I think we all need a bit of a distraction don't you? The world is going a bit crazy but FanFic is steady and no more bonkers than usual.

Thank you to my Annegirls and to the rest of you who are still keeping up with this story. I predict we are nearly at the conclusion. I had a sad ending planned, but I've decided to give them a happy ending now.

Allora

"Andiamo."

Marilla's occupational therapist was the centre of her new world. She had met him on her first morning in the rehab centre. Someone with squeaky shoes and a trace of old spice aftershave entered her room and she had turned her head away listlessly, what good could anyone do now? Her life was over. "Is this Miss Custard er no I mean Mustard?" a man said in a gentle European accent.

"Cuthbert," snapped Marilla reproachfully, emphasising the 'bert'.

"Ah Cuthbert of course, my apologies. Let me introduce myself, my name is Giuseppe Ricci. I'll be your slave er therapist today. Would you like to come with me?"

Giuseppe helped Marilla out of bed and manoeuvred her into a waiting wheelchair. She felt a tightness across her belly when he adjusted the strap and then the sensation of movement as he pushed her chair out of the bedroom. The corridor was busy, and Giuseppe seemed to know many people patients and staff who greeted him on their way. His attitude irritated Marilla, she was his charge he should be attending to her not chatting with his friends.

The timbre of the noise changed when they reached a bigger room. Doors banged behind them and Marilla was aware of a more cavernous space with voices bouncing off the walls. "Welcome to the rehab room, Miss Custard. You'll be spending a great deal of time in here," Giuseppe announced.

"It's Cuthbert," Marilla reminded him tetchily.

Giuseppe undid her seat belt and pulled her to her feet. "Now I am just going to lead you around this room, Miss Cuthbert, or may I call you Marilla?" He said her name with such a exotic intonation that Marilla didn't mind the informality despite feeling wildly out of her element. She clutched at his hands and swayed on her feet. He pulled her along with him very carefully talking softly to her all the while, telling her she was doing very well. "Just put one foot in front of the other, Marilla. I have you I won't let anything happen to you; you can trust me." She found herself listening to his accent and strangely that calmed her. Her heart stopped beating wildly in panic and she started listening to his words and following his instructions. "There that's better you are more comfortable, yes? I will take you around the room, there's nothing that can go wrong." Around her Marilla could hear the voices of other patients working on their own specific problems but she kept her attention fixed solely on Giuseppe's comforting voice as she ever so slowly shuffled after him. When they had completed a couple of transits around the room Marilla faltered drenched with sweat. "Brava, Marilla. Allora we take a break now, yes?" Giuseppe declared as he led her over to a chair and helped her down. "Coffee?"

"Yes please."

"I don't drink the horse piss that they serve here. I bring my own from home. See what you think?"

Marilla sipped tentatively, "ooh…"

"Yep puts hair on your chest, eh"

"Well..."

"Oh, sorry not the sort of thing you're looking for I guess," Giuseppe laughed.

"Tell me about Giuseppe?" Marilla asked her nurse the following morning as she helped her dress.

"Such a waste. You know what they say; all the handsome ones are taken or gay." Marilla smiled.

"What do you look like?" Marilla asked Giuseppe over their morning coffee, curious after all this time.

"Well I'm incredibly handsome," he started. At another table one of his colleagues scoffed, "I have black curly hair and dark eyes. I should probably shave more often." He reached out to take Marilla's hand and pulled it gently towards his face telling her, "feel."

"Does your wife complain?" Marilla asked after she had touched his stubble then muttered, "sorry that's none of my business."

"No that's fine. No wife."

"Goodness when you're so handsome." The same person scoffed again.

"I'm um not really attracted to women," Giuseppe leaned back in his seat and sucked through his teeth. If it went badly Marilla would request a new therapist but he always preferred to be upfront.

"That's interesting," replied Marilla slowly. "I rather prefer my own sex too."

"Ahh I see we are simpatico Marilla."

Marilla returned his gaze with a wonderfully open smile that quite transformed her face. Giuseppe felt he would do anything to see it repeated. They swigged the last of their coffee and Giuseppe said, "Andiamo, back to work."

Somehow when Giuseppe used Italian, she didn't mind his orders so much. All she really wanted to do was hide away from the world in her bedroom under her covers but with one simple command Giuseppe would make her forget all that and she'd get to her feet and work some more.

"Okay," Giuseppe said later that morning. "I have something for you." He placed a long smooth stick in her hand. "This is your cane. This will be your best friend, it will be your eyes," he explained.

Gradually with Giuseppe's help Marilla grew more confident at moving around the therapy room. It no longer seemed unfamiliar and she grew to regard it as a safe place. Sometimes she would freeze in panic and then Giuseppe would gently tease her with bungled versions of her name. He'd call out, Silly, Frilly or even Hillbilly Marilly or Buffbert, Cutebert or any one of a number of other mistakes. It was stupid but it broke the tension making her laugh and she felt more relaxed afterwards. It became their little inside joke and she found herself eagerly anticipating the next way he might mangle her name.

One day after lunch he took her outside. By that time, she'd learnt how to take him by the arm and be led along, casting her cane widely just for the practice. She was learning how to read the messages the cane sent back to her arm and he would tell her what she was 'seeing'. "See the wall has changed and here's a step." Or, "can you feel the gradient changing? There's no step on this curb." Every night she went to bed exhausted by this new way of experiencing and reading the world.

Matthew, Rachel and Anne also attended some sessions on how to help. First, they were given eye masks which hid all traces of light to give them an appreciation of her experience. A therapist led them out to the garden and let go. As one they turned their arms outstretched stumbling around in the dark. Next they practiced leading each other. "Now just take your partner by the arm," the therapist directed. "And tell them what you are doing and what to watch out for. We find the points of the clock a good descriptor, so for instance you can say there's a doorway at 3 o'clock." They also learnt how to get into cars, to navigate doorways and how to describe their surroundings; all things Marilla would need help with in the future.

On Friday Giuseppe made an unwelcome pronouncement, "tonight you'll be going home for the weekend."

Marilla's face fell. She had unwittingly grown fond of the rehab hospital.

"You can't stay here, there's no point. I won't be here Miss Frilly Marilly so it would be boring without my handsome self to amuse you. No, you must go home. Just for two nights, yes? Then you can come back and allora... Okay, I want you to do some house work while you are there."

"Housework? asked Marilla," confused. Why would Giuseppe think the house needed cleaning in her absence?

"Yes, I want you to map out your house. Count out how many steps it is from any point. So you know how to navigate even without your cane."

"Oh," said Marilla laughing.

"Eh?"

"That's homework. Housework is cleaning."

"Basta!" complained Giuseppe. "English is a ridiculous language."

Marilla had wanted to return home so desperately but now the thought terrified her. How would it be when she couldn't see it? How would they manage her care? The nurses and Giuseppe knew what she needed and when, but she did not think she could rely on Matthew, Anne or even Rachel. A nurse helped her pack, not much because she had things at home, but she took her cane and a few comfortable things.

The crunchy sound of the gravel under the car wheels alerted her to their proximity. Strange she'd never really noticed it before. Marilla hadn't been there since the accident. She stood in the hallway taking it all in. Beside her, her brother and lover waited. Rachel said, "you must be exhausted, do you want to take a nap?"

"I'm not an invalid, Rachel. You don't need to stuff me out of the way," she snapped.

"No, of course not. I'm sorry. What would you like to do?" Marilla felt in her handbag for her cane and pulled it out. "I want to explore, if that's alright with you?"

"It's your house, Marilla. Of course it's alright," Rachel said, hurt.

Marilla knew she'd upset her, but she couldn't worry about it, she needed to map out the house in her head to learn how many steps it was from the bottom of the stairs to the kitchen, from the bedroom to the bathroom and everything in between. She knew the layout well enough, but she had to re learn it from this new perspective. The others wandered off to leave her to it. She wandered around tapping her cane; a new but soon to be familiar sound for them all.

Sometime later she heard the familiar pop of a champagne bottle and Rachel called out, "want a drink?"

Marilla stood in the kitchen and in a panic thought how to navigate her way out to Rachel. Taking a few deep breathes she calmed down and thought, I can do this. "I'm on my way," she called out to Rachel.

Rachel looked up from the glass as Marilla tapped her way slowly into the living room, "come and sit down. I have a glass ready for you here." Rachel put a glass into Marilla's outstretched hand. "Did I tell you Anne and Gilbert are coming for lunch tomorrow?"

"No."

"Sorry in all the excitement I must have forgot. They're so excited to see you back here even if it's only temporary at this point. Anne is cooking." Matthew joined them and they drank a toast to Marilla's homecoming.

"That will be lovely," Marilla sipped her champagne again before putting the glass down steadying it with her other hand.

"How are you dear?"

"I'm fine, just fine."

"No," Rachel put her hand on her knee and squeezed ever so gently, "no, how are you?"

"I'm f…" But the words never came. She was far from fine. She doubted she'd ever be fine again. "I'm," she started again as the tears welled up and streamed down her cheeks. She faced away from Rachel still unwilling to give in to it, worried that if she let herself cry she'll never stop. The only time she cried was that time in hospital when the surgeon delivered the news so bluntly and that was mostly shock. Silently Rachel waited until Marilla capitulated, as terrible as it was bound to be it was necessary. It took a while even then as Marilla gulped for air hoping the wave of fear and dismay would pass. It was only when Rachel changed her position moving her hand to stroke Marilla's back that she leant in and let go. It was everything Rachel expected: awful and loud and messy but as Marilla wailed in her arms Rachel felt a tight knot in her shoulders dissipate. Wordlessly she gathered Marilla into her arms and held her as she sobbed.

Matthew heard the noise and glanced through the doorway. He was comforted to see Marilla crying her heart out while Rachel provided comfort. He'd always been amazed by Marilla's strength, but this was bordering on ridiculous. No one could be so stalwart in the face of such adversity. He retired to the kitchen to give them some space and put on the kettle figuring tea might be needed soon. He figured it was thirsty work. Hunting out a few of his big handkerchiefs he put them on the tray too. Matthew let the tray rattle a little to alert Marilla, at the rehab place they told them not to creep up on her.

After a few sips Marilla whispered, "you know I think I will take that nap."

"Of course, let me help you," Rachel offered.

"I can do it myself you know," Marilla says pitifully.

"Of course, you can, I just want to help you. Let me help you dearest Marilla. Let me in."

Marilla sighed and held her arm out for Rachel to take. Together they made their way up the stairs and Rachel pulled the bed covers back. Marilla laid down and closed her eyes. Rachel watched her for a moment and relieved that Marilla seemed to have settled, left her to it.

"Thank goodness," Matthew greeted her when she came back downstairs.

Rachel sighed, "yes."

"Mm hm, she was like a pressure cooker about to go off."

"Rachel!"

Rachel woke to the sound of Marilla calling out close by. She shot out of bed immediately feeling the chill of the floor on her feet, "what is it? What's the matter?"

"I'm lost. I thought I had the whole house mapped out in my head, but I can't find the bed, where are you?"

Rachel caught hold of Marilla's trembling arm and led her the last few steps. "Here we are, you were nearly there dear. Come lie down next to me." Marilla shivered and trembled next to her. "I'm frightened," Marilla said simply.

"Of course you are." Marilla calmed down eventually, she had almost forgotten how warm and comforting Rachel could be.

"Thank you," Marilla said the next morning after a chorus of birds had awoken her. She'd never paid them much mind before, but now they alerted her to the fact that it had to be light outside.

"Whatever for?"

"For not saying everything will be okay. I don't know if it will be or not but when someone says it I feel shut down as if I have nothing to complain about."

Rachel made a sound of surprise, "that's not how I mean it, when I do say it."

"Maybe not, but it's how it makes me feel."

"In any case," Rachel continued. "This is hard and you are quite within your rights to feel that way."

Anne and Gilbert arrived mid morning. It was strange for them to see Marilla in her natural surroundings yet looking so remote. She seemed ill at ease in what was normally her home. Anne brought a large chicken pie and they all sat down at the kitchen table. Anne could not stop staring at Marilla as she ate, it was just so foreign to her to see her normally confident mother eating so tentatively. Marilla reached out suddenly and managed to knock her drink over the glass making a thud against the table and before anyone could reach it had rolled off the table and shattered on the floor. Marilla burst into tears, ashamed at her clumsiness. Instantly Matthew and Rachel leapt to their feet to mop up the drink and clean up the shattered glass. Anne sat by Marilla and comforted her, "there's no need to cry over spilt milk. It's all right, we all have little accidents. It's nothing really, shh shh."

Marilla was quiet and still a bit shaky after lunch. Anne said, "let's go for a walk." With a clutter they all agreed that that sounded like a nice idea. Marilla was reluctant, but Anne insisted, "it's a beautiful day, you'll enjoy it."

As they strolled along enjoying the weather Anne leading Marilla said, "the sun is out."

"I know," said Marilla tilting her face up. "I can feel it. Thank you, Anne," she patted her hand. "This is lovely. Tell what you can see."

"Well," said Anne thinking of how best to describe what she could see. "The birches in the hollow have turned golden as sunshine. the maples behind the orchard are royal crimson and the wild cherry trees are putting on the loveliest shares of dark red and bronzy green. Reassuring sunlight banks through the trees. It's funny," added Anne. "I've never really given the specificities of light much consideration until you lost the ability to see it."

"I've always loved this time of year. It's a pity to miss it, but at least I have someone like you to describe it to me Anne, and my memories to sustain me."

"How does it feel?"

"It's frustrating as heck."

"No, I mean how does it feel?"

"Oh," Marilla thought for a moment of how to explain it. "I think when you can see you constantly look around and adjust your consciousness to what's in your line of sight. When you lose that ability it's as if you don't exist. I'm always pressing myself against furniture to assure myself that I do." Anne strolled next to her, intrigued by this revelation.

"Can I say something," Giuseppe said emboldened after his first sip of coffee on Monday morning.

"What?"

"First tell me about your weekend?" he asked.

"It was," Marilla paused casting around for the right word. "Emotional," she said at last. "But," she added. "They sometimes babied me. I didn't like that. I don't think I'm wholly incompetent."

"Mm. You seem different."

"Different? How?"

"I'm not sure, just less wound up. Like there's less pressure inside you. You're more relaxed. I think going home was a good thing for you, despite your trepidation."

"I guess so. I had forgotten how much I missed it ... and her," she added after a moment.

"Yes, we take them for granted sometimes."

"Do you have someone?"

"Stan."

Stan? If Marilla ever thought about Giuseppe in someone's loving arms that person was not called Stan. "Tell me about him."

Marilla could hear Giuseppe's voice relax as he described his lover; the man was obviously besotted. Stan was Canadian, they had met on vacation some years earlier and Giuseppe had followed him home. When he had finished, Giuseppe asked Marilla about Rachel. That was a long story and one Marilla did not usually share with strangers, but she trusted him implicitly. She told him the full story omitting the method of Thomas' death, but it was hard to pretend she was anything less than delighted at his demise.

"And then she moved in with you?"

"Yes. that's right and we've been together ever since. We went on vacation to Greece last year. That was wonderful. I'm so happy we went there, I have such beautiful memories."

"You are the sort of woman who likes to be in control, I think."

"Mm," Marilla fiddled with her coffee cup but did not drink. Giuseppe watched as the coffee threatened to slosh out.

"And now you are not and it's the end of the world."

"Mm."

"And you have to adjust."

Marilla pushed her chair back its legs complaining at the sudden movement, and stomped away. She stopped after a few paces realising she had left her cane behind and therefore had no idea what was in front of her. She stopped, shuffled forward then stopped again. Giuseppe watched her dispassionately. Marilla turned around silently, arms outstretched but it was obvious she needed help. Another therapist shot a look at Giuseppe who shook his head. Marilla continued to circle but made no progress, she was getting increasingly panicky was no one coming to help her? Eventually she called out, "Giuseppe. Giuseppe!" Casually he made his way over to her and stood near but not touching. Ordinarily she'd sense his presence but in her distress she could not. "Giuseppe!" she shouted. "Help me."

"Okay," he whispered, and she could tell he was close. He reached out his arm and grabbed hold of her feeling her shaking in distress. "I'm sorry to do that to you, but you really are at a point where you need help. Later you will be okay, but you are still learning and right now you need us. There's no point in being too independent okay, just let us help you." Marilla collapsed against his chest and sobbed at the futility of her situation.