Sharp Objects

by Gillian Flynn

“She tutored Ann in English and spelling. Your mother and Ann were very close. Ann was very proud she had an adult friend.”

I pictured my mother’s teeth gnashing against each other inside her cheek.

I disliked, someone born and raised plush: looks, charm, smarts, probably money. These men were never very interesting to me; they had no edges, and they were usually cowards.

“Someday I’ll carve my name there.”

A little circle of jagged lines, and within, a ring of perfect skin.

“Her mother used to come into her room in the middle of the night and pinch her when she was a child,”

by this innocent, healthy family refrigerator, so oblivious to the debauchery occurring elsewhere in the house.

She’s not sick, Momma.

A flash of my mother in white, glowing white, holding Natalie with one arm, and a finger up to her mouth to hush James Capisi.