Solace

Fiona

"You can put your feet down now." He says, and removes his gloves. He turns them inside each other before discarding them in the garbage.

"Everything looks fine, Ms. Garter." He continues when she doesn't ask. "Healthy as a horse." The doctor notes the chart, before placing it back in its slot.

"It's Dianado."

"I'm sorry?"

"Mrs. Dianado." She says again. "I got married last year."

"My apologies, Mrs. Dianado. I'll have the receptionist update the paperwork." He gets up from his stool. "Like I said, everything is progressing as it should, your body is almost done with recovery. You'll be back to your old self in no time."

"Thank you."

"We'll see you in another four weeks to do the final check-up, but I think you'll be happy to know I don't think we'll find anything new."

She smiles weakly because that's what it seems like one is supposed to do. Happiness was such a distant thought she had to cycle through her mind just to find its meaning.

"Thank you, Doctor." She says again.

He stops in the doorway, takes a moment to gather a thought. "It'll all get better soon," he offers, "Take your time getting dressed and we'll see you in a month's time."

She nods.

And that was that. In his passing in the doorway he gave the unceremonious final rites.

Because there would be no funeral.

* * * * *

The drive home is lonely. Just the way she wanted it. The world buzzes at the corners, hums with discomforting intensity, Fiona can feel it coming on again. Both hands grip the steering wheel to stave off the shaking. She parks the car in their driveway and takes a deep breath in and holds it. She closes her eyes against the world and feels it wash over her. All of it. Visualizes it cascade down her body, down her breasts, rolling over her stomach, to her legs, sees it slide across her feet and finally drip off her toes.

Gone.

When she opens her eyes and takes a breath, she feels composed again. Completely in control.

He's waiting for her when she opens the door. Paul closes the book he's been reading. She can't look at him and so she goes into the kitchen.

"Hey." He says.

"Hey," She says back, "Did you get a chance to talk to the power company?"

"What?"

"The power company." She says again, "Remember?"

He scowls, "Yeah, I did but, I don't really-"

"Good." She says and turns to the fridge. Sandwiches would be a nice thing to have. The perfect thing for a hot day like this. The wine hadn't lasted the night, but some OJ in the back would go nice. A handful of those sweetly over-salted potato chips in the cabinet... Tomatoes, black forest ham, Swiss cheese, or as Paul called it the Pope's Cheese.

Paul is leaning against the door frame watching her. "What are you doing?"

The answer seems pretty obvious to her. "I'm making sandwiches. We've got some Holy cheese to go with them." She sticks a finger through a hole in the Swiss cheese slices to illustrate her point.

"What did the doctor say?"

"He said I'm fine." She doesn't look up.

"'You're fine.'"