Author's Note: Sorry this one took me so long to post! I've been busy… Enjoy!
A soft rapping interrupted the reporter's monotonous voice. At first I wasn't entirely sure that I had heard it. I hadn't even heard anyone come up to the door.
It came again, only slightly louder and even more hesitantly.
It was 12:21 am.
My legs protested as I rose from the couch that I had half expected to fall asleep in. "Coming!" I barked, as the knock came again, more insistently.
The woman standing on our porch was a mess. Wisps of curly hair had escaped their barrette and were cemented at odd angles on her face by the tears that flowed freely over her cheeks. Although she sobbed silently, defiant happiness radiated from her eyes and a touch of a smile lingered on her lips.
Those lips parted as she said "Hi, I don't know if you remember-"
"I do," I interrupted. "You're Pam."
Yes, I remembered her. For three and a half years Jim had talked about her almost every day. By the time I met her I knew everything about her except what she looked like. I knew everything about her except that she wore a ring on her fourth finger.
When Jim talked about her his expression changed. It took me months to notice that his mood swings were caused by her, and only her. There was something about the way he said "my friend Pam" that made me suspect that she was anything but his friend. I knew for sure she wasn't as soon as I met her for the first time at the barbeque at our house.
When he was around her he acted blissfully unaware of anything or anyone else in the room. And she wasn't much better, despite the rock on her finger. They were stuck together like glue the entire night, and even when they weren't together his eyes followed her around the house.
The day after the party I watched his face as I mentioned her. When I told him that I thought she was nice, his smile stretched all the way across his face.
But tonight I knew that something had happened. When the door slammed I called out a greeting, but it was never returned. All I saw when I got up to see what was wrong was the door slamming on his tear stained face. He wouldn't come out no matter how long I banged on his door.
For the second time that night I saw his door shut on a teary face. But this time there was a smile on the face that closed the door.
The next morning their tears were nowhere to be seen as she sat at the kitchen table, wrapped up in Jim's arms.