Sorry guys for the long wait. The website wasn't accepting the document when I tried uploading it several times, but finally--success!!! Thanks for all your reviews, they are really encouraging.

5

Pam was alone again several days later, after her mother went home again. She wouldn't be back for a week, when Pam finally would go on vacation. It was soon, now—five more days.

She sat at her desk. She had a drawer that she rarely opened. It was the farthest from her reach and had an annoying habit of getting jammed often. She kept it locked.

For years she only opened it when she was glummest—when Jim was on vacation. Roy had made no secret about his irritation with her talking about work after work, and without Jim she had needed to open up to someone. But not Roy.

Jim was at the office today. But he was also gone.

She opened the drawer, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and pulled out "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein. She slipped a manila folder around its green cover, pretending she was reading a file of some sort.

Once there was a tree and she loved a little boy. And every day the boy would come.

Pam imagined Jim as a little boy—what a funny thought! She still had his yearbook picture, tucked safely behind the phonebook. She took it out, gave it a thorough gaze, then put it away again. He probably would have played basketball, Mario games, and practical jokes on his parents every April Fool's Day. It was fun to imagine a brown-haired little imp running around causing innocent havoc.

And gather her leaves. And make them crowns and play king of the forest.

Did he have an active imagination as a child? He must have. How would he be so clever when speaking to Dwight otherwise?

"Uh, Pam?" asked Karen. She was holding a business letter in her hand with a Post-it note.

"Huh?" asked Pam suddenly, startled. She quickly dropped the manila folder onto the counter, giving the book a tell-tale thud.

"Could you, uh, find an updated address for this client?" asked Karen. She looked at the manila folder and smiled.

"Yeah, sure," said Pam, looking at the Post-it.

"Light reading?" asked Karen secretively with a smile. Pam smiled guiltily back. "My favorite book is Jane Eyre. What's yours?"

"Oh, um," said Pam, biting her lip. "Hm. I like, uh, you know. John Grisham books. Lots of John Grisham."

"Yeah, he's good," said Karen, faintly detecting the lie in Pam's voice. Normally she wouldn't care, or would easily forgive the lack of honesty over something so trivial, but she was so damn sick of lies from people she genuinely liked. Jim told her 'everything's fine, I'm over Pam, I'm so glad you're here in Scranton' in the same voice. Maybe it would be okay even if things weren't fine, if she could just bring herself to believe him. But even she couldn't do that. She shifted her weight on her heels back and forth uncomfortably as Pam finished locating the address, handing her the Post-it back. "Thanks, Pam."

"No problem." Pam watched her go sadly, ashamed of herself for lying and ashamed at her own embarrassment. So what if her favorite book was for children? And so what if Karen knew that? Well, no one really knew that. Except, her mother was the one who first read it to her when she was three and read it to her every night for four years. She had told Roy once, when they were seniors in high school. But that had been lost in the sands of time for both of them. Would she have told Jim? Who knows.

Karen went to the bathroom about half an hour later, and Pam had set down the book in the manila folder on the counter.

Upon the women's restroom door closing, Jim stood up and leant over the reception desk.

"Hey," he said, smiling.

"Hi," she said, smiling back.

"Whatcha got there, Beesley?" he asked, picking up the suspiciously heavy manila folder. She snatched it back immediately, fired up with potential embarassment. He looked at her blankly. Was he hurt? Surprised? Amused?

She looked up at him guiltily but couldn't stop the words coming out of her mouth.

"Could you just—you know—mind your own business?" she asked quietly and snippily, looking down at the counter and tucking her hair behind her hair at the same time, trying to look busy.

"Yeah. Sorry I bothered you," he said shortly. What pained her was that there was little sarcasm in his voice—just shame of some offense that he hadn't realized he committed. He turned back immediately to sit down.

"Sorry," she said a little louder, loud enough for Karen to hear. "I—I didn't mean it like that. Jim-"

"No, Pam, it's fine," he said calmly, not looking at her. "My fault—sorry." Now Ryan, Phyllis and Karen were listening in. Pam buttoned her lips, although she wanted to say more.

But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone.

It was five o'clock as Pam read the words and she felt really stupid but her eyes were already welling up with tears—a few for herself, but mostly for the tree. Almost everyone was gone now anyway.

"Hey, Pam," said Michael, coming out of his office. A magic wand was sticking out of his briefcase. "Oh man, what's got you down?"

"Just," said Pam, wanting to blow him off as usual, but looking into his human eyes she gave half-smile and let a small tear out of her left eye. She took a breath and decided she couldn't do worse. "My favorite book is 'The Giving Tree.'" She pulled it out of the manila folder she'd been hiding it in. "It's really good."

Michael took it in his hands delicately and began to read it. He gave it the same serious consideration that he gave her art. He had no reason to do so—he politely could walk by and on to his next activity in life (as anyone else would), but he chose to stand there, setting down his briefcase and reading the "The Giving Tree."

He took an embarrassingly long time, but neither of them were in any hurry.

"Wow. That's really—really beautiful," he said, pinching his lips together and raising his eyebrows higher than comes naturally. He was clearly trying not to cry.

"Yeah, I know," said Pam, wiping her eyes.

"You know why?" he asked rhetorically. "I am that little boy. We…are…that little boy. Why? Because, Pam—we sell paper." He paused to gasp a little to hold in his tears, horrified by the notion. "We take and we take. But what about the trees, Pam? What about them? It's not like they have any stock in this company. We don't pay them dividends. How do we repay the trees, Pam?" At this point his voice had become high with emotion, and he crossed his arms and frowned to preserve his countenance. "When they are so supportive of us?"

"Yeah," said Pam, nodding. She didn't like how Michael was honestly saying something she secretly found profound—and saying it so lawyer- or politician-like.

"We should think about this. Meditate on it." He paused for emphasis, placing the book delicately back onto the reception desk. Pam blinked at him. He gave the cover a little spank before picking up his briefcase again to go to the elevator. "Good night, Pam."

"Oh, Michael, would you mind keeping it a secret—that that's my favorite book?"

"Of course, of course. I understand," he said, clearly not understanding but eager to please.

"Good night, Michael."

As Jan, Jim, and now Pam could attest to, confiding in Michael Scott was like drinking a euphoric wine that temporarily relieved one's suffering and sickness of the human condition. However, after the wine was drunk, the hangover the next day made a person want never to go near him or hear his name again.

"Everyone, everyone, listen up," said Michael Scott, looking down, his feet square with shoulders, his hands on his hips. It was the next morning at nine o'clock. The coffee was brewing and the florescent lights were humming industriously. If nothing else than for an entertaining break to the monotony, everyone gave him their attention. "I've had nothing short of a revelation yesterday. Today, I want all of us to experience the joy of life," he said reverently and slowly. "Today, we are going to remember our childhoods and remember to whom we owe our gratitude for everything."

"Are we going to church?" asked Angela.

"No," said Michael Scott. "Much more meaningful than religion. Today, we are going to take several hours to connect…with nature. We're going out into the woods to bond with our inner child."

He drew in his breath slowly, letting his wisdom pervade their senses like a miasma. They all stared at him in disbelief. Pam mentally kicked herself and wanted to crawl under her desk and not come out for a week or more.

"Question: will we be required to use survival skills in the woods for these hours, and if so, am I allowed to bring a hatchet, matches, a pocket knife and iodine tablets?" asked Dwight, his arm straight in the air.

"No, no, Dwight!" said Michael angrily. "If you even think about bringing something sharp into the woods, you're fired! This is all about the trees. I think it's time that we, as friends, as coworkers, as lovers, and as paper-sellers, all said thank you to the trees."

"Trees have no ears," said Phyllis. "How are the trees supposed to know that we are thanking them?"

"God, I'm—we're wasting time with these questions. Come on, everyone, let's go. Let's go, get up, come on."

The general vicinity lurched to their feet slowly, dragging themselves to the coat rack and to the elevator. Except Stanley. He stayed at his desk, shuffling his papers with just a muttered 'oh hell, no.'

"Where are we even going?" asked Oscar as they walked out into the parking lot. "There aren't any forests around here."

Michael led them to the edge of the Dunder Mifflin parking lot. A chain link fence cut through a small patch of puny trees between the properties of Dunder Mifflin and the Scranton Homeowner's Association.

"Everyone, pick a tree," said Michael. Dwight walked swiftly past Phyllis, grasping the drunk of the largest tree in the 10-foot radius, glaring defiantly at anyone who would challenge him for it. Karen awkwardly took a tree, then Kevin and Angela. Meredith and Creed grabbed a tree at the same time and stared each other down before Meredith let go and sauntered toward a small sapling the height of her knee.

"There's not enough trees for everybody," said Pam, crossing her arms. Karen and Angela were both uncomfortably aware that their heels were sinking into the dirt.

"Well—split up, team. You guys go over there," he said, pointing to a few pristinely landscaped trees near the building. Andy, Jim, Ryan, Toby, Kelly, Pam and Oscar walked toward the main building.

"You can share a tree with me, Ryan," Kelly said brightly. She leaned against the largest one on the property—a mid-size tree that reach the second-story window. "This one's big enough for both of us."

"That's what she said," said Andy, accompanying his comment with a lewd glance at Kelly.

Then Ryan did what no one expected—he grabbed Kelly's arm and swiftly switched their positions so that Ryan was between Kelly and Andy.

"I'm not so crazy about the sharing thing," said Ryan, looking at Andy instead of Kelly.

Kelly looked over at Pam and gave a secretive, joyful giggle that didn't go unnoticed by those present. Toby and Oscar chose the next trees over to watch, while Andy accepted defeat for the moment when the trees on that patch of grass were taken. He followed Jim and Pam around the building to try and find other trees. They found one around on the other side. A shady square of dirt by the dumpsters hosted a decent maple and two shrubs. There were no other trees on the property.

"Good enough for me," said Jim. Andy stood by the maple that was in between the two shrubs. Pam, last of them all, stood by the other shrub. A few moments went by.

"I think they forgot about us," said Pam blankly.

"Well, I didn't forget about you," said Andy. "Want to share a tree with me?"

"Um," said Pam, crossing her arms and looking at the ground. "I think I'm okay with my bush."

"Pam, darling," said Andy. His shoulder was up against the tree's trunk, hands in his pockets, his ankles crossed nonchalantly. Pam felt a little bile in the back of her throat. "A tree is definitely not the same as a bush. Right, Big Tuna? Say it."

"Say what?" asked Jim. He was hunched a little, his hands in his pockets.

"That's what she said."

"She said what?"

"No, I mean, say it. That's what she said."

"I'm sorry," said Jim. Pam started to smile behind Andy's back. "Who are you referring to? Pam? What did Pam say?"

"No," said Andy. Jim could see his choler rising like a thermometer. "I mean, you know, that's what she said."

"Seriously, Andy, I don't know who you're talking about. Maybe if you repeated the conversation, it would help job my memory a little."

Pam's giggling didn't help calm him down.

"You're killin' me here, Big Tuna. That's what she said. Just say it."

"Um…you're killing me here, Big Tuna."

"Ergh! God!" said Andy, clenching his fists. He pounded the tree's trunk with his fist just as Michael came around the corner.

"Andy, what are you doing?" asked Michael, horrified. "This is a tree-loving exercise. We don't have room for haters, Andy. We love trees, don't we Pam? Pam?" The three men looked at Pam, two with curiosity and the other with expectation.

"Uh, yeah," said Pam, looking at the ground. If it was revealed now that because she was reading a children's book, everyone had to go outside and stand by trees, she wasn't sure she'd come back the next day.

"In fact—you are such a hater, Andy, that you've completely forgotten what it means to be a special little boy to a special tree. I want you to climb that tree until you find what you've been missing all these years among the branches. Like the little boy, right, Pam?" asked Michael.

Pam was speechless.

"Climb the tree?" asked Andy, frowning. He scaled it in his mind. Michael nodded solemnly.

"What little boy?" asked Jim, looking between Michael and Pam. Pam bit her lip and looked at her boss hopefully. It's gone too far. Please don't tell on me now. The last thing she wanted was a rendition of 'Pa-am started the fire…it was always burning…since the world's been turning…etc.' except worse, and something to do with trees. It could be much, much worse. Michael gained a noble sort of look on his face. Andy began to shimmy up the trunk, getting a hole or two in his pants. He was about three feet off the ground.

"I guess you'll hear it sooner, or later, Jim. Pam is pregnant," said Michael with a completely serious face. "With my son."

"What?" exclaimed Pam. "Michael, that is totally untrue."

"Well, Pam, what do you want from me?" he asked, irked. "You don't bite the hand that… protects secrets."

There was an awkward silence.

"Uh…that's what she said," said Jim, trying for Pam's sake alleviate the focus on whatever she was trying to hide.

"Ergh!" Andy exclaimed in horror and betrayal, sliding down the trunk, running massive holes in his pants and landing unceremoniously on his butt.

Michael was laughing and clapping his hands for Jim's nonsensical use of his favorite joke. Then he reminded Andy that he still needed to climb the tree and walked away.