphinx here." They were now completely stopped in traffic, not moving an inch.

Now it was Pam's turn to juggle potential responses in her head, plotting out the safest possible thing to say, making sure that her protected fortress of emotions and subconscious thoughts remained secure and hidden. "You don't like Roy, do you?"

It was a game of words, neither one of them wanting to expose their innermost doubts or desires to the other, each hoping the other would make the first move, that the other would be the one to take the risk. Who would leave themselves open, even for a moment? The risks of exposure seemed so enormous for two people so long accustomed to lying both to themselves and everyone else around them.

The world outside Jim's car was cruelly oblivious to machinations inside the seemingly anonymous Toyota, one among probably thousands of cars inching their way toward New York City. Everyone has their own problems. Two people secretly in love with each another and one engaged to someone else is, after all, not the epic stuff that it was for Jim and Pam. The people that inched along side them today had likely had their own Jims, their own Pams at some point in their lives. Maybe a lucky few married their Jim or Pam and lived blissfully ever after. Most, however, would counsel Jim and Pam to move on with their lives. This can't end happily, most of the driver's might tell them. And they'd tell them from their own painful experiences to turn back from this road. Don't go any further.

But, just as the world around them were oblivious to Jim and Pam, Jim and Pam were, just then, oblivious to the world as well.

"Oh my God, you are so aggravating. Why do you think I don't want to go to your wedding?"

"How would I know?"

"I think you do know."

"How could I?"

"Damn it, stop answering my questions with questions," Jim demanded.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just tell me what you want to tell me. Say it. Just say it."

"OK." At this moment, Jim reached over toward Pam and pulled her near him for a kiss. He was surprised to find no resistance to it, but even more surprised at the passion of her reciprocation.

His hand started moving down her right side and his mouth explored her left cheek up to her perfect little ear. She held on to his shoulders, pushing his body closer to hers. She kissed his neck.

A few loud car horns sounded, forcing them apart violently, as if warning them of the danger ahead. They both looked straight-forward without so much as a glance toward each other. Traffic had begun moving again.

I believe I have one or two more chapters left in this story.