Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  Fro-girl had kicked her in the leg. Hard. “Shut up, little girl.” She was still laughing, but not as much. “I am going to be an awesome mother, thank you very much.”

  Marianne rubbed her leg. “Well, I’m not going to apologize, old lady. That kick makes us even.”

  Fro-girl gaped at her. “Not even close! I lost twenty bucks because of your lameness, and then you were rude to me. We’re nowhere near being even.”

  Marianne sighed. It was true. “What if I give you four more points for the mops?”

  “Seven,” she said. “And you have to give me all the points you earned for finding the newt. That’s a good one. Twelve points, at least.”

  “Deal.”

  The door across the room swung open suddenly, and Patrick stuck his head in. “There you are.”

  “Oh, hey.” Marianne stood up and brushed imaginary junk off her jeans. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

  Patrick walked inside and looked around. “Where were you?”

  “Here.”

  “Oh.” Patrick tilted his head to the side. “I looked in here already.”

  Shoot. Now he thought she was lying again. Marianne looked down at Fro-girl where she was hidden behind the island, but she was just smiling up at her like an idiot and didn’t offer any help. Marianne twisted her hands and looked back at Patrick. “We were here. We were. But see, I thought I saw a newt, and then she jumped on the counter and broke a vase. So... so we hid inside the pantry. And we didn’t hear you… I mean, you walk like a ghost!” She faltered as she realized how whiney she sounded.

  “What?” Patrick wrinkled his forehead, looking very confused. He looked around the room. “You broke something and then hid? Who is we?”

  “Stop being so nosy, Patrick Devlin,” said Fro-girl from the ground. She stood up in one fluid motion and turned around. She slapped her hands down on the counter and glared at him. “And stop upsetting my new friend here. We were doing just fine without you.”

  Patrick blinked, then put his hand behind his neck and smiled. “Never mind, Marianne,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at Marianne. “If you were in here with her, then I don’t even want to know what happened.”

  Fro-girl was still glaring at Patrick. “You do walk like a ghost, you know.”

  “I always have,” he said.

  Fro-girl squealed and ran around the island toward him. She launched herself into his arms from three feet away. “Oh, my goodness! How are you?” She let go of his neck and wrapped her arms around his chest, stomping her boots and continuing to squeal. “Is this your girl? I love her already. Oh, my goodness! How are you?”

  She ditched him before he could answer and flung herself on Marianne, squeezing harder than allowed. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so glad to finally see you. Who are you?” Fro-girl pulled back and looked Marianne in the face from two inches away. “What’s your name?”

  “Marianne York,” she mumbled.

  Fro-girl leaned forward, if that was possible, to hear her better. “Marian?”

  “Mari-Anne.” She stressed the two syllables.

  Fro-girl put her hands on Marianne’s cheeks, looking as if she was about to cry. “Hello, Marianne.”

  “Who are you?” said Marianne, looking past the girl to Patrick.

  “Marianne, this is Brook. I’ve told you about Brook before.”

  Oh. So this was Brook. This adorable, beautiful, charming... Crap.

  25

  Class B Pyrotechnic Explosives? Check

  When they all walked into the living room, an entire herd of people converged on them as if they’d been waiting. Marianne immediately stepped back from all the unruly shrieking. Apparently, this was Brook’s group, and they all knew Patrick.

  “Sup, dude!”

  “Never thought I’d see this idiot again.”

  “Patty MacDevlin... ugly as ever.”

  “Dude, I thought you were dead.”

  “I heard you got arrested in Mexico.”

  “No, that’s your mom you’re thinking of.”

  “You still owe me fifty bucks for that weed, bro. Don’t deny it.”

  “I told you he’d have a hot chick with him. Didn’t I say that? The bastard.”

  Marianne stepped farther away from that last guy. A few more people noticed her presence, Patrick introduced her, and then they went to sit on the couch. Patrick tried to include her in the conversation as much as possible, but really, she didn’t mind being left out. No reason to open her mouth and ruin all this new popularity.

  The guy who’d called Marianne a hot chick came over a few minutes later and squashed himself onto the couch right by her. He had blue stars tattooed on his face, which made looking at him uncomfortable. “Hey,” he said. “You guys remember that time at Brook and Patrick’s when Douche Bag Larry electrocuted himself by the swimming pool?”

  Brook and Patrick’s? Marianne didn’t like this story. She shifted closer toward Patrick, even though they were already hip to hip. Almost everyone else laughed; they remembered.

  “That was crazy...”

  “What a douche bag...”

  She pasted an amused expression on her face. But a guy almost died—what’s so funny about that? She’d been at a funeral reception once when one of the guests had had a heart attack. The confusion, the disbelieving looks, the ambulance. Not that funny. Didn’t these people remember any of that? Didn’t they remember the empty feeling after Douche Bag Larry was taken to the hospital... Everyone leaving, one by one, to go home... Brook and Patrick walking back upstairs with hushed voices to go to bed... Yeah, Marianne definitely didn’t like this story.

  She rolled her shoulders, trying to resist the sudden urge to hang on Patrick and use all her body language to scream, “He’s my man, now, folks. Step off.” She slid her hand along Patrick’s arm and grabbed his hand. He squeezed back, but he didn’t look down at her or even pause as he talked. Like a mother of too many toddlers, he didn’t even notice Marianne hanging on his leg and chanting, “mom, mom, mom...” She might as well have not even been there.

  She sat forward during the next slight intermission and leaned toward his ear. “Patrick,” she whispered. “I think I’m gonna walk around a little. Go see the house.”

  “But...” He looked a little put out. “I haven’t seen these guys in forever. Can’t you hang just a little longer?”

  What the hell? She wasn’t some nagging, party-pooping wife. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

  Patrick turned toward her a bit more and lowered his voice. “No, but I’m an loser if I let you go wandering around alone when you don’t know anyone.”

  “I’m not setting you up,” she said. “Geez.”

  “I didn’t say you were setting me up.”

  Marianne scooted to the edge of the couch and spoke over her shoulder. “Just have fun, okay? I’ll come and find you in a few minutes.” She stood up and walked out of the room, not knowing if Patrick responded at all.

  Marianne walked aimlessly through the house, not as interested in critiquing the décor as she had been before. She went upstairs and peeked at the rec room, but the guys in there looked pretty serious about their game of pool, so she didn’t go in. As she was walking along the balcony back to the staircase, she was able to see Patrick’s group down in the living room. He was sitting forward on the couch, speaking energetically to the couple across from him. Tattoo Face was gone and Brook had taken his side of the couch, though not close enough to Patrick to be weird or offensive. Marianne’s spot was still gone, though.

  She went downstairs and got a beer from an open cooler, not caring who it belonged to, and went into the backyard. She walked around the edge of the pool, looking for the fountain she’d been waiting to see, and spotted Christian in the shadows. He was behind some potted plants, sitting in a lawn chair facing the cliff. She walked over and nodded at him when he noticed her.

  “Oh hey, Marianne,” he said a little hesitantly.

  “Am I interrupting?”


  He smiled at her through his thick beard and lifted the shoebox on his lap. He was rolling a joint. “Not really. Pull up a chair.”

  Marianne set her beer on the ground and dragged a metal chair across the concrete and into Christian’s hideout. She sat down and put her feet up on the ledge of the transparent fence. It really was a beautiful view—colored city lights for miles, then the sudden blackness of the ocean.

  Christian licked the length of his paper, sealed it, and twisted the end. He lifted it in his hand and looked at her uncertainly. “Do you...?”

  “No, no. But go ahead.”

  He lit it and did his thing while Marianne drank her beer and listened to the faint music coming from the house. Her promised time allotment for wandering was up, but she couldn’t force herself to go back inside just yet. The fireworks were going to start soon, and that seemed like a good enough reason to stay.

  “Trouble in paradise?” said Christian.

  Marianne didn’t look away from the lights. “If I’m involved, there’s always trouble.”

  He sighed. “Yeah.”

  “What’s that mean?” asked Marianne.

  Christian sat up a little. “You tell me.”

  Marianne laughed. “My life is crappy,” she said. “Nothing new there.”

  “Everybody’s life is crappy,” he said. “What’s wrong with yours, specifically?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. You’re the psychic. I came to you for answers.”

  Christian sighed again and scratched his beard. “You guys are going to break up soon.”

  “Nice!” She laughed. What a perfectly nasty thing to foresee. Marianne turned toward him and smiled. “Don’t pull any punches, Nostradamus.”

  Christian rolled his eyes. “I didn’t get that one psychically.”

  He didn’t get it psychically? Marianne blinked. “Patrick told you that.” She didn’t say it like a question, but it was.

  “I’m just wondering why,” he said. “From your side.”

  “From my side?” she said. That meant that Patrick had a side—a side against her. Like enemies. Marianne turned and focused on the lights in front of her so she could hide her panic from Christian. Patrick was a lot farther out the door than she’d thought. “I... I don’t have a side,” she stuttered. “I don’t have one.”

  Christian just smoked and waited.

  “Frick.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know. I just can’t be normal. The whole thing is my fault. I don’t know. I just keep... on... messing... up.”

  “What?” Christian sounded like he didn’t believe her. “You’re nice. How did you mess up?”

  Marianne shifted in her chair. “It’s personal.”

  Christian was quiet for a while. “Well, I’m sure he’ll get over it soon enough. If you admit that it was a mistake, he won’t be mad forever.”

  The first sparkle of the Disneyland fireworks lit up the sky in front of them. Marianne waited until the popping sound hit them, and then mumbled, “He doesn’t know.”

  “Oh,” he said. Almost like he’d heard something he wasn’t expecting. Something bad.

  “What?” Marianne turned away from the view and looked at him. “Come on, just tell me what he said to you.”

  “Nothing really. I could just tell. It’s obvious that things are glitchy with you guys.” He paused to take another hit. “And now you’re telling me—” he blew out his smoke and continued talking without the weirdness of holding his breath. “—you’re telling me that there’s even more. I don’t know, girl. It doesn’t look good.”

  It didn’t look good.

  Marianne stuck the heels of her hands over her eyes. “Ahh.” She shook her head back and forth. “I just... I hang with these people,” she whispered. “I almost got arrested. Gah! There was this total creep with us that made me hold his drugs—and then the cops came. Frick.” She dropped her hands and stared at Christian. She was pleading; almost whining. “How am I supposed to explain something like that to Patrick? He wouldn’t understand. You don’t even know the crap that went on. You don’t even know.” She stopped and waited for him to hand her a miracle. Some mystical insight on Patrick that would help her.

  “Hmm,” was all he said. He shifted a little in his seat. And that look on his face...

  Was he seriously sitting there judging her? Right in the middle of smoking a joint? Marianne sat up straighter. “Just say it,” she snapped. “You think I don’t know already?”

  He held up his hand and shrugged. Like there was nothing he could say. Like she was a lost cause. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Marianne stood up and waited for him to speak, but he just stared, obviously shocked. “Forget it. I have to get back inside.”

  She left her beer by the chair and went toward the house. She passed the fountain on her way in—a teddy bear spewing water from a honey jar—but she couldn’t care. She ducked into the first bathroom she could find and locked the door. She sat on the edge of the tub long enough for two separate people to wait by the door, knock politely, try the handle, and then leave. Breathe. She walked over to the tacky mirror etched around the rim with cloudy swirls and fixed her hair. Fricking Christian. By the end of the conversation, it was clear that Patrick hadn’t told him anything at all. He was just trying to be cool and prophetic. Idiot. Marianne put a smile on her face and went back to the party, ready to claw anyone who tried to give her crap.

  Patrick wasn’t in the living room, so she walked around from room to room to find him. She’d just spotted Ivan and Hector on the back patio and waved to them when someone grabbed her upper arm. Tightly. She turned around, and Patrick leaned down to her ear. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Yeah,” she said hesitantly.

  He turned and started walking through the room, dragging her along. A few people gave him curious looks, but he didn’t seem to care. They passed through the living room, through the front hall, around a couple by the door, and outside. He shut the front door with his free hand and walked down the driveway with her, even faster than before. He released her on the sidewalk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  She stared at him in shock for a second and then looked around in confusion. “Like what?”

  “This is…” Patrick stopped speaking and shook his head back and forth, like he was trying to get control of himself. “Marianne, I can’t wait any longer. It has to be now. You have to tell me what’s going on with you. Right now.” His voice was hard, especially on the last two words.

  “Nothing’s going on,” said Marianne, bewildered. “I was in the bathroom. Were you worried? I was just walking around, and then I went to the bathroom.”

  “Now, Marianne,” he said through his teeth.

  “You’re gonna have to ask me a specific question,” she said, taking a tiny step back. She didn’t like where this was going. “I’m confused.”

  “You’re confused.”

  “Totally,” she nodded, feeling defensive. Panicky. “I don’t know what you’re trying to ask me about right now.” She could hear the blatant lie in her own voice.

  Patrick heard it, too, and threw his hands up in the air. “What the hell, Marianne?”

  “What?” she said sternly. “What are you talking about?”

  “Christian,” he said.

  Oh, crud. “What about him?”

  Patrick clenched his jaw. “Stop lying to me,” he said in a low voice.

  “I’m not.” Marianne lifted her shoulders. “I just don’t know what you’re getting at.” Not exactly, anyway.

  “He just came up to me.” Patrick pointed back toward the house. “He said he’s fricking worried about us. You talked to him? You told him that you’re keeping all sorts of crap from me. You talked to him. About us!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said immediately. She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
share anything private, not really. I just started talking crap, you know? I shouldn’t have said anything to him about us. You’re right. That’s not his business.”

  Patrick’s expression didn’t change at all. “That’s not the apology I’m looking for.”

  “Which one do you want?” But she knew.

  He put his hands up to his head, almost shaking. “What is wrong with you? Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

  Marianne stepped back from his sudden nastiness. She hadn’t seen this side of him before. And he looked like he could hit something.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said, almost to himself. “I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “No.” Patrick shook his head. “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “Knock it off,” he hissed.

  She gasped at his tone. Who the hell did he think he was? “You knock it off!” Marianne put her hands on his chest and shoved him back. “Tell me what you want to hear, and I’ll say it, but you can’t just haul me outside and yell at me.”

  “I want you to be honest with me.”

  “Oh, please.” Marianne raised her eyebrows. “If you wanted to talk,” she made finger quotes, “then you wouldn’t have dragged me out here and started freaking out like this. You just want an excuse to yell at me some more.”

  “Maybe!” He got right in her face again. “Nothing else has worked. Maybe I do want to yell at you.”

  “No thanks,” she said sweetly. “I’ll pass.”

  Patrick stepped back. Marianne could almost see the rest of his patience burn up at that moment. “Marianne.” He held up his hand between them. “I can’t...”

  She waited.

  “I can’t handle this anymore,” he said.

  Marianne creased her forehead. “What can’t you handle?”

  “You.” He stepped back from her. “I can’t handle you anymore.”

  Marianne went completely still. He couldn’t handle her anymore. How could he do this, practically out of the blue? How could he be so mean as to say it like that? “How can you say that?”