Page 15 of The Sharpest Edges

She picked up her car from the shop, drove it ten miles home without incident, and parked it in the driveway where it continues to put a dent in the concrete. Only now she’s watching the drip, drip, drip of oil from the underside hit the ground with a disgruntled frown.

Whatever they did to repair one thing broke something else. Her first thought, when she’d seen that long stain travel to the end of her driveway, wasn’t how upset she was about another repair. Her first thought was Dean and how she should crawl under there with her phone and snap a few pictures to present to him later.

Of course, that would be stupid. Calling the shop to demand they fix it is the only right option. And she still might do that, if the irresponsible part of her that whispers in her ear about this being an opportunity would kindly shut the hell up.

When she showed him the photos before, it offered him a chance to feel useful, to think of something beyond the prisonbars and forget for a moment that he’s trapped in there for half a year. If she can offer that distraction again, why wouldn’t she? Sure, there’s the pesky detail about breaking one of the few rules they have in place, but since when did anyone at work give a shit about those?

Screw it. She crawls under the car in her sweatpants and snaps those forbidden pictures, getting a nice close-up of the source of the drip and only narrowly missing a splatter of oil to the face in the process.

Ava crawls back out, wiping the grime from her pant legs with a sigh, and pops open the hood to capture photos of that too. Just in case. At least this thing has one positive purpose, it can be a long-distance project for one of the inmates. She wrinkles her nose at how wrong that sounds even in her head. If they were on the outside she’d never bother Dean with this. It would feel like taking advantage of someone’s time and asking for free service, but now it feels less like a bother when he has nothing but time and little to fill it.

Her neighbor appears with an eager wave and Ava suppresses a cringe. The moment she allows any conversation, Mrs. Nelson will attempt to shove a kitten at her again and there is no chance she’s taking one. She can’t be responsible for something so small and fragile. That innocent creature deserves a better chance in life than ending up with her.

She abandons the car, escapes her neighbor, and heads back inside to distract herself with terrible Netflix shows in an attempt to avoid fixating on her slip of the tongue the last time she saw Dean.

“When I could see you on the outside instead. Stupid,” she mumbles to herself.

As if he would have any desire to see her on the outside.It’s only her mind playing tricks on her, pointing her toward the one man she’s felt any sort of interest in since those first stirrings of desire formed for John decades ago. Back when he was charming, sweet, and easy to like. Before the mask dropped and she saw who John really was. By then, it was too late.

‘No one else will ever love you but me.’

‘Only good for one thing and you can’t even do that right.’

‘Stupid, ugly, useless. Can’t stand to look at you.’

She won’t make that mistake again.

Even if Dean turns out to be different, she is only kidding herself to assume he’s interested. Still, it’s difficult to deny that he has filled most of her waking thoughts lately. She wonders what he’s doing back in the pod, if the others have left him alone by now, and if he’s eaten enough. All pointless pondering that she never has about the other inmates. She doesn’t bring work home with her and the fact that it’s become a problem now is something she’d discuss with that non-existent therapist she hasn’t hired yet.

Not today. No, she won’t be hiring anyone today, instead she’ll continue thinking about how she hasn’t seen Dean for a week. His previous two visits fell on her off days and the one before that got rescheduled due to an emergency with a different inmate. She worries that she’ll find him ten pounds thinner and even more disheveled after all this time.

It’s hard to see how the others treat him and do nothing, but he insisted that telling someone would only make it worse and maybe he’s right. There’s a different set of rules in there and being a snitch would only enlarge the target on his back. Still, she feels awful, especially now that she knows he doesn’t deserve any of it. That is, if she takes his explanation for whatlanded him in prison at face value, and she does. She believed him right away, and that’s either because he’s easy to trust or because she really is as dumb as John always said.

So, she verified his story with Greg, since trusting her own judgment doesn’t come easy. When he confirmed that Dean was telling the truth, it felt like a blessing and a curse. Part of her hoped he lied. It would be easier to dismiss him outright and assume him like all the others. It’s so much harder to do that now that her initial reaction to him being safe is validated.

He isn’t a killer. He isn’t violent. He is a normal person in an unfortunate situation and this all would have been so much easier if he were a lying career criminal.

They are just friends, she reminds herself. Nothing more. He could use one and she could, too. She doesn’t imagine any of her friends with their faces pressed between her legs, though, and that’s exactly the image she conjured up of Dean the last time she made use of her vibrator. It’s unfair to him and herself and she won’t do it again. She only felt guilty afterward. It’s a new thing, these flickering embers of desire. Lain dormant for so long, she thought them long dead, but they sprung up like those flowers through the prison fence, full of hope that she might not be as broken as she feared.

* * *

Today will be the first time she’s seen Dean in a week and she’s already overthinking what to bring him. She spent way too long at the cafe she goes to for lunch, standing in line and staring at the menu, wondering what he’d want. It is calm and cozy with dark woods and soft chairs, plenty of places to tuckaway into a corner with only her phone for company.

It’s peaceful, except today she feels no peace. Only anxiety about what to feed a man who isn’t hers and who she shouldn’t be feeding. She finally settles on a turkey sandwich with all the fixings. It’s her favorite and on the off chance he’s already eaten, she’ll save this for her dinner tonight.

The bag feels like a ten-pound weight with a blaring siren attached the entire way back to work until she places it in the mini-fridge beside vials of medication, hidden like contraband.

When Ava sees him again, he looks better. Much better. There’s color in his cheeks and the hollowness of his eyes has evened out. He’s not on the road to starvation like she feared, and that’s a welcome revelation that settles her nerves.

She watches as he’s secured to the railing before Nick disappears down the hall. “How are you today, Dean?”

“Good. Really good. Been eating every meal again.” There’s an embarrassed edge to his tone mixed with relief at having good news.

“That’s great but—”

“But why? Why’d they back off? Honestly, I ain’t got a clue. Don’t feel like it’s over, but right now I’m getting served in line and that’s all I care about. If something else happens later I’ll deal with it then.”

She nods, letting the corners of her mouth turn up in agreement. “We won’t question good fortune. I brought you something, just in case, but if you’re not hungry…”

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