A/N: Epic Blizzard = Lots of time to write!! :-D

I close up at the Spoon, just as it nears four o'clock. Just enough time to pop by the market, grab some things for dinner, and make it home in time to binge watch a few dozen tv shows. I have big plans for the evening.

The market is only a few stores down on Main. Fall has finally set in, and the air is cool and crisp. I can smell the leaves, ready to turn. Soon, pumpkins and gourds, hay bales and dried corn stalks will decorate the fronts of all the stores. Brush River really gets into the seasons-- holidays, changes of weather, all that jazz. There's not much else going on here, so we work with what we've got. You should see Christmas...it's like Santa's elves threw up!

"Hey Bianca." I greet the owner of Fresh Bites, who is a woman a little younger than Rock. She's always upbeat, and an amazing cook, but also far too into organic, locally grown, responsibly outsourced, huggable, kissable, morally upstanding fresh fruits and vegetables. I always feel a little judged when I go in and buy the largest block of processed cheese I can find, and those chips that are fried in the really good kind of oil or lard or magic. Whatever.

"Max! Nice to see you." Bianca waves from the produce aisle of the small store, where I swear she's whispering sweet nothings to some blushing radishes. Radishes are good on bread with a ton of Irish butter and sea salt, and that's about it. Otherwise, they taste like crunchy dirt.

"You too. How's business?" I ask. Sometimes Bianca stops by the Spoon for a cup of tea, and I keep her favorite organic herbal teas in stock just for that purpose.

We chat idlly, as I wander around the shop. It's a nice grocery store, good for essentials. If you want anything fancy, or out of the ordinary, you've got to go to Marshy Point, the next town over. Marshy Point just got a Whole Foods, and a Target. Which, by Brush River standards, is pretty damn exciting.

"Make sure you get some of the radishes! They are brilliant little bulbs of ruby perfection." Bianca says with a smile as she makes her way to the back room of the shop. I smile at her and nod, and then when she is out of eye sight I shake my head vigorously.

"Not a fan?"

Sweet baby radish jesus! I jump about a foot, and drop the bag of peanut butter cups I'd been cradling in my arms like a long lost child.

"Jeebs, really?" I glare at Sam, who is standing at the end of the aisle, in his lumberjack get up. He's a bit less lumberjack-y than normal though. But he's wearing jeans, and a tshirt, layered undered a flannel and some sort of black jacket. The collar is upturned, brushing against his few days worth of stubble. He's got one hand full of packaged meat (not a euphemism) and the other has his grocery basket (still not a euphemism). I fight the urge to sneak a peek, and check out what he's buying. I never said I wasn't nosey.

"You always so jumpy?" He says, nonplussed. I sneer at him and pick up my chocolate peanut butter babies. Mama loves you.

"You always so creepy?" I huff. Like I can talk. Sam shrugs and walks down the aisle toward me. He's got this long, sure gait that's both distracting and strangely attractive. He moves with ease, as if he knows exactly where he's going all the time. Unlike me. My usual game plan is to teeter totter around until I bump into something or I remember what I'm supposed to be doing. I eye him, and then take a deep breath.

"How are you?" I ask, trying to be civil. I grab a box of cereal from the shelf and turn toward him. Sam nods and grabs a different box, and then eyes me up. Either he's judging my cereal choice, or...he sees something he likes?

"How are your teeth not rotting out of your pretty little head?" He asks with narrowed eyes. Okay, so he was judging my cereal choice.

"It's not for me, it's for...Rock." I smile as I lie, knowing I'm not fooling anyone. Sam smiles, briefly, and shrugs.

"Fair enough."

"That was nice of you to fix Jacob's radiator." I say softly. Between Rock and I, we try to keep up with Jake, but sometimes things get past us. I don't know when Sam has the time, as it seems like he's always working on the house, but it makes me sort of happy to know he paid Jake a visit. Happy and...grateful.

"He's a character. I was happy to help." Sam doesn't smile, but just watches me. He's not the sort to smile for just anything. Right now, his brow is furrowed slightly, making two little lines appear between his eyebrows. He seems thoughtful, as if he has something on his mind. I notice Bianca come out of the back room, and her ever vigilant gaze finds us in the cereal aisle.

"Sam! Howdy! Did you like those rutabagas from last week?" Bianca calls through the store toward us. The corner of Sam's mouth tilts up in a crooked half smile, and he raises a hand.

"They were great, Bianca. Thanks, love."

"Good to hear!" Bianca beams back.

He tilts his head down, turning his face toward me. "I didn't eat them. I tried but they were disgusting." He whispers. I smother a laugh.

"She's too nice. I can't say no." Sam says out of the side of his mouth as he waves at Bianca. I have to turn my back, and force the laugh back down. Sam is more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy.

I consider, for a moment, asking Sam if he'd like to have dinner with me. Just dinner, nothing crazy. I feel bad that he has his hot plate, and microwave over at the old House, and I'm a few yards away with a fully functional kitchen.

"Listen, I wanted to ask you something. While I've got you here." He interrupts my thoughts, and leans an elbow against one of the study shelves. Always at ease, no matter where he is. I smile, waiting.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I was going over the plans for the interior of the kitchen and dining room yesterday." Sam's eyes get big, and I see something there that I haven't seen since I've known him. He's excited.

"I was thinking, I could do some major renovations pretty easily. I know it's not in the original plan, but it'd be so simple. Update the place a bit. Open floor plans are huge and--"

"Whoa...wait." I hold up a hand, stopping him mid sentence. I feel a pit of anxiety form in my stomach, like the stone in a piece of front. I don't want a huge renovation. I want the farm house to stay as I remember it. As I remember it with my mother. I want to stick to the plans.

"Hear me out, Max." Sam says, the excitement still in his dark eyes. I shake my head though, my mind already made up.

"All I'd have to do is knock down the wall between the dining room and kitchen, it would totally open the space up, yeah? I wouldn't even charge you extra-- just materials. The framing in there is a bit dodgy to begin with. I think it'd be a huge selling point--"

"What are you, a realtor now?" I narrow my eyes at him, squaring my shoulders.

"No, I just figured since you were selling--"

"It's a nice idea, but no. I don't want to knock down walls." I shake my head and then turn slightly, trying to end the conversation. I feel my temper rising slightly, anxiety following swiftly behind it. I don't want to talk about changing the plans. I don't want to consider moving things around, knocking down walls in my mother's house. My childhood home. Sam is looking at me, a mixture of surprise and something else, filtering through his eyes. I still can't quite read his expressions, and I don't really care. He's not supposed to be making decisions. It's my house. He's just the contractor.

"I talked to Rock and he thought it was brilliant. The house needs serious updating, Max. Keep the integrity of the original bones, but--"

"You talked to my Uncle, before you talked to me?" I stand up straight, my blood at a low simmer in my veins.

Sam blinks at me then, and starts speaking very low and slow.

"You don't need to talk to me like I'm some idiot hired hand, Max. I was just bouncing around ideas with Rock."

I squint at Sam, suddenly remembering why I left him on the side of 519 a few weeks ago.

"It's not Rock's house. It's mine." I say angrily, though it's only mostly true. It is my house. Rock would never have something done to it without my approval. But it's his money paying for the repairs. And under normal circumstances, I value his opinion. Just not when it's coming out of Sam Emerson's mouth.

"I wasn't going behind your back." Sam says gruffly, looking at me with narrowed eyes. I suddenly realize I have my hands on my hips, and Sam is standing with his feet wide apart, his arms crossed over his broad chest. We're both set for a fight, and I already know who will win.

"Just do what I've asked you to do. I'm not asking for you opinion on what is hot and fresh in the market." I say with a flip of my hand. Sam's eyes narrow a bit more, until I'm not sure if he even has them open.

We stand, staring at each other for a long moment, neither of us speaking.

"Did you guys want any radishes?" Bianca's trill voice floats between the aisles and I see Sam's nostrils flair, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second.

"No, thanks B! Super awesome radishes, though!" I shout back, my voice fake, high and cheerful.

"Sam?" Bianca says in a sing song voice. Sam's head hangs down, he clears his throat.

"Ah, I'm good, darling. Thank you." He calls back.

"Let me know if you two need anything!"

A moments pause.

"Yeah!"

"Alright, thanks!"

We stare at each other, neither of us speaking.

"No big renovations. No changes. Just do what I asked. Or I'll find someone else who can." I say in a loud, harsh whisper. Sam's jaw clenches, and he moves his head as if he is trying to stretch his neck.

"You won't even consider--"

"No!" I stubbornly. He's obviously not the sort of man who is used to "No". He's used to getting his way. To sauntering in and getting what he wants. To drifting around on the wind, carelessly through life, changing people's plans and ruining their family's houses. Ruining the only memory they have left of their long gone mother--

"Max."

"Sam, that's it. No changes."

"I just can't believe you won't even just consider what I've said. It's a solid idea. Just tell me why, then. Rock loves it, I love it. The house loves it. Why not? Why?" He steps forward, big and demanding and sort of pissed off. I don't move, but I reach up and give him a firm shove backwards. How dare he try to change her house? Try to bully me into knocking down walls. He doesn't know anything about the house, or the history there. He doesn't know about the nights I spent in that kitchen with my Mom. Drinking tea, and telling stories. It's a warm, cozy space and I don't give a damn that "open floor plans sell." It's not happening. Not on my watch.

"Because Sam! Because! It's my mother's house and it is staying as it is. That's it!" I say loudly, exasperated. "End of discussion. I won't consider it because I won't. You've obviously never lost anyone you loved. Obviously." I say, my anger and annoyance getting the best of me.

The shop falls deadly silent then, and though I know I've said something terribly wrong, I don't totally know what I've said. Or why it's so wrong. I just know I've said it. Sam is standing still, and for a beat, I think he's going to say something. To shout back at me, and tell me to go to hell.

But he doesn't. That's not his style. We've already made a bit of a scene, and that's not his style either. He takes a deep breath, looks away and then brushes past me, down the aisle. I turn, watching him go.

"I guess you're right then, Max." He says over his shoulder, as he leaves.

****

I feel like shit as I leave the market. More than shit. I overreacted. I have a tendency to do that when my mother is concerned. I just don't like Sam coming in, asking to change things and demanding answers as to why not. Put that way, it sounds like a normal, perfectly rational thing to do.

But this is my mom's house, and I won't let him bash through the walls.

Sam had left without buying his groceries. He'd left his basket where he'd been standing, obviously too angry with me to put it back.

I bought his food, along with the stuff I was getting (mostly candy and about 3lbs of radishes because I felt bad for yelling at a lumberjack in Bianca's store), and then made my way back home.

The lights on the top floor of the old house are on when I get there, and so I go and quickly knock on the door. I'm ready to at least apologize for yelling. For speaking without thinking. I'm an adult. I can play the part when I need to. Sam doesn't come to the door, and so I knock a few more times.

It's ridiculous. I'm being locked out of a house that I own. I could go get my spare key, but the thought of barging in on Sam and all his...Sam-ness, makes me feel less than excited. He's probably biting the heads off bats or...sitting quietly, watching sappy chick flicks. I suddenly feel even worse for being such an ass, especially when he'd been so nice to me earlier during that storm. Feelings are complicated. I sigh, beating my fist hard against the door.

"I know you're in there, SAM EMERSON!" I screech up toward the second floor of the house. No response, as if I'm expecting Sam to pop out, doing his best Juliet impression. I'm far from being Romeo.

"I'm leaving your groceries at the door to ROT." I yell and then I kick the front door a few times with my boot. He hasn't replaced it yet, so I don't feel bad when I leave a few dark smudges at the bottom. The door rattles in the frame, but doesn't give.

"I'm SORRY!" I yell over my shoulder, as I walk away from the house toward my own apartment. I am sorry. Though I know I'm acting like a child. But if he won't come out, I can't apologize to him like an adult.

I let myself into my apartment, with one glance toward the house. I don't see any movement, and I'm not totally sure if he's even home. All I know is I keep seeing the face he made when I said he must not know what it's like to lose someone.

His face told me I was totally and completely wrong.

****

It's supposed to be my morning off. My one morning off a week. It just means I come in at 8 instead of 5, but it's something that I truly, and completely cherish. So when my phone starts ringing at 7, my first instinct is to murder it and it's entire family. I had hardly slept the night before, too worked up over how I had treated Sam.

"Better be good." I answer the call, not even bothering to look at the caller. My mind is a sleepy blur.

"Oh...Oh Max." The voice on the other end instantly breaks me from my morning fog. It's Libby. And she's crying. A soft, hiccuping, damaged sort of cry.

I shoot up in bed, my heart racing, thumping, slamming itself into my ribcage.

"Libby? Are you okay? What happened?" My words mash together.

"Oh Max. It's Jacob. It's Jacob."

My mind spins, and whirls, trying to make sense of her crying.

"Is he okay, Lib?" I whisper, my eyes filling with tears, my breath skittering from my lungs. I know the answer. She doesn't even have to answer and I know the answer.

"No. Max, he died. He had a heart attack at the counter. Max. You have to come to the Spoon. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." She manages, barely finishing her sentence, before I am out of bed and barrelling, blindly, toward the door.

The ride to the Spoon is fast, more of a blur than I care to admit. I can't think of much else but Jacob. And my Uncle. Jacob is Rock's best friend. Was. His closest, most valued confidant. My heart breaks with each passing moment. I still don't feel as if I've woken up. Like this could all possibly be just a terribly bad dream. A cliche, but a true one.

An obnoxious pop song comes on the radio as I speed along, and I turn the radio off with a bash of my fist. I just need to get there. Need to know what happened. I make it to Main Street in record time. It's barely registered to me that I'm in my pajamas still. It doesn't matter. Only one things matters.

The flashing lights are what stop me. Instantly, I'm on edge, and in a bit of a blind terror. Parked outside the Spoon, blocking three slanted parking spaces, is an ambulance. One of only three Brush River ambulances.

I curse as I pull up as close as I can, without being in the way, and then fly out of the car. I jog up to the cafe, my whole body abuzz with fright and disbelief. He can't be gone. He was just here. He can't be gone. He was so alive.

People are outside the Spoon, gathered in small groups, talking. I see faces I know, faces I recognize, but not the one face I wish I could see. I rush through them, though they part quickly when they see me. I hear a few people say my name, but I ignore them. No one is blocking the door to the cafe, but no one is going in or coming out. My mouth gets dry as I yank the front door open.

It's quiet inside. Not what I expected. No one is rushing about. No one is shouting or screaming "Breathe! Dammit! Breathe!" like you see in the movies. It is almost oddly calm. In this case, a calm after the storm. No one is trying to save a life. There is no life to be saved. I try to catch my breath and find it hard to breathe.

"Max. Oh, Max." Libby rushes at me in a blur, and I feel her arms wrap around my shoulders. She buries her face in my neck and it takes me almost a full thirty seconds to realize she's crying. Libby. Hard, cynical, unemotional Libby. She was crying on the phone, but now she's here, crying against my shoulder, and I can feel the harsh, jagged breaths she takes. It's real.

I take in the scene in front of me, all while holding my sobbing employee.

I see Henry, my cook, sitting on a bar stool. His head is down, his hands clasped in front of him. He doesn't look at me, doesn't even move. Two paramedics I know are talking quietly to each other. The chief of police, a guy named Leo Parker, who was a few years ahead of me in school, is talking to my Uncle.

"What happened, Lib?" I whisper, breathlessly. Rock looks up at the sound of my voice, and I see his eyes, for the first time. They are red rimmed, and he looks as if he's been hit by a truck. I take a step forward as Libby finally lets go of me.

"Max." Uncle Rock says, his voice rough.

"I'm so sorry." I manage, taking a step toward my Uncle. He looks unspeakably sad, and I can't do anything but hug him. Hug him and wish I could take even an ounce of his pain, though I am carrying my own. Anything to help him. This man who has been like a father to me. No one says anything for a long minute.

"Jacob had a heart attack." Leo steps in, his voice grave. We've all lost a friend, and it's not easy for Leo either. "Libby and Henry did everything right. Everything they could have to have saved him." Leo says graciously.

"It happened so fast." Libby said softly, shaking her head. She was clutching Henry now, who looked just as upset.

"He was just sitting there. Giving me shit about the corn muffins and then..." Henry sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He seems visibly shaken.

"I should have been here. I should have..." I trail off, looking around the room. Everything in the cafe is as it should be, but it seems different now. Darker than usual. Not quite as much like home.

"It was his time, Max. Jacob went out as he always wanted. Fast, and easy. He'd always worried about lingering, being a burden." Rock puts an arm around me, and I turn to him. We hug again, and I let myself cry, if just for a brief second, against my Uncle.

"I'm so sorry, Rock. I'm so sorry." I catch my breath. I hold most of my feelings inside, tightly wound. I don't want to put the extra burden on anyone, especially Rock.

"Rock, I'm sorry but I want you to know where they're taking him. And the next steps for you and your family." Leo steps in somberly. It's not the first time he's had to break bad news to someone, and not the last. What follows next is the mundane part. The out-of-body experience part. Where you are in pain, and grieving and still wrapping your head around things, all while being asked to make silly, trivial, ridiculous decisions. Although Jacob wasn't blood related, we were his family. He didn't have any other living relatives, and so I know Rock and I will make sure all his last wishes are put into place.

"Just dump him out behind the ol' Stash and Cash on 519. That's what he'd want." Rock says with that signature humor of his. There's a low, sad rumble of laughter around the room. It's something Jacob used to to joke about. Used to.

The words echo in my head. Jacob. Jake. A man who was like family to me. He was supposed to outlive us all.

"I just told him earlier this morning that he was a pain in my ass." Rock says, and then covers his mouth with an aged hand. Jacob was older than my Uncle, but not by much. I know that Rock isn't upset that he'd called Jake a "pain in his ass". On the contrary. He was fathoming how he could possibly live without that pain.

I need to hold it together for Rock. I try my best.

The afternoon moves in a blur. We close the cafe. Henry and Libby go home, though Libby texts me constantly throughout the day. I make plans with Rock. Plans for Jacob's service and funeral. It all seems surreal. Too fast, and like it's not even really happening to us. A blur of strange decisions like caskets and burial ceremonies and visitations times at the funeral home.

All I can think is, our Sunday dinners will never be the same. Our strange, fractious little group has been changed. And nothing feels quite right anymore.