"You're supposed to say something comforting, like 'You look gorgeous,' " I teased her.

"You don't need any more lies, do you?" Eleanor smiled as we walked to her car.

"I need sleep."

"Sleep you can have. And lunch. What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything fattening."

I really wish I were one of those people who couldn't eat in a crisis. My coworker and now friend Amanda went on the "heartbreak diet" every time she ended a promising romance (which was usually every four months). When we met she was madly in love with a blond Adonis, until four months later when his picture was in the trash. It was all she could do to eat an apple. Amanda dropped ten pounds in the month it took her to meet a handsome banker. When his picture ended up in the trash six months after that, she was off food for three weeks until the next one came along. Last week she'd been eating Hostess Cupcakes at her desk so I knew she was in love again, but I hadn't yet met the latest.

I wished I could follow her system, but I was beginning to see I had one all my own. Break my heart and I'll eat everything in sight.

As we turned into my grandmother's driveway I felt, temporarily, better. She lived in a huge, white Victorian, where she'd raised my mother and uncle. It had four large bedrooms, three fire-raised my mother and uncle. It had four large bedrooms, three fireplaces, a library, butler's pantry, two secret passages, and one dog, Barney, the latest in a long line of golden retrievers.

Normally the house was picture-book ready, with flowers crowding the beds in front and immaculately trimmed bushes lining the drive. But this time the view was marred by a scratched and dented red pickup truck and piles of roofing debris on the lawn.

"What…" I started to ask.

"Marc Reed," she said, as if I had any clue who he was. I made a face at her to express my confusion.

She beeped her horn and pointed up. So I looked. On her roof stood a brown-haired, shirtless man in his thirties-a man who looked as though he'd earned every muscle from hard work. He waved.

"Marc Reed," she said again. "Fixes roofs, builds furniture, does odd jobs. Very handy." She pulled up in front of the house and stopped the car. "Not hard on the eyes either."

"Grandma!"

She shrugged. "I'm not recommending him, mind you. Not unless you want more trouble than you already have." I said nothing, but I did look. "I need to see how he's getting on with that patch," she continued. "You go inside."

She walked off to talk with Marc, who climbed down the ladder, smiling at me as he descended. Up close he looked just as fit and tanned as he had on the roof. His hair was cut short, and seemed dark red in the sun and light brown as he moved into the shadows. He had small lines outlining his deep blue eyes and long eyelashes that curled slightly as he blinked. He was the picture of laid-back good looks, but there was something in his eyes that made me uncomfortable.

Embarrassed at being so easily rattled by the slightest bit of male attention, I mumbled something about being hungry and headed into the house.

"I have some cake left over from Nancy's birthday," my grandmother told me as she walked inside, finding me still in the hallway. "You remember Nancy? She's the woman who helps out at the shop."

"I've met her dozens of times." I smiled. "Are you starting to forget things?"

"One of the pleasures of old age," she answered with a wink. "Do you want coffee or tea?"

"Tea, I guess. Where's Barney? Why didn't he come to the door?"

"Vet says he's going deaf. Getting old like me," she said. "Try the living room. And tell him to come into the kitchen for lunch."

I turned left into the enormous living room. Eleanor kept the furnishings sparse. There was only a couch, two chairs, and one table to fill the room. As a child it was a perfect place to play tag, and my sister and I often ran circles around the couch, trying frantically to get to the "safe" spot-the marble fireplace with an ornately carved mantle. It was also the place where Eleanor kept some of her more precious quilts. Two made by Grace Roemer,the woman who had taught my grandmother to quilt, and three she made herself. I'd always loved her quilts, but before today I hadn't realized just how much comfort I took in looking at them.

I ran my fingers along a quilt with brightly colored stars against a black background. (Amish style, Eleanor had once explained to me.) The pieces that made the stars were small, no more than two inches each, and the quilting was an elaborate echo of the pieced pattern, making it seem as if stars were bursting all over the quilt. But because the quilted stars were stitched only in black thread, they stood silent against the background. All that work for something that you couldn't even see unless you were two inches from the quilt. I wondered why anyone would bother, and yet I wanted desperately to have created something that held such quiet surprises.

"Nell," I heard my grandmother call, in that insistent "stop wasting my time" voice. "The food is ready. And bring Barney."

I was so caught up in the quilt that I hadn't noticed who lay by the windows at the far end of the room. The afternoon sun was bringing a glow to the entire room, and basking in it was my grandmother's companion, Barney.

I walked over and knelt beside him, and he turned his head back to see who it was. He was, at first, startled, then embarrassed at being caught unawares, then within seconds unreservedly joyous at seeing me. Nearly twelve years old, gray around the snout, and happily plump, he still had the joy of a pup. Old or not, that dog could wag. We kissed and hugged and played until I heard my grandmother's voice again.

"Nell," she called.

I got up and started toward the kitchen. Barney bounded after me. When we reached the kitchen, his excitement began again at the sight of Eleanor. She reached down and patted his head.

"What's all the fuss, old man?" she asked him. "Did you think I'd left town or something?"

Barney wagged his tail even harder in response. When he was sufficiently petted, he settled into a large bed stuffed with toys. My grandmother's uncluttered decorating style clearly had not rubbed off on the dog.

There was more than cake on the table. There was a spread of ham and turkey, bread still warm from my grandmother's oven, a green salad and a homemade potato salad, as well as the cake, two eclairs, and piping hot tea.

Without a word, I piled my plate with a bit of everything and devoured as much as I could. Suddenly I was starving.

"It's a good sign that you're hungry." Eleanor winked at me.

"It's good food," I said between bites.

She watched me eat for a few minutes. "I'm going to head to the shop. I can't expect Nancy to hold down the fort for too long. Poor girl. She's very sweet, but no head for business."

"I'm going to take a nap, then," I said.

"It will do you a world of good." She nodded. "And if you want, when you get up you can walk over to the shop."

"I won't be up for several hours."

"Doesn't matter. It's Friday night. Sometimes we're there until midnight."

She got up and Barney got up with her. "I'll leave him with you for company." She motioned for him to stay. "But bring him with you if you come."

"Is he one of the regulars?" I smiled.

She rolled her eyes. "Those girls have made more quilts for Barney than they've made for their own grandchildren." She pointed to Barney's bed. Now that the dog was up again I was able to see at least five small quilts lining the bed, each with dog fabrics or appliqued bones. Above the bed was a quilt with a likeness of Barney sleeping on the bed, with a dream bubble of a Russell terrier with a pink bow.