Twenty-SixAn ambulance, with no blaring sirens or flashing lights, pulls up in front of Celia's townhouse. The paramedics open the back door to remove a stretcher carrying Celia. She is alert and sitting up, still wearing a robe. Michael, who has followed in his car, walks up the brick path and opens the front door so the medics can wheel Celia inside.
“Please, just help me to the couch,” Celia says, weary impatience surfacing. “I'll be fine.”
“Are you sure you don't want to lie down upstairs?” Michael says, fawning.
“I've been lying in bed for two days, which is long enough, thank you.”
The paramedics help Celia to the couch, pack up the stretcher and leave.
“Can I get you something? A cup of tea?” Michael offers.
“Something stronger. Much stronger.”
“Not on your medication, dear d
