Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  Marianne crossed her arms. “There was nothing to explain.”

  “Okay,” he said. But that was soooo not what he was thinking; she could tell.

  She was about to say something about how he had no right to dictate the timing and manner of her anger when she realized that he hadn’t exactly tried to do that. Not exactly. He’d said he wanted to know how she felt. That…

  Well.

  Yeah, that might be just a bit different.

  He’d asked Marianne how she felt about last night, and she’d lied. He’d asked how she felt about Danielle’s comment, and she’d lied. He was so good at reading her that he must have known she wasn’t telling the truth. Marianne cleared her throat, but couldn’t speak immediately. Geez, it was embarrassing getting caught. “Um,” Marianne stepped up close to him and looked down at her feet, “I have vile communication skills.”

  He snorted. “You’re just now realizing that?”

  Marianne whipped her head up. “Well, you don’t have to be a jerk about it,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I was going to cede the point, but now I’ve changed my mind. I refuse to be bullied into saying things or… Why are you laughing at me?” she cried.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked. “It’s just that you’re so adorable when you get all righteous like that.”

  “Don’t call me adorable,” she said and tried to punch him in the arm.

  Patrick caught her fist just as it was about to connect and pulled her arm behind him, bringing her forward. He leaned down at the same moment, grasped her gently behind the head, and kissed her full on the mouth.

  “Gah!” she screeched. Total accident. She was just so startled.

  Patrick released her immediately and stepped back, looking shocked and wretched.

  “I’m sorry!” said Marianne, still short of breath. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her gross jammies again. “I didn’t mean to scream. You just scared me.”

  Whoops. She may have used the wrong word. He looked like he wanted to die right there.

  “No!” she said. “Not scared. I meant startled. Surprised.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He turned away and fumbled around in a pile of shoes, looking for a match. “I’m sorry.”

  Marianne could only stand there and watch as he knelt down, hunting around under the bed for his other shoe. Oh crap, how did she manage to blow things so completely all the time? He was mortified, and she couldn’t think of one thing to say to salvage the moment. She stopped racking her brain for a good line when it struck her how pointless that would be. She’d just mess up the next moment, too. Silence was better.

  What had she done to him? Rejected, insulted, and demonized every time he asked her out. Lied to whenever he bothered to care about her feelings. Humiliated when he dared to make a move on her. And yet, he was never anything but sweet to her. He backed down every time she lied to him, walked away every time she snubbed him. He still made himself vulnerable to her all the time, though he never got anything back. He’d said he liked her, wanted to date her, told her she was beautiful, cute, and adorable. What had she ever admitted to him? Not one thing. Nothing. That made Marianne a seriously gnarly person. How unbelievably frustrating would that be?

  Marianne sucked in a silent breath. She was frustrating. She closed her eyes and jammed her fists into them for a moment. She was a frustrating person. Oh, that sucked. Patrick was on his knees, still searching for his left shoe, so Marianne dropped down and started combing the other side of the room. He didn’t deserve to see the stupid tears that had started up on her face, and she didn’t want to show him.

  She found his shoe under a black necktie and a pair of the baby’s footed sleepers. “Here ya go,” she said, horrified to hear how slurred her voice sounded.

  “Marianne?” said Patrick, sounding shocked.

  Darn it. He knew. She slid the shoe across the wood floor and turned her face away. “Um,” she swallowed, “I’m just gonna go home.” He didn’t need to witness this. She rolled over onto her knees and started to stand up.

  Patrick leaned forward and caught her hand before she could get to her feet. “Wait, what?” he said. “Are you crying?”

  “Gnope,” she said, totally failing to enunciate. She kept her face turned toward the door and tried to pull her hand away.

  “Wait, please,” he said, tugging at her hand. His voice sounded a little desperate, and Marianne turned to look at him before she could stop herself. His mouth dropped open when he saw her face. “Oh, no,” he whispered.

  Marianne’s face crumpled at that. Why was it that every time she was horrible to him he just got nicer? “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed, not able to get any proper sounds out.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” He pulled her toward him a little, and she walked forward on her knees till she was directly in front of him. “What on earth do you have to be sorry about?” he whispered. “That you were startled? Marianne?” He tipped her face up because she was still refusing to look at him. “I’m not angry. Did you think I was angry?”

  Marianne shrugged one shoulder.

  “No.” Patrick put both hands on the sides of her head. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say… I… Anyone would scream if they were attacked like that.”

  Marianne laughed and covered her face with her hands. “You didn’t attack me,” she said, punctuating the sentence with a sob. How ridiculous. She just couldn’t get control. “You never do anything wrong, but I’m always being mean to you.” She was crying in full now, distorting half her words. “I don’t know what to do; I don’t know how to act. I’m always messing up and—”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, cutting her off. “I’m so sorry. Don’t say these things.” He moved his hand down over her hair and onto the back of her neck.

  And that broke it all loose. Any shred of composure she’d had deserted her when he touched her neck. Marianne dropped her head and started sobbing like a total idiot, her body shaking all over. Patrick got to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her up to sit next to him, then put his arms tight around her.

  “Shh,” he whispered against her hair. “Please don’t cry. I never meant to make you feel this way.”

  “You didn’t!” said Marianne, trying halfheartedly pull back. “Don’t feel bad for me; I’m just being a baby. I’m a mess, and I should go home and just leave you alone so you don’t—”

  “It’s okay,” he said, lowering her head down against his shoulder. “Shh. Just don’t say anything. You don’t have to say anything.”

  Marianne turned farther towards him and buried her face in his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Sorry for being weird and hysterical, and sorry for forcing him to comfort her about it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shh.” He spoke into her hair. “It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything.” He held her there for several minutes, just leaning his head against hers, letting her cry like a crazy person. He didn’t seem as if he wanted her to leave; he didn’t try to get her to pull it together. His free hand brushed her arm, the side of her face. It was a far-fetched idea, but he even seemed to like having her there; at least that’s how it felt. His arms were just so… so supportive, or something. When most people embraced her, it was tentative, as if the person were afraid to touch her too much. This was not that. There was no restriction, no shyness.

  Marianne’s breathing got a stable rhythm again, and she reached up to dry her face with the sleeves of her pajamas. She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him as hard as she could. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing, only that this was the moment to do it. Her heart was pumping so hard that she could feel it against her ribs. “Patrick...” she whispered in his ear. “I lied to you.”

  “You did?” he said softly. He tried to look at her, but she was too close.

  Marianne put her face on his neck. “I was upset about Danielle, but I told you I wasn’t.” She felt him nod. “And
...” Marianne closed her eyes. “I was embarrassed last night.”

  “Me, too.”

  Marianne lifted her head a few inches, so her mouth was by his ear again, but she couldn’t speak now. He smelled like shampoo and toothpaste. Patrick turned his head, and Marianne couldn’t breathe anymore. He touched his forehead to hers, his lips resting softly near the side of her mouth. Marianne moved her mouth a fraction of an inch toward his.

  She didn’t scream when he kissed her this time.

  Marianne kept her eyes closed and kissed him back, though she had no idea how to do it properly. Her fingers touched the edge of his messy, damp hair. Patrick paused for a second, and Marianne froze.

  He sucked in an unsteady breath and then kissed her again. At that point, she stopped worrying that she was underperforming. His willingness was evident, even to her. He moved slowly, but with enough intensity to make her want to sob again. The perfect balance. He did everything well. He made the world okay again. Marianne shifted her foot and hit something plastic under a stack of laundry on the floor. It made an earsplitting, mournful noise, like a velociraptor.

  Patrick laughed against her lips. “Stupid thing,” he said. He leaned away and pulled the toy out from under the clothes. He smiled at her and stuck the little Godzilla right in her face.

  She leaned away from her attacker and laughed. “Why do you have that?”

  “It’s Mickey’s,” he said defensively. “The little brat probably planted it in here to ruin the moment.”

  “Aww...” Marianne stuck out her bottom lip. “It’s not Godzilla’s fault—he can’t help bringing destruction wherever he goes.” She patted the toy on the head, bizarrely giddy.

  Patrick frowned and turned Godzilla to face him. “I think she likes you better than me, man.”

  “Patrick, be reasonable.” Marianne looked at him sternly. “Godzilla and I have a history, that’s all. No need to get jealous.”

  He walked Godzilla through the air toward her face.

  Marianne pretended to slap the toy. “Back off, you brute. As if I would ever kiss that flaming mouth.”

  Patrick laughed and tossed the toy into the hallway. It screeched again. “Look at you torturing all these men. No kiss for Alvin. No kiss for Godzilla.”

  Marianne smirked at Patrick. “Yup. You’re the first guy to ever escape my persecution.” Now that he’d kissed her, she was cool to admit her lack of romantic history. If he ever stuck his tongue down her throat, she’d probably tell him anything.

  Patrick blinked at her. “What?”

  “I was just joking,” she said. “I’ll still torture you, don’t worry.”

  Patrick reached up, grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her slightly away from him. “Marianne.” He looked her right in the eyes. “You have kissed a guy before, right?”

  “No.”

  Half a second later, she was sitting alone, and Patrick was standing in front of her. He stared at her, but there was no expression on his face. “Tell the truth,” he coaxed.

  Oh, crap. What a time to change her deceitful ways. Marianne kind of squinted. “I am this time.”

  Patrick looked ready to puke. Did he think she was a dweeb? No. He didn’t think like that. In fact, it was probably the opposite. Loss of innocence, that was his hang-up here. “Patrick—”

  He shook his head. “Lie to me,” he begged.

  Marianne did her best. “You’re right,” she nodded, getting her face to look serious. “I’m super experienced. I totally have all kinds of romantic relationships. All the time. Men just follow me around; they can’t get enough of me.”

  “Marianne,” laughed Patrick. “Your father is going to kill me.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged. “My dad’s going to throw you a party. He thinks there’s something wrong with me.”

  Patrick covered his eyes with his hand.

  “I’m not joking,” she said. “I could call him up right now and tell him I’m having your bastard baby. He’d weep with joy.”

  Patrick peeked over the edge of his hand. “That’s awful.”

  She shrugged. “Yup. He’s the worst.”

  He lowered his hand and acted like he was flicking her from across the room. “I meant you.”

  Good. He was over it. Patrick’s cell phone started buzzing just then, and he reached over on the dresser to pick it up. Marianne smiled and looked down, laughing at the hilariousness of all her own jokes. “Oh geez!” she said. “What am I wearing?”

  Patrick shook his head at her as he answered, “Hello?”

  Marianne rolled over to lie on her stomach. She crossed her legs and started flipping through the stack of books on the foot of his bed.

  “Sorry, I must have been in the shower when you called,” he said into the phone.

  Stephen King... Keats... Harry Potter... Orson Scott Card... “No, I didn’t get the message — What? Yeah, that was my girl,” he laughed. “She’s a robot.”

  Marianne looked up with wide eyes.

  “My boss,” he mouthed.

  She buried her face in the blanket and covered her head with her arms. How humiliating. She shook it off and continued book browsing.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. When do I need to be there?”

  Joseph Conrad... something about the Revolutionary War... Harlequin Temptations... more Orson Scott Card... Wait. Back up.

  “I have some conduit in my truck. I’ll have to get more, though.”

  She picked up the little paperback. Yep. The cover featured a burly, half-naked hero ravishing some woman in a wedding dress. It was Danielle’s book, she’d seen it lying around before. Marianne started laughing quietly. Bad-Boy-Desire was kind of cute, actually, if you took off all the chest hair... Wam!

  She got pegged in the back of the head with a balled-up t-shirt. Patrick covered the microphone with his hand. “That is not mine,” he whispered.

  “Riiiight...” she said.

  Patrick came and snatched the book from her. “Okay. And tell Jose to bring the good drill.” He walked over to the hallway and chucked the book into Danielle’s room.

  Marianne sat up against the wall and just watched him. He was so dang cute all embarrassed like that. Like a little boy who refuses to play with a pink ball because someone might think he’s a girl.

  “Okay, I’ll call you later tonight when I get there,” he nodded. “Don’t mention it. Bye.” He snapped the phone shut.

  “What’s up?” asked Marianne.

  “I have to go to work,” he sighed. “They need me at the job up north. In Monterey.”

  14

  Primeval Train Wreck

  Marianne scrubbed at Nana’s toilet with a vengeance. She hadn’t been over to clean in a while, so yeah, it wasn’t exactly a fun job. But fun was lost to her, anyway. Gone off to Monterey until a future day unknown.

  She really hated Monterey. She hated the name; she hated the people who lived there and needed electricity; she hated the location. Six hours away?! If she was Elijah, she’d call down fire from heaven and obliterate the place. And she’d smoke Patrick’s stupid boss while she was at it. With the lack of local jobs, he’d had to bid on stuff out of town so the company could make money. Jerk.

  Marianne had been left alone in utter darkness for months now. Okay, only nine days, but still. It felt like months since she’d had any contact with Patrick. Okay, he called her all the time, but still. Marianne reached over for the can of Ajax and accidentally let her hair fall in the toilet water. Fricker!

  She got up, snapped off her rubber gloves, and rinsed the ends of her hair in the sink. Just then, she heard her cell phone ringing from the living room where she’d left her purse. It was the ring with four quick pulses—Patrick’s ring.

  She shut off the water and ran flat out to get it. She had to adjust her pants as she went; they were loose again. She grabbed the phone and ran back to the bathroom. Nana had fallen asleep on the couch watching South Park, and Marianne didn’
t want to wake her. “Hello?” she said, out of breath.

  “Hey! There you are,” said Patrick. She could hear the shrill buzzing of a drill in the background. “I called a few minutes ago. How dare you not answer.”

  Marianne smiled and wedged the phone to her ear with her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, darling,” she said in her English accent.

  “I forgive you,” he said.

  Marianne wiggled her fingers back into her gloves. “You’re too kind.”

  “I was a little pissed, actually,” he said. “I have good news to tell you.”

  “Unless it’s that you’re coming home, I don’t really care,” she said. Marianne flushed the toilet and rinsed the brush in the flowing water.

  “That’s...” He paused and then asked, “Where are you?”

  “At Nana’s. Cleaning the bathroom.”

  She heard Patrick laugh. “Oh good,” he said. “I thought that sounded like a toilet flushing.”

  “Gross!” She laughed. “Anyway... what were you going to tell me?”

  “The inspector can’t be here until Monday, so I get to come home for a few days.”

  Marianne gasped. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I can leave in a couple hours,” he said. He sounded more excited than if tomorrow were Christmas. “I’ll be home by midnight.”

  Marianne squealed into the phone. “No way!”

  “Yup.”

  She picked up the sponge and started cleaning the shower, a perma-smile on her face. “Wow. A four-day break from your wonderful coworkers. How will you cope?”

  Patrick moaned over the line. “Tell me about it,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know how much more of these guys I can take. At least I don’t have to share a motel room with them.”

  “So, you’re not going to miss the pot fumes wafting in through your window at night?” she said.

  “And the blaring porn soundtrack,” he said. “Don’t forget about that.”

  Marianne wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to do my best to distract you.”