I heard the door open upstairs. Footsteps came toward me.

"Who's there?" a voice called down.

"Nancy?" I shouted back. She appeared at the stop of the stairs.

"Oh, it's you, Nell. Are you all right? What are you doing?"

"There's something on the step. Something slippery." I held up my hand, as if that were proof.

She came down the stairs quickly and stopped just above me and, reaching down, she ran her fingers over the wood.

"Someone must have spilled something. Do you think that's what Eleanor slipped on?" she asked.

"Probably. What could it be?"

Nancy looked around at the empty stairs and shrugged. "I don't know. Come upstairs, carefully now. I'll get something to clean it up."

She started back up the stairs and I followed her, skipping the fourth stair. While I waited for Nancy to finish cleaning the step, I looked around at the messy shop. The place looked as if a pack of three-year-olds had gone through it.

"How do grown women do this to a business?" I swept my arms dramatically at all the bolts that were piled on top of each other.

"Quilters have to touch the fabric. They have to take it out, look at it, feel it." She laughed. "They just don't always feel the need to put it back."

"Can I help?" I didn't really know how to help, but I thought I should ask.

"No thanks. Eleanor will be anxious to see you." She glanced at the clock and stepped up her efforts.

"I feel bad about leaving you so close to opening time, but it's not like you're going to get a rush." I smiled, but Nancy just raised an eyebrow.

"You'd be surprised," she said with a smile.

I walked toward the door, still thinking about the stairs. "Who could have spilled something?" I asked.

"Me, I guess. Your grandmother." She paused. "One of Carrie's kids."

"What would one of her kids be doing on the stairs?"

She raised her eyebrows. "They're not always supervised in here. Yesterday I saw the little boy head for the stairs and Carrie go after him in a mad dash. It was five minutes before she could get the boy back upstairs again. And the whole time I had to keep her daughter from pulling every fabric off the shelf."

Just then, with minutes until ten, a woman knocked on the door. Nancy waved at her and pointed to the clock. The woman nodded but didn't budge.

Maybe they did get a rush.

"How does anyone stay home during the day and watch television? " My grandmother greeted me with annoyance and flipped off the TV.

"You're obviously feeling better." I dropped her favorite cardigan on the hospital bed. "In case you're cold."

She quickly scooped it up. "It's freezing in here. And," she took a deep breath, "I'm sure Nancy is frantic at the shop."

"Grandma, Nancy has worked at the store for years."

"With me beside her every step of the way."

"She's very smart," I said, not really knowing whether she was or not.

"I know that," Eleanor huffed. She made an actual noise that sounded like "huff." "I'm just worried how we're going to manage. Nancy's never run a store."

"I'll stay," I volunteered before I realized what I was offering. I really wanted to get back to New York, to see if Ryan and I could somehow figure our way through this, but now the words were out. And if I were needed here…

My grandmother looked into my eyes, with sweetness usually saved for animals and children. "Oh, dear," she said as she took my hand. "You've never run a store either."

As soon as I was out of the hospital I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card. I dialed the number on it without even thinking whether I should.

"I have a favor to ask you," I said right away.

"Name it."

"Meet me at my grandmother's house in twenty minutes."

He agreed and hung up without asking a question.

Twenty minutes later I pulled into the driveway. Marc was already at the house, leaning against his car reading a piece of pink paper.

"I brought lunch," I said as I got out of the car, holding up a pizza box.

"You learn how to make that from your grandmother?" He folded up the paper and put it in his back pocket. Then he came toward me with a smile. He did have a nice smile. Different from Ryan's, but equally as charming.

Once in the house, after pizza and ten minutes of play with a still-worried Barney, we set to work. We took my grandmother's bed, piece by piece, into the living room, pushing back the furnishings to make room. Marc extended the cable wire so we could bring the TV from the kitchen into the living room, and we took the rugs, and anything else she could slip on, out of the downstairs bathroom and kitchen.

When we were done the place looked comfortable if slightly chaotic. But even with the bed in the living room, it wouldn't be enough. There was one more thing left to do.

"You ready?" Marc leaned against the fireplace and lowered his eyes so they met mine.

I shrugged. "Not really, but I don't have any other ideas, do you?"

"I like your plan, but we should go now if we're going to do this in one day."

Once Marc and I were in his car driving south toward New York, I started to worry. It had seemed like a good idea to pack up my apartment and move in with my grandmother for a few weeks. I needed a place to live, and time to think, and she needed help- whether she would admit it or not. But what if I was using her problems as an excuse to run from my own?

"You've gotten quiet." Marc turned down the radio. I realized I had just been staring out the window, so I turned to him, trying to think of something to say.

"I was just thinking how nice it was of you to spend your whole Sunday helping me."

He smiled and seemed pleased by the compliment. "I'm a handyman. I fix things."

"Oh, how are you at relationships?" The words popped out of my mouth and I suddenly felt self-conscious, but Marc didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, I heard you got dumped."

"I wouldn't call it dumped," I protested, but only for a moment. "Yeah, okay, I guess I got dumped."

"Been there. It's the worst. You feel as if you got kicked in the stomach, and by the one person you trusted completely." He stared straight ahead and spoke quietly, almost to himself. "You just have to get past it."

"How?"

Marc rested his hand on my leg for just a second, but it felt good. "You're doing it, Nell. You're not sitting around waiting for him to decide if he wants you. You're making decisions. You're making plans for your future." He shifted a little in his seat. "It's none of my business, but the guy is an idiot."

I touched his leg just where he had touched mine, and left it there for more than just a second before I turned back to the window.

When Marc and I got to my apartment in New York, I immediately went for my cell. Three messages-one from Amanda and two from Ryan, one Friday and one today. I held my breath as I listened to his voice.

"Nell, it's me. I don't know if you want to talk to me or not, but I'd like to talk to you. I just want to know if you're okay with everything. If you're okay, period. Give me a call." Beep.

"Nell. It's Ryan. I know you're hurt and you're probably angry at me." Probably angry? "But I think it's unfair not to call me back and just let me worry about you. Please just call me, or I'll keep calling you." Beep.

"Everything okay?" Marc still stood in the doorway, watching me.

"Fine." I attempted a smile, and threw the phone in my purse. "Come inside. I'm pretty much packed up, so it shouldn't take long." I grabbed a box and handed it to him.

The only furniture I really had was my futon and TV; everything else was disposable or easy to pull apart. He had the truck packed and ready to go in less than two hours.