Chapter 26 Day One
Dr. Levy’s funeral is the day before Easter.
Day forty. We all go, and I recognize some of our patients in attendance as well.
The place is crowded, but we’re protected by private security hired by the clinic’s donors.
The clinic itself is closed for the foreseeable future, but we’ve already raised enough money to reopen, in time.
A lot of the money is going to Dr. Levy’s family.
I hang in the back. I know it’s not my fault that she’s dead, that the shooting would have happened without the magic or the demons. But her family is now in mourning because Dr. Levy tried to save her patients, tried to save me. And, as I had always feared, I couldn’t save her back.
Her family couldn’t bury her until they got permission, which I know they were upset about—they wanted to do it within the twenty-four hours prescribed by the Torah, but the feds got involved.
Once they finally paid attention to us, they were able to piece together the conspiracy in hours.
People volunteered to be martyrs and targeted us because we’re a smaller operation.
There was no other reason, just dumb luck and hatred.
And then, of course, the feds dropped the case because they didn’t care about anything beyond avoiding the bad press of not investigating at all.
JJ certainly won’t face any consequences, despite her role in everything.
Her daddy knows some prosecutors and judges.
She’s on house arrest awaiting potential state charges, but I’ve heard she’s claiming that I forced her to get involved in the clinic, that we set her up to take the fall for the conspiracy.
She’ll probably be a senator one day. It’s hard to stomach that it was someone I trusted who did this.
It’s hard, too, to know that she tried to save me. But I’ll move on.
One of the schoolchildren was shot during the stampede.
Their parents have been saying god healed their child, a miracle they earned because their side was so righteous.
The other protesters who got hurt have been saying the same.
It was me. It wasn’t a conscious choice, but given one, I would have unmade their wounds again.
Everyone in the clinic who saw what happened kept their mouth shut.
Steve even gave a vaguely positive statement about us to the police and the press, before saying that he would be outside Planned Parenthood next Saturday.
The part of Muya’s magic I burned through appears to be gone for good.
It’s a relief for me not to shoulder that weight anymore, but Muya is understandably taking it much harder—a piece of him will never return.
It’s not even been a week, though. He’ll survive.
Yesterday I showed him a documentary about the Indian independence movement and he cried a little bit.
Weirdly, I think we’re going to be friends.
And one day, knowing him, he will find another woman to gift even his diminished power to.
I don’t know how I’ll feel a week from now, but the fog in my mind has cleared.
I’m going to go back to work as soon as I can.
I’m going to write applications for law school.
I’m going to stick around Chicago. I’m going to make these assholes pay.
For Dr. Levy. For Aai. For Shreya and the desi community who showed up for me and even for Aaron. For myself.
I haven’t yet done enough to be satisfied with my life, but I have decades ahead of me.
I remember Dr. Levy telling me that she asked herself every day if she was enough.
I hope she knew she was, that her life meant a whole hell of a lot even if she couldn’t accomplish every single goal she hoped to.
She was important. She changed the world, even if most people will never know her name.
At her funeral, they repeat the saying she once recited to me, and I learn it’s from Jewish scripture.
Whoever saves a life has saved the whole world.
It gives me peace to know that Dr. Levy found meaning in it. I find meaning in it, too.
Of course, there are protesters outside Dr. Levy’s funeral, because they’re just that pro-life.
I think some of them are a bit disappointed that the rest of us didn’t die, too.
But the clinic staff stood outside, blocking the protesters and ushering the mourners inside, just like always.
Dr. Levy loved her work and died the way she lived—saving lives.
The only way to honor that is to continue on.
Tomorrow, I’ll go to the lake. Even though it’s still freezing, I’ll strip down and let the wind whip around me. I’ll hesitate for a moment, then take the plunge.
I might panic and forget what to do. I’ll probably think about sinking.
But then, I’ll kick my legs. I’ll reach up. I’ll surface and see the shore. I’ll take a deep breath, and the cold air will invigorate me.
I will remember how to swim.