The next few days are a blurry haze. Wake up. Drink coffee. Help Rock make plans. Sleep. Repeat. My initial reaction to Jacob's death is to close the Shaky Spoon for a few days, for many reasons. Out of respect for him, the Spoon's unofficial mascot. In order to give everyone a few needed days off. To get my own shit together. Because my shit is, most definitely, not together.

But Libby, in her infinite wisdom, talks me out of it.

"We need the Spoon, more than ever. Don't you get it?" She says to me, the night after Jacob's death. We are sitting in Rock's family room, drinking coffee (as always) and looking through old photo albums. Jacob's not in a lot of pictures, but when he shows up, it's like a little gem. A warm spot in an otherwise cold, heartless world.

"I guess I don't." I sigh, wrapping one of Rock's comfy, worn afghan throws around me. Rock leans forward onto his elbows, running a hand over his bald head. He's been doing well-- really well, considering how fast everything has happened. But the Trink family is no stranger to loss. No stranger at all. And he's taken everything in stride.

"Jake would hate it if you closed the cafe for any reason having to do with him. If you need some time, Max, then by all means, do it. But I think everyone in this town needs the Spoon. It's part of their routine, their every day lives. Jacob's gone but...we go on. You can honor his memory by picking up, and keeping things...normal." Rock says steadily. He takes a drink of his coffee, which I generously splashed with whisky before giving it to him.

I nod, thinking it through.

"You're right. Of course." I sigh, feeling tired all over. It hasn't been an easy week. It's been a tough week. First my stupid, overblown, fight with Sam and then everything with Jacob. The fight with Sam seems like eons ago, after the strange last 24 hours.

"You do what you think feels right, okay?" Rock asks, patting me on the shoulder and giving me a squeeze. Libby nods in agreement and settles back.

"You know what the last thing Jacob said was?" Her voice is quiet, distracted. She's been a bit off since he died, but it's understandable. Jacob practically died right in front of her, died in her arms almost. Henry had been there too, giving him CPR. But it had been Libby who had gotten to him first.

"What?" I whisper. Rock looks up, waiting.

"He said 'If I have to eat another goddamn prune, I will burn this whole town down.'" Libby said, looking at both of us. We are all quiet, for a short, hesitant moment and then the laughter starts. The kind of laughter that is slow, and a little painful but also, somehow, relieving.

"That would be his last words." Rock chuckles. It's good to see him smile.

"Should we put it on his headstone?" I ask, bumping my uncle on the leg with my own. He laughs a bit harder, shaking his head.

"Thank you, girls. For being here. I know he was important to you too. But it's like I've lost my brother." Rock gets serious, and then tilts his head down. Libby looks at me with big eyes, and I know if she starts crying, then I will. I bite my lip, and reach over and wrap an arm around Rock's shoulder.

"I love you, Unk." I whisper, leaning my head against him. He squeezes me and kisses the top of my head.

"I love you too, my girl."

****

In true Jacob fashion, we have a quiet memorial service and viewing for him, nothing flashy, nothing big. Everyone in town knew Jacob, but he was a bit of a cantankerous old soul. He wasn't like Rock is. Rock is a pillar. Everyone knows Rock, loves Rock, wishes Rock was their best friend, brother, uncle, father, husband, etc. Everyone knew Jacob, but no one knew Jacob like we did. He kept his distance from people. He didn't bother with niceties, and didn't kiss ass. So, obviously, he was one of my most favorite people in this world.

So although a lot of people stop by to pay their respects, no one sticks around for long. Rock and I shake hands with a lot of people. We hug a lot of people as well. We hear a lot of "I'm so sorry for your loss", and more than a few casseroles are dropped off at Rock's house.

It all feels empty. And tiring. I suppose these things never do feel very good. I barely remember my mother's service. It was such a painful time, and I was so young. I spent most of the time in the corner, surrounded by relatives I barely knew. I had hated that they had shown up, smothering me with their platitudes. All I had wanted at the time was my mother. One more day, hour, moment, with her.

There are some similarities here. I just want to absorb what has happened. I want to spend time with the people I love the most. I don't feel like playing hostess, and I don't feel like kissing another cheek.

"You alright?" Rock leans over, whispering to me softly. He must have seen my thousand yard stare. We're standing in one of the small parlour rooms of the only funeral home in town, Schmidt's. The room is dated, but well kept. It's set up like it's someone's living room, but it's like no one's living room that I know. Salmon colored carpet, a few ornate sofas that are completely uncomfortable when you sit on them, flower arrangements everywhere.

"I'm good. You?" I look at him, reaching over and straightening his tie. Rock only has two ties and he usually only wears them to funerals, Christmas eve church, and weddings.

"Not bad." He winks at me, but there's sadness in his eyes. We're holding it together, alright, but it's not easy.

"My dogs are barking." I whisper, lifting one foot and rolling my ankle. Heels were a bad choice.

"Why don't you head home, Max? You've been here all day. I'll see you tomorrow for the funeral." Rock says gently, and I know there's no arguing with him. I also suspect he'd like a few moments alone, to say his own goodbyes to his best friend.

"You call me if you need me, okay?" I say. It's more of a demand than a question and Rock nods. I didn't really need to even say that, but it feels better to anyway.

The room has mostly cleared out, though there are a few people still here who go over to talk to Rock. I nod at a few familiar faces, but I keep my head down, wanting to leave quickly. I feel heavy with sadness, and also with exhaustion. My bed, a cup of tea, and some mindless television sound good. I just want a quick, easy escape for a few hours til I have to wake up and do it all over again.

Schmidt's is on the outskirts of town, so it takes me about 15 minutes to get home. I drive with the windows cracked, wanting the chilly fall air to keep me company. I should be cold, but I'm not. I don't feel much. The wind feels good on my face, and it keeps me alert, alive. I drive with the radio off, hearing the sound of the car and the road.

I don't mean to sound like I'm the conductor of the pity train, but I can't help but think of all the people I've lost. It's good and bad. It makes me appreciate what I have. But it also makes it hard to hold onto things. I'm always so sure they'll be gone. Taken away before I'm ready to let go.

I still know my mother is with me, as hard as it is not to see her face, hear her voice, feel her physically here. She left, but I know she's not gone.

Evan left as well. In a different way. His departure was painful in that he left me feeling so alone, so betrayed. He took my best friend with him as well. A woman I'd been friends with since elementary school. Andrea has become a ghost in my life as well.

And then Jacob, of course. Another surrogate father to me. I'm a woman who barely knew her own father's name. Mine left before I was even born. I never considered him a ghost, but I suppose he's the sort that you never truly get a hold on. Someone who has left their mark on you without ever even meeting them.

I park outside my apartment. It's dark, and a slow, silly, obnoxious burning deep in my stomach wishes there was someone there to greet me. A friendly face, a cuddle, a warm, strong body next to me in bed. My heart squeezes, hard and painful.

I get out after a few minutes. After the pain has passed. I make it halfway to the steps before I jump back, startled by the dark figure sitting on the stoop.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." Sam says, standing slowly. I'm not afraid of him anymore, not that I ever really was. I just know he's no real threat to me. Still, his size, and the deep rumble of his voice, always catch me off guard a bit. I'm used to men like him-- strong, silent types. Hard workers. Humble and straight forward. But I'm not quite used to Sam. I catch my breath, feeling my heart skitter slightly in my chest.

"You have a tendency to do that." I say, swallowing hard. I haven't thought much about him. Not because I don't feel badly, almost foolish, about what happened, but because there has been so much else going on.

"I'm sorry about Jake. He was a good bloke." Sam's voice is low, and he crosses his arms over his broad chest. He's wearing a white tshirt with a big, comfy looking cardigan over top. It's the sort of sweater that belongs on a much older man, and it seems out of place on him. But it works. It somehow works. It makes me want to hug him, to settle into his arms and press my face against the warm, soft cotton, and just...cease to exist.

"Thank you." I blink, surprised by my reaction to him.

"Are you alright, Max? Can I do anything?" He asks, tilting his head, ever so slightly. He leans back against the railing of the stairs, and I wonder what he would do if I asked him for a hug.

"Thank you, I'm good. Thank you, though." I can't stop saying 'thank you', because I've been saying it nonstop, all day. Sam is quiet, but I can feel his dark eyes on me. Watching me, reading me in ways that I hate.

"I'm really tired. I've got to get up early for the funeral tomorrow. I should go...inside." I gesture toward my door, and Sam makes a soft grunting noise.

"Sure, sure, sorry." He moves quickly, realizing he's blocking my way to the door. I want to apologize. I want to say I'm sorry for treating him badly. For overreacting to his idea. I haven't changed my mind, but I shouldn't have lashed out at him like I did. I'd panicked.

For some reason, the words won't come. It's as if I don't have the energy, the willpower left in me to make a gesture. To be kind. I just want to be held. Taken care of. I just want to go to bed. I don't know why, but I don't have the emotional energy left in me to apologize. I'm a bad person.

"Goodnight, Max. Sleep well." Sam says softly, turning and making his way back toward the old house. I shake my head, slowly, though I know he doesn't see me.

"Goodnight, Sam." I whisper over my shoulder, as I let myself into my dark, empty apartment.

****

It's not raining when we get to the cemetery, but the sky is threatening rain any moment. There are nine of us gathered in a small group around the casket. Rock and I stand, not touching but close, on the one side. Libby, Henry and Henry's husband, Josh, are to my left. The pastor stands at the head. On the other side are Bianca, from Fresh Bites, and Freddy and Phil from the Rust Depot.

Pastor Alec begins speaking, and I try my best to relax. The morning has been surprisingly light hearted. Rock was in a relatively good mood when we met up that morning, and he had helped to set the mood. Still, it wasn't easy. I rock back on my heels, looking up at the sky, wondering if we'll get caught in a downpour. I notice Libby is holding an umbrella at her side, unopened but ready. I notice Henry and Josh holding hands, Josh gently stroking Henry's thumb with his own. I notice Bianca smiling softly, not at anyone in particular, but at perhaps a memory. A memory of Jacob.

I shift slightly in the soft grass, and bump gently into someone behind me. It surprises me, but thankfully my tiny gasp is lost amidst Pastor Alec's sermon.

I turn, and I'm greeted by a pair of warm, chocolate brown eyes.

Sam doesn't smile. Because he only smiles if he means it. But his eyes are kind, and gentle, and I am suddenly so, so happy that he's here. I feel something in me break, something crumble and dissolve inside of me.

"Hi." I mouth the words, no sound coming out of my mouth.

"Hi." He mouths back, his look intense, serious.

"Thank you." I whisper. Sam looks to the side, as if he's unsure what to say or do. But then his brow furrows slightly, and he tilts his head toward me in recognition. A subtle shift of his body, and then... his arms open.

I don't really think. I just accept. And without warning, I'm in his arms. It's a slow, subtle movement. No one else has even noticed he's arrived. Or at least, they haven't reacted to his arrival. I press myself against him, and I feel Sam's arms come around me.

On this nearly cold, misty October morning, I find warmth.

He doesn't say anything, we don't move. He just lets me stand there, half turned toward the service, but mostly turned against him. The side of my face pressed against his chest. I can smell him-- like a mossy forest, and clear mountain air, and something else. Something sweet and good. He's warm and solid, and I can feel his heart beat against my cheek.

I close my eyes, listening to the amorphous words of Pastor Alec, and feeling Sam's kindness surround me. And I let myself cry, let myself feel, if just for a short, wonderful moment. Sam's hand is at my back, slipped under the hem of my jacket, and he's rubbing a slow gentle rhythm against me. I'm not sure, but I feel a slight pressure at the top of my head. His chin, or maybe his mouth, against my hair. My hands bunch against his suit jacket. I didn't even know the man owned a suit.

The service is short. Jacob would have complained if it were long. Sam and I break from our embrace long before it's over, but I feel his warmth the entire time we are standing there. I can barely look at him. My emotions are on overdrive.

"Thank you, Pastor. That was great." My uncle shakes Pastor Alec's hand, and the small group of us break into low conversation.

"You didn't have to come." I finally look at Sam. His usually sandy brown hair is swept back, combed neatly and seems darker in the foggy light. He's shaved, his usual stubble mostly kept at bay. He's cleaned up, and unmistakably handsome. But he still doesn't smile, and he's still got that little scar on his eyebrow, and his lips are still just slightly too full for a man. He's still Sam.

"I know that. I wanted to say goodbye." His eyes flicker toward the casket, now lowered. I nod.

"I'm sorry about the other day. At Fresh Bites." I blurt out. It's not the time, or the place, but I'm not really a "time or place" sort of girl. Sam smiles then, which surprises me. His eyes crinkle at the sides, his eyes lighten.

"You were on a roll." He looks down, and then back at me.

"I was a total bitch. But you were a pushy ass." I give him a small smile, which he returns.

"Well said." He agrees with me.

"I don't want to knock down the kitchen wall. But maybe we can talk." I offer, softly. Sam nods and then, lifts an eyebrow.

"You're the boss, boss." He says, his voice teasing. I roll my eyes and shove into him with my shoulder. He doesn't budge. He pushes back, just a bit.

"Max." My uncle comes over, looking rather serious and unhappy. I frown, and I feel Sam stiffen next to me.

"Everything okay?" I ask. Rock seem to notice Sam there for the first time, and he lights up, just slightly. They exchange a handshake that turns into a hug.

"Thanks for coming, Sam. Stand up guy, you are." Rock says, his voice surprisingly thick with emotion. Sam has a hand on my uncle's shoulder, and his eyes are dark again, serious and emotional.

"Jacob was a character. I wish I'd gotten to know him better." Sam offers. Rock nods, his face a bevy of emotions.

"We never have enough time." Rock sighs heavily. He looks at me then, remembering why he came over.

"Oh, Max. You have a visitor, I suppose." He says this softly and then turns and gestures. It takes me a long moment to understand what I'm seeing.

Standing, just a few yards away, talking to Henry and Josh, is Evan.

He seem to sense that I've noticed him and he looks over at us. He looks the same, but somehow unfamiliar. Same dark, swarthy features. His dark brown, nearly black hair, is pulled back in one of those careless, trendy buns that have been so popular lately. It's out of place in Brush River, but probably works in the bigger town of Marshy Point. He's wearing a designer suit. Something perfectly tailored to his tall, lanky frame. Obviously, opening his own practice in Marshy Point has worked out for him.

"Maxine." Evan says, his attention now completely on me. Everyone has fallen silent, watching the interaction between us.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I blurt out, angrily.