Sam had retreated to her room at River Bend. It was hers, totally hers, from the stuffed horse on her bed to the clutter in her closet. Her desk was hers. Her dresser was hers. Her bed was hers. In this room, she could do whatever she wanted. She could just be. Flopping down on her bed, her gloriously comfortable bed, she said, "Think, Sam. Think."

She knew she had to talk to Jake. She knew she did, just like she knew Gram was going to wonder where she'd gotten off to during canning. She couldn't help it, she'd had to get away, she had to use a strategic retreat. Clutching her beloved stuffed animal to her chest, she thought back to a few days ago. Jake wasn't as surprised or worried as Sam had expected. She was taken aback at his calmness, not unlike his attitude at that horrible meeting between their families.

Jake had said, "It'll happen, one day, Brat. You know you only need to say when." That drove Sam absolutely crazy, absolutely up the wall. It was their choice. Theirs, not hers, for the simple reason that she didn't hold to the idea that children would be her area, or whatever, like some people. She needed to know that Jake wanted to start their family intentionally, with the idea that he'd be just as involved as she was. Still, his unconditional support that afternoon had been so needed. He'd not said one way or another if he'd been slightly let down by the results, but somehow, Sam had gotten the idea that he had been. She hadn't said that she was, but he knew. He also knew, much like she did, that there was much they hadn't said to each other about the whole situation. Sam knew there wasn't much to say, not without sounding like she was crazy. They were barely legally adults. They'd been married a year. They had so much to do before they could be the kind of parents any child had a right to expect, and there was a silent agreement between them that they'd do everything they could to be that sort of family for their children.

Still, the conversation in the car that afternoon wasn't as awkward as Sam had worried over. She came so close, too close, to saying, "I want a baby." She did. She wanted a baby, and if she was honest with herself, she knew she had for some time. Ages. Heck, who was she kidding? In some way, she known from the time she understood where babies came from that any children she had would be Jake's. It wasn't a sexual sort of thing, not at those ages, it was merely a realization, an understanding that she couldn't see herself raising a child, a daughter or a son, without knowing that her best friend was there, helping her make the choices and guide the person who called her mom, just as she was. She'd never wanted to do this without him.

Those feelings still held true. Sam knew, though, that if they were honestly considering this, they needed to put their ducks in a row. They had jobs, sort of, a decent enough income, health insurance. They had the inclination for a family, and they'd make the time, even if they didn't have it now. Despite all of those boxes ticked off, they really were at loose ends. They needed to have their lives together, in a way that they currently did not. Case and point, she thought, as she looked around Gram's kitchen, was their living situation over the summers, and in the future, really. She'd been thinking about it for weeks, feeling things she felt guilty about and she didn't know what to do.

Still, she knew one thing for sure. She didn't want to be a guest in Max's house for the next 50 years. She had a new respect for Brynna, no matter how uneasy their relationship often was. She frowned, rolling over in her bed, wishing she could pull off her boots and sleep. She was so tired. But it was not to be, as Gram called for her to come downstairs.

"Samantha?" Gram asked, stirring the pot on the stove, as Sam resumed snapping green beans.

She looked up from snapping the ends off green beans, tossing the beans in one bowl and the ends in a bag placed in her lap. "Yeah, Gram?"

"Do you want to talk about what's been bothering you for the last few days?" Gram asked pointedly.

Sam sighed. There was no way she was getting out of talking about this with her Gram. The woman was a bloodhound when it came to Sam's perosnal life, and things that she had going on, from random events at college to spats with Jake. She managed to figure things out over a phone line. There was no way she could avoid her, sitting in her kitchen as she was, but she had to try. "Nothing's really wrong, Gram."

"Uh huh. Honey, you know, I've been on this earth a long time, you can talk to me about anything. You can snap those beans and talk at the same time. I don't know anything better than a little talking to make work go by." Gram began.

Sam sighed, trying to be as vague as possible. "It's just that...what would you do, if you had a problem...with a friend." Sam amended quickly, "Well, not the friend. The friend's friend. Who's also your friend, but not as good a friend, well different, I guess. Very differently. But anyway. There's this friend, the good friend, and they...see nothing wrong with...something. And you're not happy with that same something, but you can't say how unhappy you are, because there's really no alternative."

It didn't take many words or even substance for Gram to pick up Sam's emotions, and she had no end of thoughts and words to use when it came time to respond. "Sammy, you've never had trouble saying what you think about things before."

"But this isn't the same at all. We've always...agreed, and now we don't. Or I don't know if we don't, but we don't, and I've always had support, and now I don't." Sam handed the full bowl of beans to her grandmother to blanch, as Sam began setting up the sterilized jars.

"What do you mean you don't have support? You know I'm always behind you, Sam. And your father. And Jake, too. And Jen. Lots of people would support you." Grace asked, as she continued with her work.

"Oh, Gram. It's not like that. It's just..." She sighed, focusing on the jars, "It's Max."

"Now, Sam." Gram's voice held a level of censure. Sam couldn't meet her eyes as she sat back down, throwing ice in a bowl.

"I'm just...so tired." The whole thing came rushing out. "I miss the apartment. It's small, but it's mine, you know? And...even though we spend most of the days here at River Bend, I feel...like...I'm...It's just so awkward. Oh, God, is it awkward."

Grace asked cautiously, "Is what awkward, Sam?"

"Just being there, in her house, knowing that...she's...And honestly, I'm annoyed. Everything I do or say there is under a microscope. 'Oh, Sam, I'll make them on the stove for you' even when I just wanted to throw some spagetti-o's in the microwave and call it day. Or when I finally feel useful, and I, God forbid, throw out some of Jake's collection of mail, and call him an idiot for not dealing with it, she wants to make a big deal out of it and sit and sort it and talk and reminds me not to call him an idiot. And then when we do, I feel like she's looking at me, and knowing..." She broke off, speaking vehemently, "If I want to call him an idiot, I will. He's my dammed idiot." She shook her head as they blanched the green beans, tossing them in ice, and working silently to fill the jars with beans until Gram spoke.

Gram nodded sympathetically. "You know, I imagine feeling that way is normal, Sam. I think your mother did, for a time."

"Really?" Sam was incredulous.

"You act like she wasn't human, honey. She was, a wonderful one, one of the most wonderful women I'll ever know, but she had a temper much like someone I know very well. Louise and I fought once because I..."

"You?" Sam began.

Grace laughed in a way that made Sam happy just to hear it. "Land, I'd forgotten about it until just now. I just threw her laundry in with the rest of it, and she was so angry. As I recall, she said Wyatt's and her laundry was her job, not mine." Gram followed after Sam, began let the air out of the jars, as Sam filled them. "Goodness, two grown women squabbling over who gets the privilege of washing dirty old work jeans." Gram smiled again.

"But...what do I do, Gram? What do I do? I can't...raise..." Sam's mouth snapped shut. She hadn't meant to go there. It would take them ages to actually conceive, she knew, so why had she said that? She was distracted, she supposed, but the action of pouring hot water into each jar, leaving the required headspace.

"Sam?" Grace paused, slowly and methodically burping the jars. Sam could see she just barely resisted turning sideways to face her.

Sam made it clear. "I'm not pregnant, Gram. I just mean that I can't live there forever. I can't see raising my family there, if we ever have one." Sam spoke honestly, "Gram, I can't even see myself making a baby in that house."

"Sam, goodness!" Grace laughed, as they worked side by side to put hot sterilized lids on the jars.

Sam was indignant. "How would you feel, knowing his parents were just down the hall, and you had to look at them in the morning?" Not to mention Quinn, who was the light sleeper from hades, she thought, knowing from one awful experience that was never going to be repeated in that house. Sam continued working as Gram let her thumbscrew the jars. "I just wish we could stay here, but there'd be the same problems here." She looked to her Grandmother, "Oh, Gram, what do I do?"

"What you do, honey, is talk to your husband." Gram turned away from the counter to begin placing the jars into her canner.

"I sound like a selfish little girl, Gram, I know I do. Things like this don't bother Jake, he's just happy to go out and work with the horses every day." Sam rummaged in the drawer for the weight for the canner. While she was digging, she added, "He doesn't care where he sleeps or what he eats."

"I think you might be wrong about that, honey. After all, if he didn't care, wouldn't you be bunking down here with every night, instead of just occasionally?" Gram took the weight that was passed to her and placed it beside the canner.

Sam added the green bean ends to the compost pail to be taken outside. "I tell you, much more of this, I'm going to run away and live with The Phantom's herd. I can camp out with a cookstove."

"Why don't you just live in the chuckwagon?" Grace laughed, as she continued working with the canner.

"This is serious!" Sam cried.

"I know, Sammy, I know." Gram soothed, as only she could. "In the meantime, there's some spagetti-o's in the pantry. You can have them for lunch. Would you mind making me a grilled cheese to go with them when we finish putting these cans in the processor?"

That evening, Sam was mixing grains for the morning feed. She enjoyed the chore very much, the measuring out grains, dumping in into the pails, running it through with her hands to mix it up. It had always been fun for her as a child because she felt important, special, integral to the care of the horses. Her father would stand behind her, and show her step by step, telling her about grains, and vitamins, and energy needs. She'd loved getting to know each horse, what they'd needed, how to feed them like this. Now, the chore was somewhat monotonous, but it was enough to keep her busy as she thought. What was she to do? They had, literally, no other options. It was until school. She could make it, this summer, but what about next? Or the one after? It wasn't anything anybody did, it was just that she lived with this feeling of being observed, watched, measured. She felt, boxed in, hemmed in. She never had a moment to herself, one second to breathe, let the air whoosh out of her lungs and know with absolute peace that no one was going to disturb her or mess up her energy.

That was all it was, really. It was the energy. Sam knew she had a social mask, a way she was around others, that while it wasn't fake, or an act, it often felt draining and isolating. She was tired of feeling like there were social expectations heaped upon her. She knew she sounded like a ninny. It couldn't be helped. There was a part of herself, her personality, that she found herself only able to share with Jake. It was so strange, she guessed, but she couldn't really relax with everybody around. She constantly felt on edge, ready to jump up and do something, anything. Like the other night, she'd tried to listen to her radio show, but had constantly felt like she was being too loud, even when she could barely hear it.

Her energy was zapped, just by being around all these people all the time after finally living alone, and she felt tense. Jake seemed to be able to ride it out, and run it out, getting enough time alone to himself to feel normal, but she couldn't. Sure she did chores, went on rides, did all of that stuff, but nothing helped, not even hiding in her bedroom at River Bend, simply because she knew her time was so limited. She sighed, finishing the last bucket. And here they were, thinking about trying for a baby, thinking about starting their own family, when they hadn't...couldn't assert themselves as adults enough for her to cook dinner once a week. It was so hard, living with their families.

She had to go back inside, now, and listen to Deck and Quinn, who were fast friends, as they watched TV. She hated the thing, she wanted to pull the plug. But, of course, she couldn't even ask them to turn it off for a time. This wasn't her home. She'd never watched much TV growing up. It was so strange and the whole thing gave her headaches. She sighed, looking for something to do. It looked like there were five or six buckets to be washed and sanitized, so she rolled up her sleeves, and set to it, glad for the reprieve.

She would have to listen to Max refuse her help in the house, saying she had things handled, and sat in the kitchen and talked about absolutely nothing. She didn't feel useful, at least not there. Outside was another matter, her father expected nothing different. If anything, he'd expected more from her workwise this summer than ever before. But inside the house, she wasn't expected to work like had Gram expected her to work. She didn't work like she did at school, even in their small apartment with postage stamp sized rooms. She had a standard of work she felt like she needed to meet, and she never felt productive, even though she was always raring to go. Three Ponies wasn't her home, and it seemed like it would never be, no matter how much she tried. She loved Max and Luke. They treated her like she was their own, she knew they did. She felt their love, and it warmed her soul. But, and it was a big but, she wasn't a child.

She didn't need to ask permission to do things. But, she did. She did, because she didn't belong there, not really, not as an adult woman. Every time she wanted to do something, say something, she felt like her every action was saying "Can I?" "May I?" "Do you think?" and she was tired. She just wanted to be alone for a time and not have to worry if she were infringing on someone else. It was no good. She felt small. She had to suck it up though, because footfalls were sounding down the main aisle. God, why couldn't Deck just leave her alone? He was awesome, but if she had to say that she didn't want to watch Cops for the 54th time, she'd throw the bucket she was scrubbing at him, bleach water and all.

This chapter, plus the one next one or two, are ones in which Sam gets to do some of my favorite little chores. Hey, life has to inspire writing, in some way.

I hope you find this chapter realistic and not too overblown.

Please Review.