Chapter 21 Showing Up
I sleepwalk through the next couple of days. Every time I see Diane or another staff member, their hollowed-out expressions mirror my own. The news doesn’t seem to have picked up the story yet, but I am sure that the murders were part of Asmodeus’s greater plan.
On Friday, after the last patient has left, there’s an all-hands meeting. Our director wants to talk about her concerns as we head into the last two weeks of Forty Days.
“The arson incident already put us in the red,” Geeta says. “And then there’s the awful matter of the shooting in Texas. It’s horrific. You all are doing amazing work on a day-to-day basis. I really couldn’t ask for more. But one more incident, and the clinic will have to shut down.”
“Could we fundraise off the arson?” my boss asks.
I’m surprised to see him in person, since he’s a completely remote worker.
To be honest, I thought he had moved to Wisconsin.
“I’m sure we can bring in community donations and maybe even get national reach with a social media campaign.
Perhaps we can fundraise for Lauren Martin’s family as well. ”
Every once in a while, there’s a boost of funding through various independent clinic networks, usually when the GOP and their puppet courts have done something especially heinous, but most of the money ends up with Planned Parenthood.
They’re out there doing issue work and lawyering that we can’t, but they ultimately provide only about a third of abortions.
We desperately need funding to keep going, but we don’t have the same reach.
Geeta shakes her head. “The police won’t call it arson, so we can’t either unless we want to piss off insurance. And I think we should distance ourselves from our role in the shooting, terrible as that sounds.”
“She didn’t die because of us,” Dr. Levy says.
She sounds angry. “I’ve lost patients on the operating table, and I’ve blamed myself plenty.
So each of you better believe me when I say it is not a single person in this room’s fault.
It is her boyfriend’s fault first and foremost, and all the terrible people who inspired him second.
” The room falls silent. “Do you hear me?” Dr. Levy repeats.
Aaron’s standing behind her, since we don’t have enough chairs.
He looks vaguely like her bodyguard. “It is a tragedy. We are all mourning. But it is not our fault. We cannot carry it as if it is. We tried our best to help her.”
“That’s another thing,” Geeta says. “You all need time off to recover from this stress. We could close and plan to reopen after Easter.” She says it so quickly I know that’s why she called the meeting in the first place.
“I know two weeks is a long time. But canceling two weeks of appointments is better than canceling them all, isn’t it? ”
Geeta is pretty hands-off as a director, and we’re all grateful that she invested in the clinic as a passion project, but she doesn’t know this place the way we do. We all look around, not wanting to be the first to shoot the idea down.
It’s Diane who speaks up. “We can’t close.
You give them an inch and they’ll take it all.
They’ll keep going past Easter. It will never be over.
They’re terrorists. We can’t close out of fear or they’ll have won.
And as for our mental health—I won’t lie, this is hard.
But what about our patients? Who are we to prioritize ourselves over them?
” It’s an unhealthy way of thinking, we all know it.
And yet we all nod along. We’re here for a reason.
“That’s hundreds of women,” Dr. Levy says.
“Hundreds of patients who won’t get care, a substantial portion of whom will never receive care.
There are countless studies showing that if the first appointment falls through, patients won’t reschedule or find another option.
And what about the people who are already in their second trimester? Two weeks is the whole ballgame.”
“We’re under scrutiny from our local alderman and other groups,” Geeta says. “Closing would show that we are taking their concerns seriously.”
Closing the clinic would mean more time to figure out what to do about my little demon situation. I flash a glance at Aaron, who is staring at me intently. If I back up Geeta and suggest that volunteers want closure, the idea might get more consideration at the very least.
I also want time to collect myself because I’m lazy and scared, but there’s no guarantee at all that two whole weeks will make me any better.
“I agree with Dr. Levy and Diane,” I say. “Our escorts are still showing up, despite everything. Our patients are showing up. We can’t be the ones to give in. If our alderman has a problem with abortion clinics, nothing is going to change his mind.”
Geeta spreads her hands. “All right, I hear you. I’ll have a conversation with the police precinct captain about having someone keep an eye on this place. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“We appreciate it,” Dr. Levy says. “Our job is to keep our patients safe. And that’s what we’re going to do.”
JJ is waiting for me outside the clinic when the meeting is over. I only realize Aaron’s behind me when they both startle upon seeing each other. It would be funny at any other time, but instead it makes me want to cry. And something seems off about JJ—I can’t quite read her.
“Can I talk to you?” Aaron says softly behind me, but I gesture him to go away and pull JJ aside.
“Are you okay?”
She’s shivering. “Fine, sorry. Just recovering from food poisoning.”
“Well, you should be resting,” I say. “You’re shaking.”
“There’s something I need to tell you, Nish. I’m scared.” She clams up, and for a bleak moment I wonder if she’s been threatened before she adds, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask.
“That day, with the fire, I…”
I grab her hand. “JJ, it’s okay. There’s no way you could have known. Nothing you could have done.”
“You should leave here,” JJ says. “It’s not safe.”
“I know. If you want to stop being an escort, I understand.”
“Seriously.” JJ sounds more confident now. “My family can help you find a new job.”
“Uncle Gary?” I ask with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but fear flickers across her face. “I’m kidding, JJ. If it will make you feel better, I can talk to someone.”
“You promise?” JJ perks up.
“Only if you go home and get into bed,” I tell her.
“Thank you. Thank you! I’ll text you,” JJ says.
As she leaves, Aaron comes up behind me. “That was weird.”
“Were you listening in?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “But JJ seemed… not herself.”
“You don’t know her that well,” I point out. “But yeah, she’s shaken up about what happened.”
“You would know better than me,” he says easily. “Anyways, I thought we should talk. You’ve been avoiding me, and I… I’m sorry about how I left things last time. Can we go somewhere more private?”
A few days ago, I might have jumped at the opportunity to talk to him, to try to catch any information he might let slip.
Determine his true loyalties. Now, the idea is exhausting.
What would I even say? I have no emotional capacity for this conversation.
I look back over my shoulder at the clinic.
It seems small, weak. I move closer, touch my hand to the brick.
The same brick I’ve leaned against and stared at for years.
It’s still here, still standing, despite everything.
“Nisha?” Aaron calls after me, but I don’t answer. “Nisha?” he tries again.
I glance at Aaron, and he looks absolutely ordinary. I brace myself against the wind and trudge home.
On Saturday, Shreya texts me.
You still good for today?
So much has happened since we last spoke that I forgot about our plans. Still, I have time for a coffee a couple of blocks away, since I’m already at the clinic. I wonder how much of the story I can tell her. I don’t know her well enough, to be honest, but perhaps one of her books has an answer.
Definitely
I’ll swap you clinic swag for a book or two!
I grab a clinic-branded tote bag and add to it a water bottle and some stickers from the closet, relics from the days right after Roe fell when various businesses offered merch to abortion clinics as though that was the kind of support we needed.
I push down the unexpected wave of anger that passes through me.
The country needs systemic change, not fucking water bottles that go out of vogue every year according to the whims of TikTok.
I wave goodbye to Diane and walk past the clamoring protesters, still bubbling hot with fury.
The urge to scream back has never been stronger, even though they’re being downright tame now that it’s lunchtime.
They know we schedule abortion patients in the morning, and most will probably head home soon.
Steve glares at me, and I find myself taking two steps toward him before stopping myself.
“Don’t you have hobbies?” I shout, even though I know better.
“Stalker! Freak!” he shouts back, but there’s no venom in his voice. He seems shocked that I said anything at all. I am, too, my pulse throbbing in my ears. I force myself to turn away and train my eyes on the pavement so that I won’t take the bait.
Shreya’s waiting in the café when I get there, and I order a drink at the counter before joining her.
We exchange a little side hug because we’re not exactly sure where we stand and then sit in awkward silence for several seconds.
Finally I reach for the tote and hand it to her at the same time as she pulls out a stack of books, and we both laugh.
“Sorry, I’m a bit rusty at… coffee,” I offer.
“Trust me, this is already better than most coffees with academics,” she says. “Anyways, I grabbed a couple of books on demonology that you probably wouldn’t be able to find elsewhere. Hopefully it can provide a distraction from all the…”
“Treatment of women like baby factories?” I fill in.