Epilogue
One Year Later
The beach is pristine. Unlike the closest beach to me in NYC, there aren’t Band-Aids or other suspicious pieces of trash floating around.
The water is so clear I can see not only the fish that swim by me, but also my toes wriggling through the sand on the ocean floor.
The sun warms my shoulders until they are hot, and then I sit in the cool water for pleasant relief.
Back on the shore, a man offers me an ice-cold coconut, cracked open with a straw poking out.
Coconut water in its freshest form and at a fraction of the cost of what’s available in the new health food stores cropping up everywhere back in NYC.
I accept it gratefully. My parents are lying next to me in beach chairs, looking perfectly calm, as they too take in the view.
I tried to tell Ammi I didn’t think Thathi should travel.
And for the millionth time, Ammi assured me he was fine and quite sassily snapped at me that they are just old, not dead.
And now, looking at both of them, smiling away, I know that Thathi is in fact perfectly healthy, with maybe a few more gray hairs and lower back pain that comes with aging.
I’ve been so used to remembering my parents in their prime, I can’t pretend anymore that each year doesn’t bring on a spate of new ailments.
It made sense for us to get out of the house while all the extensive repairs are being done.
It’s amazing what a modest civil lawsuit against the police for a wrongful arrest can do.
It’s a life-changing amount to us, and as a result we’re getting the roof replaced, new plumbing done, and a paint job.
The contractor said there would be a lot of dust kicked up that would irritate Ammi’s allergies, and so I happily suggested we leave for Sri Lanka, a trip years in the making.
My cab is safely in Alex’s state-of-the-art garage with a new crystal clear divider.
No one is getting murdered or even puking in the back seat without my full knowledge.
I have my LSAT book in my lap, and I find the logic puzzles genuinely interesting, which may mean I have a personality defect.
(Who likes tests?) I haven’t decided whether I will apply to law school.
Driving my taxi part-time and working as an investigator with Amaya is keeping me quite busy.
The public defender’s office needed more investigators, and Amaya put in a good word for me, and before I knew it, I was helping her with her cases in an official capacity.
I like working with her, and we usually enjoy a meal together wherever the investigations takes us.
I’ve introduced Amaya to Nepalese food, and she introduced me to a new Jamaican spot that just opened.
We both love to eat, apparently a requirement for any friend of mine.
And in a particularly bittersweet moment, I moved out of my parents’ place and into my own small studio. For the first time in my life, I won something—the affordable housing lottery—and the leftover money from the lawsuit helped cover the first couple of months’ rent.
Alex and I are doing better, having put a lot of work into our friendship—reminding me that friendships, like many things in life, require constant thought and care.
After weeks of protracted negotiations, Alex avoided a conviction and jail time in exchange for his testimony against Brett.
Alex did lose his job because of all the bad press, but he’s getting back on his feet.
I can say for the first time in a while that I’m happy. I’m back in Sri Lanka with my parents. I close my eyes when my phone beeps. It’s a text from Amaya.
Hope you’re enjoying vacation. When you’re back there’s an investigation I need your help with.
I pick up my phone and type back.
Can’t wait.