Page 52 of The Edge of Summer
Instead of just scrubbing the cameras on the inside, I scrubbed them all. My hands tighten on the steering wheel and my jaw clenches as I pull into the body shop’s parking lot. It’s my fault that we have no idea who spray painted her car.
I park my truck off to the side, and then I hop out and head toward Delilah’s car. When I open the door for her to get out, she gives me a quizzical look. Like she can’t believe that I would help her out of her car. Before she can say anything, her phone starts to ring. The distraction saves me from having to explain why opening her door wasn’t even a conscious thought.
“It’s Sophia’s sitter,” she says. “Just give me a couple minutes.”
I nod. She steps away to take the call, and I head for the building. The smell of motor oil and metal assaults me as I step through the open bay door at O’Donnell’s Auto. A familiar voice lets out an equally familiar curse, and then the man in question slides out from under the body of a minivan.
This version of my friend is worlds apart from the scrawny, baby-faced Finn I knew in high school. Back then, he was the happiest of our group, and he did whatever he could to make people laugh. We had no idea what he was dealing with at home. Now this version of Finn is hardened. The years he spent in prison chipped away at him until he was unrecognizable to those who knew him before. He barely smiles, and he only speaks when strictly necessary.
As he approaches, Finn pulls a rag from his back pocketand wipes his palms. The rag, like his hands, is covered in ink black oil. The colour matches the tattoos that wrap around all his extremities.
“Hey, O’Donnell,” I say.
He nods. “Bowman.”
I have the urge to reach out a hand for him to shake, but Finn doesn’t like to be touched. So I keep my hand to myself. “I brought you another job.”
He peers over my shoulder and then raises a brow. “This that car with the busted headlight again?”
“Yeah,” I say, “but it’s not the headlight this time.”
I lead him out to the car and around the driver’s side. As Finn studies the paint, he plucks the cigarette from behind his ear and then lights up. He sends a puff of smoke in my direction as he exhales.
“I’m sure the girl would like you just fine if you played nice instead of spending hundreds on car repairs,” he says eventually. His lips curve upwards in a wry smirk, the closest thing he can manage to a genuine smile these days.
I roll my eyes. “Fuck off. You know it’s not about that.”
“And he’s not paying,” Delilah chimes in. “Hi, I’m Delilah. Are you the guy who fixed my headlight?”
As he takes another drag of his cigarette, he does a once-over of Delilah. His eyes linger a little too long on her legs for my liking. I clear my throat and he straightens, looking smug.
“I am,” he says.
Delilah smiles, unfazed by his brusque nature. Then again, she’s used to dealing with me. “Thank you! You can’t even tell it was damaged. I really appreciate it.”
Finn shifts uncomfortably, like the praise makes his skinphysically itch. That, or the lengthy conversation. I decide that now is probably the best time to intervene.
“Do you think you can get this fixed?” It’s an unnecessary question. I know he can.
“Leave it. I’ll get it done.”
He turns on his heel and walks back into the shop without waiting for us, his cigarette still dangling between his fingers. Delilah and I glance at each other, and then we follow. Finn throws his dirty rag onto a workbench in the corner, and then he takes Delilah’s keys from her outstretched hand.
He doesn’t offer anything else. I don’t push. I know better than to expect more of a conversation out of him. Prison changed him irrevocably, and in the years since his release, I’ve only seen him retreat further into himself.
Delilah, on the other hand, pays no mind to his silent signals for us to leave. “Can I ask when it’ll be done?”
Finn’s jaw tightens, like it pains him to have to answer. “My uncle’s out with a bad back. I’m flying solo, so it’s gonna be a few days.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” she says. “I can just bring it back when you have time.”
“No,” I say.
Her sharp gaze lands on me. “Excuse me? Why can’t I just keep it until he’s not busy?”
“You’re not driving that car, Delilah.”
She crosses her arms. “What if I need to get somewhere?”
