"I'm getting coffee for the road," he said. "Want anything?"

"Coffee sounds good."

"Take these," he said, and threw me a small set of keys-just two, a car key and what looked like a house key-on a worn leather key chain. "I'll be right back."

I went upstairs to see the place one more time and check that everything was in the truck. In the corner I had left one box. I wanted to carry it down myself, sort of a symbolic good-bye. In it was the lover's knot quilt I'd received just a few days earlier. Strange to think how much had changed in so little time.

I thought I would burst into tears. I'd planned it. But I felt nothing; I just was anxious to get on the road and breathe in some clean, crisp air.

When I walked out onto the street I could see that Marc was talking with someone. I took three steps and realized who it was-Ryan.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"What are you doing?"

"She's moving, pal." Marc stood between Ryan and me.

"She's my fiancee, pal." Ryan moved around him.

"Not anymore." Marc moved toward me.

"All right, guys. That's enough." I pulled Ryan a few steps from Marc. "I was about to leave you a message," I told him.

Ryan moved close to me, very close. More for Marc's benefit, I knew, than either his or mine. "Who is that asshole?"

"My grandmother's handyman." Ryan looked Marc over. Marc stared back. I loved Marc for acting all knight-in-shining-armor over a woman he hardly knew. "And my friend."

"You're making new friends already?" If he had meant to sound tough, he'd failed. I could see his eyes getting watery. Ryan gently touched my hair.

"Have you changed your mind?" I knew better than to ask the question, but I wanted to give him every chance.

He just stood there looking embarrassed, then he reached for my hand. I pulled it away.

"You didn't call me back," he said.

"I forgot my phone," I answered.

"How did we get here?" He stared at me.

"You," I said quietly. "You got us here."

He nodded. "So you have to move? Because I need more time, you have to pack up and leave?"

"My apartment was rented, remember?" He suddenly remembered. "What am I supposed to do, crash on Amanda's couch until you're ready to get married?"

"No," he said sharply. "I just don't think we're going to solve anything with you all the way up there." I could feel Ryan's breath on me and I started to feel confused. I moved a few steps away from him.

"I don't have anything to solve," I said. "You do. And maybe what you need is time alone to figure out what you want." I didn't know whether to be mad or hurt or disappointed. But I knew I had to leave. Marc was right. I couldn't sit around and wait for Ryan. I had to make my own plans. And I had to make them now, before I changed my mind.

"My grandmother needs help," I said. I stepped away from him and climbed into the passenger seat of Marc's truck. Marc immediately jumped in the driver's side.

"You have your cell phone with you this time?" Ryan called after me.

I nodded.

"Then I'll call you," he shouted.

"Don't make any more promises until you know you can keep them," I said, but I wasn't sure Ryan heard me. As Marc drove away, I watched Ryan standing on the street looking as hurt and confused as I felt.

We were halfway to Archers Rest before either of us spoke. "I'm sorry to have dragged you all the way into the city," I said by way of apologizing for Ryan.

"I love New York. I don't go there too much now, but I used to live there. I went to Columbia for a couple of years."

"Really? What did you study?"

Marc made a face. "Biology, if you can believe it. My father's a doctor in town and he really wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I liked science, so I gave it a try, but medicine was not for me. I'm not cut out for postponing gratification." He winked at me. "Nearly killed my old man when he saw my grades. He gave me this lecture about how he wasn't spending hard-earned money so I could go drinking." He laughed. "Sure was fun, though."

"How did you end up… I mean…"

"As the town handyman?" He looked over at me. "It's cool. I don't know. I like working with my hands. I'd love to build a house someday, maybe a smaller version of your grandma's, right on the Hudson, and build furniture."

"Have you built anything I could see?"

He got shy for a moment, then admitted, "Yeah, I guess, if you want to. I've got some tables and chairs and stuff. I like to build old style. I use a lot of hand tools and I make some reproductions. That's my real love. I'd like to build something someday that my son, my children, and grandchildren could use and know that I made it."

I looked over at him and noticed for the first time that his smile was slightly crooked and that he had a dimple on his right cheek. When he saw me watching him, I could see he was blushing a little, but he said nothing and neither did I. He was sweet and full of his own dreams. I liked him. And as simple an emotion as it was, that seemed very complicated to me.

We chatted about his future furniture-building business the rest of the way home, and then spent twenty minutes moving my stuff into the guest room at my grandmother's house. It was hard to believe that what had taken up an entire New York apartment hardly made a dent in the floor space of one room in this house.

The next day, when Eleanor was released from the hospital, she didn't criticize either the new arrangement or the fact that I'd taken a leave of absence to help her out. I took this as approval.

"A lot of work for one person," she said as I helped her into bed.

"Marc helped me."

"He has a good heart, when he wants to use it."

"That's a little unkind."

She waved me off. "How are you getting off work?"

"Sick grandmother. Desperate for my help."

"Now who's being unkind?"

"What was I supposed to tell my boss?" I protested. "That I'm running away from a broken heart? One of us had to be needy and pathetic for me to get time off, and it wasn't going to be me."

She took my hand. "It isn't you. You're helping me, and I'm glad you're here. What about some dinner? If I know my friends, there are five casseroles and ten pies in that kitchen."

"At least."

"First thing you do is tell people to stop bringing food."

I wasn't about to tell people that, especially since it wasn't likely my grandmother would be cooking anytime soon, and she wouldn't want to eat what I could whip up. I heated two plates of a noodle dish that Susanne had dropped off and arranged them on a tray with glasses of water and dinner rolls.

From his position next to my grandmother, Barney wagged and wagged as I carried the tray into the living room, but he wasn't about to leave her side.

"I didn't think he was allowed on the bed." Barney had his head on a pillow, stomach up for easy petting.

"You tell him," she said as she gave his tummy a pat. They were a good couple, Barney and my grandmother. She pretended to be annoyed by his dependence, and he pretended to dislike her rules. All the while they clearly adored each other. If he had been a person, it would have been an enviable match. Truth was, I envied them anyway, despite the difference in their species.

We watched the news while we ate, then Andy Griffith on Nick at Nite. I settled into the bed and felt the tension in my body release as I watched Andy outsmart a big city crook two episodes in a row.

"This is a bit less exciting than you're used to," Eleanor said.

"That's a good thing. I've had enough excitement." I told her about the scene between Marc and Ryan.

"Good enough for him," she said. "Did he think you would wait forever?"