Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  “What’s it like, being the only normal one in a group like that?” The way he said normal implied that it was synonymous with sane and stable.

  “Um...” Marianne smiled and looked him in right in the eye to cement her lie as firmly as she could. “It’s weird, of course. I just wear black t-shirts so that I don’t stand out too much.”

  Patrick smiled. “If you ever figure out what’s going on in their heads, you’ve got to tell me. It’s just so...”

  “It’s lame, I know,” said Marianne quickly. “So, anyway... how was your drive?”

  “Super.” He looked up when the coffee came and thanked the waiter. “Dinner at the seven-eleven. They had that monstrous rubber ball in a bin by the register. I couldn’t resist.”

  Marianne kicked off her flip-flop and swung her legs back and forth. She was so glad to have escaped the last topic. “Did you see your sister yet?”

  “No.” Patrick picked up his coffee. “She won’t be speaking to me this week. I’m sure you heard all about it.”

  “She hasn’t said anything.” Marianne was almost hurt; she’d seen Danielle just yesterday. “Did you get in a fight?”

  Patrick put his coffee down and shook his head. In Marianne’s experience, fights with Danielle were usually stupid, but he seemed depressed. Marianne reached across the table toward his hand but didn’t take it. “What happened? You want me to beat her up?”

  “Nuh-uh,” said Patrick. He smiled and moved his hand to cover Marianne’s. “I kind of deserve it, I guess. I answered a call from my mom.”

  Marianne knew that Danielle didn’t like her mother, but this seemed a little petty. “You’re not allowed to talk to your mom?”

  Patrick rolled his eyes at her, visibly annoyed by the word allowed. “Danielle doesn’t care what I do; I’m just not allowed to tell her everything.”

  Marianne got up and sat down on his side of the booth. She bumped him with her hip to scoot him over. “What did you say to her?”

  Patrick drummed his fingers on the table. “I think my exact words were, ‘Mom says she loves you.’”

  Marianne inhaled sharply. “Yeah, Danielle would not like that.”

  Patrick turned in his seat and played with Marianne’s hair. “So she’s talked to you about our mom?” He seemed pleased by the idea of his sister opening up. “That’s good. You’re a good friend for her.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly describe it that way.” Marianne grimaced. She hated to disappoint that sweet face. “I’ve just heard Danielle mention her in passing, a few unguarded comments here and there.”

  “Did she stub her toe or get a flat tire?”

  Marianne had to laugh. Patrick really knew his sister. “I think the washing machine had overflowed.”

  Patrick stared into his coffee. “I knew it.”

  Marianne laid her head against Patrick’s shoulder and asked, softly, “What’s your mom like?”

  Patrick kind of snorted. “What have you heard?”

  Marianne went ahead and told him, though she didn’t think he’d like it much. “That if Danielle had the money, she’d pack up that bastard Whirlpool and ship it to her nasty crackhead mother. And that the two of them would live very happily together. It wasn’t very funny, just weird.”

  Patrick laughed so hard that he had to cover his mouth to keep from spitting his coffee. “Yup. I think you got the gist.”

  “That sucks. I’m sorry.” Marianne picked up her coffee. She looked around at the bright, well-worn restaurant, filled with unsupervised teenagers and other random misfits, and suddenly wanted to leave. Patrick should never have had to hear his mother called a nasty crackhead in a place like this. She felt guilty for asking about it. It was almost obscene. Marianne put her cup down on the table. “Are you ready to go home?”

  Patrick looked up at her and her half-finished coffee, surprised. “Whatever you want.”

  She fingered the edge of her cup. “I don’t care either way. The conversation got a little heavy, and I thought that you might want to split, is all.”

  Patrick shrugged. “I’m fine. You can finish your coffee.”

  Marianne turned away, trying not to look frustrated. Couldn’t she be the unselfish one for once? Heaven forbid he help her out here. Patrick’s stupid mother; all his self-sacrificing was probably her fault.

  Patrick tugged on her sweater. “What’s wrong, Marianne?”

  She looked up, startled. “Nothing.”

  “You look sad.”

  Fricking Marianne! Control your face for once. “No, I’m not sad.” She shook her head. “I was only worried that I made you uncomfortable.”

  “Talking about my mom doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” He pushed her out of the booth and got out after her. “That look on your face does.”

  Way to go, Marianne. Leave it to her to create a situation out of nothing. Marianne felt like a beast. Patrick dropped a tip on the table and towed her by the hand over to the cashier.

  Marianne kept quiet until they were seated in the truck again. Patrick drove out of the parking lot, and Marianne unbuckled her seat belt. She scooted over to the middle seat and sat on her knees facing him. “I didn’t mean to make it all about me, inside. It was an accident.”

  “Um...” Patrick leaned over to her but kept his eyes on the road. “I think that what you’re doing is illegal, sweetie.”

  “I’m a rebel.” Marianne grabbed his arm and shook it. “I’m serious, though! I wanted to be all kind and compassionate, but you turned it around on me.”

  He looked at her excitedly. “You know what would be really compassionate of you?”

  “What? Anything.” Please make it something hard, too. She was aching to suffer.

  “Not flying through the windshield would be very compassionate of you.”

  “Grrr.” Marianne stayed on her knees and snatched up the lap belts. She wondered if anything could ever bother him. She yanked and clanked and did her best to fasten the belts around her. “You. Are. Making. Me. Crazy.”

  Patrick gave her a disapproving look. “You make yourself crazy, girl.”

  He made an excellent point. Marianne glared at him and gritted her teeth. “That is so true.”

  Patrick laughed at her and turned on the radio. How could he just accept all her funkiness so easily? He must have liked it or something. Fine, then... he could have it. Marianne decided to let out her inner freak. “You know what? I do make myself crazy!” she shouted. “I am a complete freak show! I have no friends because I am so spazzy!”

  Patrick raised his eyebrows at the road. “You’re spazzy? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Look at him; he wasn’t even fazed. This was wonderful. “Are you getting this, mister?” She punched him in the arm. “I’m like some sort of fracking comic book villain! You do not belong with me!”

  Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with more giddy ranting. Maybe there was something to this whole honesty thing. “You remember Dark Lord Alvin? And Nana stinking Deathrage?” She stuck a finger into her own chest. “I am their Liege Lord, and they are my minions!”

  Patrick looked at her sideways as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or flee.

  “Pull over!” she shouted. The who-would-break-first game was over.

  He stared at her like a kid getting yelled at by his teacher and obeyed immediately.

  Marianne unclipped her seatbelt as Patrick stopped by the curb of the residential street they were on. She shoved the gearshift into park.

  “Are you getting out?” he asked, totally confused.

  “Nope.” Marianne removed her sweater and tossed it on the floor. “But you’re free to leave if you want.”

  Patrick stared dumbly from her sweater to her tank top. “I’ll stay.”

  “Good.” Marianne bent down, took his face in her hands, and kissed him on the mouth. Patrick sat up immediately and kissed her back, putting his hands behind her head. Marianne let go of his face and unbuckled his seatbelt for him.
Patrick untangled himself from it and turned to face her.

  She put her arms on his shoulders as he kissed her jaw. And then her neck. And then her lips again. Marianne wanted nothing else than to be in his presence for the rest of her stupid life. She inched forward, and Patrick put his hand on her lower back.

  Marianne was the luckiest erratic, irresponsible, and insanely foolish person she knew. He was crazy to have chosen her, of all people. The sweet way he kissed her lips, and her neck, and her collarbone... What had she been thinking just now? She couldn’t remember.

  After three more minutes of that, Patrick pulled himself away and handed Marianne her sweater. “You’d better put that back on,” he said breathlessly.

  “Yeah.” She’d never been in this situation before, but she was certain that he was right. Not that she would have minded... Marianne took the sweater from him and jammed it on. It may have been inside out.

  Patrick sat back against his seat while she buttoned it. He stared out the windshield and said tightly, “The top button, too.”

  Marianne obeyed.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked, still eyes front.

  “Um…” she said.

  Patrick looked at her in terror. He was such a good boy. Marianne cranked up her compassion and put the truck in gear for him. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she didn’t seem to have lost the game after all. Now this was power.

  16

  U-N-L-O-Q-U-A-C-I-O-U-S

  Marianne drove way too fast down her street. It was Friday afternoon, two days after Denny’s, and she was super hyper for some reason. She’d done fine yesterday at school, even though she knew that Patrick was at home, but today had been harder. She’d thought of ditching early, but she was sure that Patrick wouldn’t have liked that. No use coming home to be with him if he was just going to send her back.

  Her cell phone rang as she pulled into the driveway. Marianne turned off the engine and answered. “Hello?”

  “You shouldn’t drive so fast,” said Patrick.

  “What?” Marianne got out of the car and searched the yard for him. “Where are you?”

  “I’m standing in my living room and saw you streak by.”

  Marianne tucked her coat tighter around her and walked up to the house. The weather had become freezing cold over the last few days. Well, freezing for Anaheim—about sixty degrees. “Were you watching for me, or something? That’s kind of stalkerish.”

  “Agreed,” he said. Patrick clucked his tongue. “So, not to get even more stalkerish, but I’m going to kidnap you, okay?”

  “Well, wait... If I agree, it’s not really kidnapping.” Marianne went inside and sat at the table, dumping her stuff on the ground. “Would that ruin it for you?”

  “Oh, definitely. It’s only worth it to me if you come unwillingly.”

  Marianne smiled. “Yikes, you really are sick. No way am I going anywhere with you.”

  “Watch out, Marianne. I know where you live.”

  “Ooh,” she said. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

  “You’re not wearing boots.”

  “Ew.” Marianne jumped up and looked out the kitchen window. “Are you really watching me?”

  Patrick laughed. “You wear the same thing to school every day, dingbat.”

  Marianne looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes in her black sneakers. “Oh, yeah.”

  He laughed at her again. “Go get changed. And Marianne...” he whispered. “Watch your back.”

  Marianne wrinkled her nose and flipped the phone shut without saying goodbye. She quickly changed her clothes and ran outside to go check on Nana before her abduction. She’d taken a few steps across Nana’s lawn when she heard a wolf-whistle behind her. She turned around and saw Patrick crossing his lawn toward her, carrying a twenty-five-pound stand-up kitchen mixer.

  “What are you doing with that?” she asked.

  Patrick walked up to her and mussed her hair with his free hand. “Dan called from Nana’s. She said she needs this right away.”

  “That is a horrible idea.” Marianne stared at the appliance, wondering what sort of tweaker crafting was going on over there. Neither Danielle nor Nana ever baked anything, so it had to be something nefarious. “We’ll have to stay to supervise its usage. Someone will lose a finger if we leave it alone with those two.”

  Patrick shook his head at her. “You have no faith. Dan makes Nana lunch every day. She’s competent.” Nana was perfectly capable of cooking for herself, only she refused to eat anything but chips and ice cream when she had the choice, so Danielle had stepped in.

  “You just wait,” said Marianne. “They’re not making brownies over there. At least not the legal kind.”

  Danielle grabbed the mixer from Patrick as soon as they made it through the door, and without any nasty looks, either. Danielle must have forgiven Patrick for talking to their mom. But that’s how it usually went with her—if she needed something, then the past was the past.

  Danielle looked as frazzled as usual and didn’t even say hello to Marianne. She was too busy yelling. “Just go watch your show, Nana! You’re going to miss finding out who brought the head cooties to school.”

  “It was Kenny. I know it,” mumbled Nana, as she paced around the kitchen. “C-O-O-T-I-E-S. Cooties. C-O-O-”

  “Stop spelling and go sit down, for crying out loud!” shouted Danielle, as she plugged in the mixer.

  Marianne raised her eyebrows at Danielle’s freak out. “What’s going—”

  “She’s spelling again,” huffed Danielle. “I can’t stand it when she’s spelling.”

  “That’s why she does it,” said Marianne, grabbing Nana by the arm and pushing her toward the living room. “She only spells when you’re here.”

  “Shut up, stupid,” snapped Danielle from the kitchen. “What kind of person won’t eat scrambled eggs unless they’re whipped with a three-hundred dollar mixer, anyway?”

  “She eats them when I make them,” shouted Marianne. She deposited Nana on the couch to finish South Park. “You just have to add milk.”

  “For your information, her milk is rotten!”

  Marianne made her way back to the kitchen and leaned against the wall next to Patrick. “You’d better have checked the eggs, then. They might be bad, too.”

  Danielle turned around and gave Marianne her best ghetto stance. “Do I look like an idiot?”

  Patrick pushed off from the wall, partially blocking the view between Marianne and Danielle. “Enough bickering, you two. I’m about to start spelling, myself.”

  Marianne poked him in the back with her finger. “What are you going to spell?”

  “B-E-L-L-I-C-O-S-E. Bellicose.”

  Danielle gave Patrick a dirty look. “Show off.” She poured her eggs into the mixer bowl and then leveled her eyes on Marianne. “How can you stand that?”

  Marianne leaned to the side to look at her and smiled. “Oh, I just don’t listen when he gets all pocket-protector on me.”

  Patrick stepped back swiftly and squashed Marianne against the wall. “Ouch,” whined Marianne, trying to shove him off.

  Patrick pushed back harder. “Did you hear something, Danielle?”

  “Nuh-uh,” she said, flipping on the mixer. “I tune out all such nugacious tones.”

  “Nugacious,” he said. “Very nice. N-U-G-”

  “I can’t breathe,” whispered Marianne.

  Patrick took his weight off her and pulled her around to stand next to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Marianne leaned her face into his shoulder. “What did you do today?” she asked.

  “I was very helpful around the house,” he said, smiling. “I had to distract myself from wanting to go pull you out of class.”

  Marianne pinched him on the arm, smiling into his face. “You always know what I’m thinking.”

  Danielle tossed her bowl roughly into the sink. “You guys wanna take that somewhere else, please?”

&nbs
p; Marianne rolled her eyes and stepped away from Patrick. “I should get Nana’s pills sorted for this week.” She went halfway down the hall and then came back and popped her head into the kitchen. “Hey, Patrick,” she said. “Can you bring Nana down to the salon tomorrow? I need to give her a roller set.”

  Patrick looked at her and something weird flickered across his face. It looked almost like sadness. Almost. He smiled quickly, though, and it was gone. “What time?”

  Marianne sputtered out something. She might have said two o’clock.

  Patrick nodded. “Sounds great.”

  He seemed happy about it now, but Marianne was still worried that she’d been presumptuous of his time. Maybe he had plans. Maybe he just didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want Patrick to sacrifice anything for her. “Actually,” said Marianne, pulling her stare back from the ether. “I’ll just come home at lunch and pick her up. Never mind.”

  “No.” Patrick shook his head. “I want to see your school.”

  Danielle turned around from the frying pan. “No, you don’t,” she said. “Marianne, don’t let him go down there. He’ll freak out and make you wear a HEPA mask to school every day.”

  “Yeah, we have a bit of a black mold problem,” said Marianne, laughing. “But seriously, you don’t want to sit around with a bunch of old ladies under dryers.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, firmly. “I’ll just bring my inhaler. Go finish up so I can abduct you.”

  “You have an inhaler?” Allergies weren’t very Kryptonian.

  Patrick stared at her, blank-faced. “Yeah, I keep it with my pocket protector.”

  “You really have an inhaler?”

  “No.”

  Marianne smiled and left. He really seemed fine. She must have misread him, before. It wouldn’t have been the first time. And Patrick had never planned a date ahead of time, so she decided to take this abduction as proof that he wasn’t sick of her yet. She went into Nana’s bedroom and started plopping pills into the plastic organizer, trying to hurry so they could leave. Her only worry about tonight was the eating issue if they went to dinner.