Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  He looked at Marianne for a moment, and then bit his lip and stared at his knees. He looked super uncomfortable. But so was Marianne, so she didn’t say anything either. After a few seconds, he stood up—a little tilted toward the exit, in that way that people stand when they’re leaving. “I should probably let you get back inside now,” he said. Well, she had her answer about how he felt about all the match-making.

  Marianne nodded. “Okay. You should probably go inside, too. I think you missed dinner.” Oof. This goodbye scene was super lame and uncomfortable.

  “Right.” Patrick hesitated—barely—and then walked toward the gate.

  “Good night,” she said.

  Patrick waved at her and flipped the latch. He pushed the gate, but it didn’t open.

  Stupid piece of crap. Marianne stepped off the porch to go help him. “Sorry. It’s tricky.”

  “Yeah, it’s stuck,” he said, “I don’t want to break it.” He stepped aside for her.

  Marianne flipped the latch and kicked hard in the right spot. The gate swung open, and she stepped back. “It keeps the burglars out of our backyard.”

  Patrick smiled sideways at her.

  Marianne laughed a little and frowned. “You know—the really short ones without ladders that want to steal...” She looked around the yard for something to steal.

  “Your tangerines?” offered Patrick.

  Marianne nodded. “Those are very valuable.”

  Patrick took a breath. “Do you want to have dinner with me, Marianne?”

  “No,” she said automatically, instinctively, stupidly, defensively, and firmly. Then she blinked. What the hell was wrong with her?

  Patrick nodded once. “Okay, then.” He watched her face for a moment and then smiled and winked at her. “Goodnight, Marianne.”

  He stepped through the gate and started walking between the houses to go home. Marianne stayed frozen in position, watching him leave. What on earth had she just done? Her hand was still on the gate, and everything inside her screamed for him to come back and ask her again.

  He didn’t.

  He went out of sight, and Marianne ran over to the planter and grabbed a small stone. She dragged a patio chair over to the brick wall and stood on it. She could see Danielle just inside the kitchen and chucked the pebble at the window to get her attention.

  Danielle pressed her face to the glass, and then she was outside in an instant. “What happened?”

  “You tell me,” said Marianne, breathlessly. She’d been perfectly calm in Patrick’s presence, but now she was almost gasping. “I just need to know this... What were you doing all night? Were you trying to get us together? Are you forcing him to ask me out again?”

  “Uh...” Danielle looked guilty.

  “Answer the question, Cupid.”

  Danielle put her hands up in surprise. “Wait a minute! He didn’t actually do it, did he?”

  “What does that mean?” cried Marianne in a whisper, her heart shattering. “Is that a yes? Have you been forcing him?”

  “Well, kind of...” she said, looking guilty again. “I’ve been suggesting. I’ll admit that.”

  “And what does he say when you suggest it?”

  “Nuh-uh,” said Danielle, annoyed. “First, you have to tell me what happened.”

  “This is my interrogation!” Marianne smacked her hand down weakly on the top of the wall. “What does he say when you suggest it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar,” said Marianne.

  “Really. He just rolls his eyes and tries to leave the room.” Danielle shrugged.

  “Okay.” Marianne put herself into analyzing mode. She flicked up two fingers. “So, he rolls his eyes. And he leaves the room. What else? I know you—I know that you follow him from room to room. What does he say when you won’t let it drop?”

  “Nothing.”

  “He’s said something; I can see it in your eyes.” Marianne pointed at Danielle’s face. “And you were surprised when you thought he asked me. Why were you surprised?”

  “Are we in junior high, or something?” said Danielle, dodging the question. “Can’t you just leave me out of it?”

  “He said something bad.” Marianne dropped her hand and slumped down. “But I need to know. Whatever it is, I can take it. Just tell me. If you love me, just tell me.”

  Danielle exhaled hard. “I did get him to respond, once. I asked him what the big deal was. It’s just one date; why not just see what happens? He said that it was a big deal because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings again. And he said that if it was clear that you really, really liked him, then he might go out with you.”

  Marianne waited for her to continue. “And?”

  “And that, if you didn’t really like him, then...” she hesitated again. “Then he’d rather be spared the... effort.”

  Marianne held on to her analytic side as hard as she could. “He didn’t use the word effort. What word did he use?”

  Danielle spoke very, very quietly. “Torture.”

  Marianne waited.

  Danielle closed her eyes. “Particular torture. He said, ‘I’d rather be spared that particular torture, thank you.’”

  6

  Vengeance is Mine

  Marianne sat silently in the back seat of the car all the way to church the next morning. She was not in the mood to speak to her parents. Mom had rolled her eyes when she saw that Marianne was going to wear jeans to church. Her dad had scolded her because they’d had to wait for Marianne to finish her makeup before they could leave. If they were any less than fifteen minutes early to church, Dad thought they were late. And they didn’t say anything about her new hair color. She had to bring it up herself and ask them how they liked it. “You always look beautiful, Mary,” was their insipid response.

  Dad parked the car, and they walked up to the glass front doors together. The church was a converted office building, located in a strip mall. It wasn’t exactly inspiring to behold, no arches, or stained glass or statues. But, you know, they had a flagpole and stuff, so it was cool. The usher handed them bulletins when they walked in. “Morning James. Missed you at choir practice.”

  Dad shook hands with him. “Hi, Sam. Yeah, I had to work.” Sam’s indulgent smile made Marianne want to turn around and leave again. He had that look in his eyes like Dad needed to repent because he’d chosen work over choir practice. Pharisee.

  Marianne noticed Mom looking past her at something across the room. She turned her head and saw that Patrick was standing over by the sanctuary doors, speaking to one of the other ushers. Marianne whined internally. She’d forgotten that he’d probably be coming to this church with his sister now. Danielle was near him, pretending to listen, but actually fixing her hair in the reflection from the window.

  Mom leaned over to her. “Mary, who’s that boy with Danielle?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Oh, her brother. What’s his name again?”

  “Patrick.”

  “He’s cute.”

  “Motherrrrr.”

  “I’m serious. He is so handsome.” Mom was openly staring. If Patrick looked over, he’d notice right away, and then Marianne would have to murder her own mother. Marianne opened her bulletin and tried to pretend Mom wasn’t there.

  “What, Marianne? Don’t you think he’s cute?”

  “Yeah, mom. He’s super cute.” Now would she please shut up? Mom was obsessed with Marianne finding a boyfriend. Marianne had never told her about Dark Lord Alvin, for obvious reasons.

  Mom nudged her in the ribs. “You should go talk to him.”

  “I have talked to him.”

  “I mean right now.”

  “No. Stop it.”

  Mom raised her eyebrows at her. “Okay fine, I’ll do it for you.”

  How dare she dare her like that! “You’re bluffing.”

  “Watch me, Marianne.” Mom took a step.

  “Don’t you do it. I will kill myself if you go over ther
e.”

  Mom shrugged. “Go for it.”

  “I will purposely get myself knocked up if you go over there,” said Marianne.

  Snorting loudly, Mom held up her hands in surrender. “Fine, if it bothers you so much, I won’t.”

  “Really?” Marianne squinted.

  “He lives next door,” whispered Mom, smiling hugely. “I’ll have plenty of chances later.”

  “I hate you.”

  The three of them sat down on a cushioned pew near the back. A bunch of kids that Marianne had gone to Sunday school with played rock-style songs for the service, just not exactly at the same speed. A minute later, Patrick and Danielle came in, but Danielle’s husband wasn’t with them. Mom started waving them over, and even though Marianne kicked her in the shin, she didn’t stop. Marianne and her parents scooted down the bench to make room. Danielle walked right over and sat next to Marianne. Patrick followed and smiled at Marianne before he sat down on the other side of his sister.

  Mom noticed it and pinched Marianne in the arm. She was unstoppable. Marianne considered telling Mom about how Patrick had already asked her out twice and how he didn’t really like her, etc. That thought didn’t last long. Yuck. Besides, Marianne was pretty sure that the Dark Lord would agree to get her knocked up if she asked him.

  “Where’s Michael?” Marianne asked Danielle. She didn’t have to whisper because of the blaring electric guitars.

  “At home, playing sick.” Danielle never believed anything her husband said; especially when he said he was sick. But then, he did kind of lie a lot. Michael was a good guy, though, and his lies were usually rather wimpy crimes. No, I didn’t write any checks—Yes, I changed the baby—I don’t know where those bottles came from. Stuff like that.

  After the songs, the pastor had the congregation open up to First Corinthians 13. The Love chapter. Marianne never liked sermons on this passage. Love is patient; love is kind. Love is never jealous or rude. Love never wears dirty underwear or forgets to brush its teeth. Seriously, that had to be the most depressing portion of the whole Bible.

  There were lots of scriptures like that one—full of little built-in annoyances. Not that she didn’t love God; she did. Marianne loved God, she just happened to still be human. And a perfect God tends to inspire downright despair in His sin-plagued children. Plus, pastors were always telling everyone to highlight that passage, and Marianne hated marking up her bible. She prepared herself for the onslaught by hiding her pen in the middle of Judges. Sorry, can’t underline it—no pen.

  Marianne was surprised when Pastor Jeff started reading right out of the gate. He usually had to squeeze the scriptures in at the end after he’d told all his hilarious stories. Well, he thought they were hilarious, anyway.

  “‘Now we see things imperfectly as in a poor mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God knows me now,’” said the pastor. “Now, I never do this, but I want to just pause here and tell you a story. I was back in college—oh, about 1971, I think...” Ah, there he goes.

  Just then, a Sunday School helper cracked open the side door and beckoned to Danielle. Wolverine had bitten someone again, no doubt. Danielle slipped out of the room, but she came back within twenty seconds and started whispering something in Patrick’s ear. At first, he looked concerned. Then he looked horrified. He tried to get up, but she pinned him back down with her laser eyes. Danielle grabbed her purse from under the pew and left.

  Marianne immediately slid over next to Patrick. Being close to him was the last thing she wanted, but if there was an emergency, she wanted to know. “What happened?” she whispered.

  He bent down and spoke in her ear. “Beth threw up in class. She’s going home now with all the kids.” Apparently, Michael was sick after all. “All, except the baby.”

  Marianne turned her head and raised her eyebrows.

  Patrick frowned and pointed to himself.

  Marianne snickered at him.

  She turned to slide back, but Mom had stacked her bible, her purse, her jacket, and two hymnals in Marianne’s seat. Unbelievable. Marianne scooted over as far as she could anyway, crushing the pile between them. Mom didn’t look over, even when one of the hymnals fell to the floor with a loud thunk. Marianne tried to glare at her, but Mom pretended she didn’t see. Marianne counted to ten, and her mother still didn’t so much as blink. Twenty... thirty... forty, nothing. Marianne wasn’t listening to the sermon, but she knew it wasn’t that good. Stubborn, huh? Well, Marianne could be stubborn. Forget what the people behind her thought. She’d stare until the very last amen.

  At ninety seconds, Mom coughed. At ninety-seven, Marianne thought she saw a momentary twitch of her lips. By a hundred and ten, Mom had her eyes closed.

  At precisely the two-minute mark, Mom started to shake. She still had her eyes closed and had to cover her face with her hands. Gotcha. Marianne was satisfied. She turned her attention back to the speaker.

  Mom tried to control herself for a while. Marianne could hear her taking deep, unsteady breaths, but before long she had to get up and leave.

  Marianne peeked over at Patrick, but he wasn’t looking their way. She hoped all of that had gone unnoticed by him, that he hadn’t been able to see around her. Doubtful. But at least he wouldn’t have known why it was happening.

  When the service ended, Dad turned to Marianne and sighed. “I guess we’d better go find your mother.”

  The guilt started to creep in on her then. Her poor dad, always getting humiliated by his insane wife and daughter. She purposely didn’t turn around to see if Patrick was still there. Dad gathered up all of his and Mom’s stuff, and Marianne followed him to the back of the room, where he held the door open for her. “Mary...”

  “Yeah?” She forced herself to look at his face.

  He winked.

  As they all walked out to the car about ten minutes later, Mom didn’t seem mad at all. Biding her time, apparently. They got in and drove slowly, windows down, toward the exit of the parking lot. A few aisles down, a mighty wailing reached their ears. Dad pulled up behind where Patrick’s truck was parked and yelled out the window. “Did you pinch that kid or something?”

  Patrick smiled at Dad, but underneath he looked ready to punch something. He was holding the screaming, writhing baby in one arm and a car seat in the other. “I can’t figure out how to get the seat in. My sister just left it in the bed of the truck.”

  Mom turned around in her seat. “Go help him.”

  “Why don’t you go?”

  “I haven’t used a car seat in almost twenty years. I don’t know how.”

  “Liar.”

  “Go. Now.”

  There was no arguing with that tone. Marianne rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seat belt.

  Monkey Baby screeched and lunged for her as she walked up to them. “One minute, baby,” she said, patting his back. “Let me get your chair in first.” She took the seat from Patrick and put it on the truck’s back seat. She climbed in and started adding slack to the lap belt.

  “We’re running late for lunch,” Dad yelled over the baby. “You think you can drive our girl home, Patrick?”

  Marianne banged her head on the roof as she stuck her head out. “Dad, this will only take a minute.”

  “We gotta go, sweetie,” said Dad, smiling.

  “You don’t gotta go anywhere.”

  Dad ignored her and turned to Patrick. “You’ll get her home safe, right?”

  Patrick looked uncertainly at Marianne. “Um...”

  “Thanks, son.” Dad put the car in gear and started to inch away.

  Marianne stood up on the running board, holding on to the top of the door. She looked Dad right in the eyes, and mouthed, “NO.”

  “Bye, Mary,” called Mom, laughing hysterically from the passenger seat.

  And then they were gone. Wow. Mom was the Master. Angry as Marianne was, she was st
ill impressed. She finished securing the car seat and got out. “Okay, Monkey. Ready to go bye-bye?” She held out her arms to him and he went to her immediately.

  “He hates me,” said Patrick.

  Marianne stroked the baby’s cheek and rocked him for a minute to calm him down. “He hates all men, even Michael. Danielle should have known better.”

  “Nah, I’m a scary guy. And she just needed a free hand to take care of Beth.”

  “Still,” said Marianne, not in the mood to give anyone any grace.

  Patrick just shook his head.

  Marianne put the baby in his seat and buckled him in, and Patrick started the engine. She hesitated after she finished—she didn’t know where to sit. Maybe she should call a taxi.

  “Don’t even think about it,” said Patrick. “Just come sit in the front seat.”

  “What?”

  “You were about to get out and walk home. Don’t deny it; I see how your brain works.”

  “That’s creepy,” mumbled Marianne. She ran around the back of the truck and then made a scene of climbing her way up to the passenger seat. It took three tries, and she had to use the ceiling handle. It was a mess.

  In awkward moment number two, she soon discovered she had nowhere to place her feet because the floor was stacked a foot high with all sorts of colored cables and greasy tools.

  Patrick was already pulling the truck out, but he stopped when he saw her legs curled up in front of her. “Oh, shoot. Sorry. Let me put those in the back.”

  “No, don’t bother,” said Marianne, folding herself into a cross-legged position on the seat. “I’m fine.”

  Patrick laughed uncomfortably and drove out of the parking lot. Marianne studied the tools underneath her. They were a good conversation starter, and she wanted to act like last night hadn’t bothered her at all. “What do you do?” she asked.

  “Electrician.”

  “Oh, neat.”

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  Patrick shrugged. “No, it’s fine. Work is work. What do you do?”