Marianne

by Elizabeth Hammer

  When Marianne came home from school the next day, she took a shower and then cleaned the hell out of her room. She was almost done before she noticed Patrick’s black jacket hanging on the post of her canopy bed. She hadn’t even known it was there. At all. She lifted it off the post, checked her makeup once more in the mirror, and headed next door.

  She went inside without knocking, as usual. Patrick was sitting on the couch staring at the commercials blaring from the TV. He turned his head and froze when he saw her.

  “Hey,” she said quietly. “Is Dan here?”

  Patrick looked down at the jacket on her arm.

  Marianne shrugged. “Yeah, I found this and thought you’d want it.” She walked up behind the couch and draped it over the back. “Don’t read anything into it. I only came over to see Danielle.” She met his eyes, and he looked down immediately. No fricking problem.

  Danielle met Marianne in the hallway. “Sup?”

  Marianne pointed backwards with her thumb. “I’m free and I thought a few of the kids might like to go in the spa with me. It’s already warmed up.”

  “Sure,” said Danielle. Then she gave Marianne a dark look and nodded upward toward the living room, obviously asking what the hell was going on with her brother.

  “No, it’s good,” whispered Marianne. “We’re not going to see each other anymore. In a dating sense. But it’s all good. He told you that, yeah?”

  Danielle lifted her eyebrows and then shook her head slowly.

  Marianne tightened her jaw and released it. He left all the dirty work to her? Deep breath. No fricking problem. “I’ll take Adam and Wolverine. They haven’t been over in a while.” Marianne turned toward the backyard, but Danielle grabbed her arm.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “What did you do?”

  Marianne smacked Danielle’s hand away and then shoved her up against the wall by the shoulders. There hadn’t been a cracking sound, so Marianne shoved her back one more time for good measure.

  Danielle stood limply and took it. “What did you do?” she mouthed.

  “Go to hell,” said Marianne. Then she left through the front door without the kids.

  Marianne slept on the couch that night with the TV on.

  The next day at church, when the pastor asked everyone to mark up First Corinthians 13 in their bibles, she did it. Love is patient; love is kind. Love is never jealous or rude. Love never wears dirty underwear or forgets to brush its teeth. She underlined it twice to make up for the last time she’d disobeyed. There, Jesus. That one’s for you.

  Marianne set her bible down on her lap and stuck her hands under her thighs because they were cold. Why did they keep it so stinking cold in here? She glared at the pastor because she figured that it was probably his fault. Some shepherd he was, freezing out all his stupid sheep. The door next to her cracked open, and Danielle came in with Michael.

  They walked right past the empty bench by Marianne and sat near the front. Michael turned around a minute later and gave Marianne a sympathetic look. Instead of giving him the finger in the middle of church, she just smiled and looked away. No fricking problem.

  Mom and Dad didn’t linger after the service. Dad blasted Randy Travis out the windows into the crisp autumn air all the way home. He parked in the driveway like usual, but didn’t turn off the engine. He turned around and looked at Marianne in the back seat. “You okay?”

  “Sure.” She popped open her door and walked up to the house. She unlocked the door with her key, shrugged out of her jacket, and hung it up on the hook.

  Dad walked through the door and grabbed her arm.

  Marianne turned around, startled. She looked outside and saw Mom still sitting in the car, looking away. Marianne looked back at Dad, who was still holding her arm.

  He just stared at her steadily for a few moments.

  She gasped once. “We broke up.” She nodded and looked at the ceiling. “He left me.”

  Dad nodded.

  “Patrick did.”

  Dad nodded again, his blue eyes turning red around the rims. “I know,” he said, taking off his jacket and putting it around Marianne’s shoulders. He tossed his glasses toward the table, missing by a mile, and steered her over to the couch.

  He sat down six inches away from her, and Marianne folded over onto his lap. “Do you know how much I love you?” he whispered, brushing her hair with his fingers. “My Mary. I love you so much. I’m sorry, my baby. I’m so sorry.”

  27

  The Tiniest Violin

  Marianne sat on her kitchen counter the next morning around ten, her feet in the sink. She leaned her head on the cabinet behind her and watched Patrick through the window.

  He lifted another black trash bag into his truck and then threw in his swiveling desk chair. He walked out of sight again. Now he carried another cardboard box. Probably books; it looked heavy. He stood up on the running board and adjusted the box’s position. Danielle walked up behind him and handed him another black bag. Marianne coughed quietly into her fist. He must have packed everything by now; the truck looked just as full as when he first came. Patrick just stood there, looking at the heap of stuff.

  Danielle stepped forward, hesitated, and then touched his back with her fingertips. Patrick put his head back, and she reached her fingers up into his hair. Danielle was going to miss him. The kids would, too; especially Beth. Wasn’t there something in the bible about not stealing stuff from your neighbors?

  Marianne ran her hands roughly over her face to stop the tingling sensation in her nose. She was too tired to cry again. When she looked up, Patrick was saying something to his sister and staring towards Marianne’s house. Marianne didn’t move; she had the curtain to hide her from view. Patrick stepped forward, kissed his sister on the cheek, got in his truck, and drove away.

  Danielle watched him go and then looked toward Marianne’s house, just as Patrick had. This time Marianne shrank back, but it did no good. Danielle came anyway. She walked right inside and spotted Marianne after a quick glance around. She stepped into the kitchen and leaned back against the door frame. “What now?”

  “You tell me,” slurred Marianne. She was pretty sure she’d been unintelligible.

  Danielle walked over and gently pulled Marianne down from the counter. “Come on. Come home with me, honey.”

  As Marianne shuffled out the front door, Danielle called back into the house. “Soph, he’s gone now.”

  “I’m coming,” called Mom from down the hall.

  Marianne felt as if she should be confused and asking questions, but didn’t have the will. What was happening would happen.

  Mom came out to the porch, slipped her arm through Marianne’s, and towed her next door in Danielle’s wake. A moment later, Marianne was placed in a seat at the smoky black glass dining table, the other two facing her in chairs on the other side.

  They stared at her.

  Marianne stared at her knees.

  She could tell they were looking at each other nervously.

  “What do you want to know?” said Marianne, in a dead kind of whisper. “I’ll tell you whatever.”

  Mom took a deep breath, then said, “Why’d he dump you?”

  “Lying,” said Marianne.

  Danielle hesitated, drumming her fingers on the table. “About what?”

  Marianne lifted her head and looked into their faces, one at a time. “Everything.”

  By that afternoon, she had no more secrets. Too late—far too late—to matter.

  Thanksgiving came that Thursday. It went fine.

  A week later, Marianne lay on Danielle’s couch watching dust specks flutter around in front of the window. The older kids were at school and the babies were napping, so it was quiet in the house except for Danielle’s muffled phone conversation. Marianne pulled the chenille throw blanket up around her shoulders. She knew who was on the other end of the line.

  Danielle came in a few minutes later and leaned against the wall, slapping the phone into her
palm absentmindedly. “That was him. He’s doing good.”

  “Good,” whispered Marianne.

  “I didn’t say anything about you,” said Danielle. “Just like I promised.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s getting a new tattoo tonight.”

  “Oh.”

  Danielle looked down at the ground. “I think it’s time for you to get up now.” She wasn’t happy.

  “What?” Marianne sat up on the couch and waited for it.

  Danielle looked out the window. “Brook is going along with him to the shop.”

  “Oh.”

  Danielle’s blank expression faltered when she looked at Marianne, but she put it back soon enough. “You know what that means?”

  Of course she knew. Marianne wanted to nod, but it didn’t happen for some reason.

  Danielle let out an almost inaudible whimper and then cleared her throat. “That means that you have to get up now.” She paused. “You aren’t allowed to mope around after the guy moves on. You’ll look lame.”

  “I’ll look lame?” repeated Marianne.

  Danielle nodded.

  Marianne nodded back. She would look lame. Really lame. She stood up, letting the blanket fall to the floor. “I’m not going to look lame.”

  Danielle coughed.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Marianne. She reached down and put the blanket back into its place on the couch. “I’m going to... get up.”

  “Darn right.”

  Marianne inhaled deeply. “I’m going to get the hell up and not look lame!”

  “Yes!” Danielle shook the phone at her. “That’s my girl. Call up your friends. Wash your gnarly face. Go out. Don’t look lame.”

  “Okay!” Marianne bent down and picked up her slippers. “I’m going out. I’m going to get out of these stupid jammies and fix myself up. I’m going to...” Marianne gave up the charade and collapsed into a wailing heap on the couch. Brook! It hadn’t even been two weeks! “And not just any girl!” she moaned. “She’s tall and gorgeous, and—”

  “And way nicer than you,” said Danielle.

  “Crazy nice!” said Marianne. “And fun as hell. She has a perfect ass. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to compete with that crap?”

  “Not that it matters,” said Danielle, lighting up a cigarette right there in the living room. “Because he wouldn’t take you back, anyway.”

  “And!” said Marianne. “Have you seen her skin? It’s like it was airbrushed on.”

  Danielle nodded. “And she’s not a liar.”

  “Well, no,” said Marianne. She sat up and sniffed. “She lied, too.”

  “But she had a good reason,” said Danielle. “You just do it for the fun of it.”

  Marianne sputtered a bit. “When I tried to tell him, he didn’t want to hear it!”

  “Of course not,” said Danielle. “I didn’t raise a wuss. You jacked him over for too long, and he kicked you to the curb for it, dang it.”

  “Dang it.” Marianne buried her head under the couch cushions and didn’t come up again. She looked really lame.

  Marianne slept all that week. Seriously, the whole week. Like a tweaker coming down before a drug test. She woke on Friday night around eight because there were people jumping on her bed.

  She blinked into the dark. “What the?”

  “Get up, lazy butt,” said Sally. “We’ve all—” Jump. “–had quite enough—” Jump. “–of this nonsense.”

  “Yeah,” said Georgia, slightly out of breath. “You look lame.”

  Marianne had heard that line before. She jerked upright in bed. “Who’s we?” Sally and Georgia each grabbed an arm and pulled her off the bed. They didn’t even let her stop to slip on a bra before they towed her out of her room and through the house to the backyard. Marianne stopped on the porch in ultimate disbelief.

  Randy Travis was blaring out of the stereo. Mom had her eyes closed, working her outdated moves in the middle of the patio, wineglass in hand. Danielle was lying on a lawn chair in her bikini, smoking and singing along. Nana Deathrage was swimming in the pool. Naked.

  “Come swimming, Marianne,” called Georgia from the edge of the pool. She and Sally already had their shirts off.

  Precious eyeballs.

  Marianne ran back inside, but Danielle came after her. She had Marianne in a chokehold before she’d even made it to the hall. “No, you don’t,” said Danielle, moving her arms down to Marianne’s waist and lifting her up. “We’re going to snap you out of this one way or another.”

  “Another!” shouted Marianne, squirming to get free. “Let’s do it the other way!”

  Danielle hauled her, mostly by force, back to the patio. She sat her down on a chair by the pool and stood guard off to the side. “Stay there, brat face.”

  Marianne shook her head. “I’m telling you all right now, I am not taking my clothes off. I appreciate this brilliant plan, and how you’ve all managed to completely disregard my wishes and meet each other… but could we not have gone to a movie or something? And I don’t really see how this is going to help—”

  Splash.

  Marianne gasped and wiped the wine off her face. She opened her eyes and looked into Nana’s very serious face. “You shut your mouth, Marianne. All these nice girls got together to knock some sense into that pretty little head of yours. It’s time to stop moaning and feeling sorry for yourself. You’re starting to embarrass us.”

  Marianne swallowed. “Oh.”

  28

  Cringe Cauldron

  Marianne gulped down the rest of her glass of wine, still reeling from the fact that she was sitting naked in the spa with her mother, her Goth friends, and her crazy neighbors. They’d allowed her to turn off all the lights, but that was as far as they’d oblige her. “Nana,” she said, holding out her glass to Mom for a refill. “How come your boobs still look so good?”

  “Implants. How do you think?” she said, tisking. Her thin white hair was plastered down around her head, making her look half-bald and a hundred years older. “But don’t you go and do it, Marianne. You’re big enough already. This girl, though,” she jerked her thumb toward Georgia, “she might want to think about it.”

  Marianne choked.

  But Georgia just nodded. “I know, right? And look—” She cupped her boobs with both hands, twisting to show everyone. “The right one is bigger. I have to pad the other side of my bra.”

  “Don’t worry, hon,” said Mom. “That’s very normal.”

  “Yeah,” said Danielle. “But it still sucks. Find a rich guy so you can get that taken care of.”

  Nana nodded. “That’s what I did. Number four was the charm.”

  “What?” said Marianne. “You’ve been married four times?”

  “Something like that, yes,” said Nana. “When are you going to get going? You let this one go and you don’t even have a house to show for it.”

  Marianne scooted away an inch. “You’re a little bit sick, you know that?”

  “Oh, relax,” said Sally, kicking her legs up and letting them float out into the middle. “It takes practice to find the right one. Ooh! Speaking of that…” She sank her legs back down into the bubbling water and rounded on Mom. “Whatever happened to that guy you wanted to set me up with? You know, your nephew.”

  “Too late,” said Marianne. “You told me no, so she told him you were gay.”

  “Actually,” said Mom, reaching back for more wine. “He’s still interested.”

  “You’re joking,” said Marianne. “Why on earth would—What the hell are you doing!”

  Mom hadn’t been reaching back for more wine; she’d been reaching back for Georgia’s pack of cloves. And now she was lighting one. And inhaling. “I’m smoking, Mary,” said Mom. “Relax.”

  “Yeah, relax,” said Sally, lighting her own.

  “Gosh, Marianne,” said Georgia, pulling one out of the pack.

  Danielle just blew out a mouthful of smoke from her menthol and snickered. “Anyw
ay,” she said. “Why would he want to date a gay girl?”

  Mom shrugged. “Guess he thinks he can turn her.”

  “Really? That’s kinda charming.” Sally smiled and nodded. “Maybe I’ll take him to Bats Day tomorrow. He must be a confident guy.”

  Marianne just shook her head. “I should say so.”

  Sally exhaled sharply and pointed at Marianne. “See? That’s your problem. No cojones. You should be in awe of him; wanting to be just like him.”

  “A horny, overconfident loser?”

  “Yeah,” said Sally. “Better than being a horny, insecure loser like you are right now.”

  Mom coughed.

  “Sorry.” Sally bowed to Mom before turning back to Marianne. “An insecure loser like you are now.”

  Marianne crossed her arms. “That’s harsh.”

  “It’s true,” said Danielle, kicking a spray of water at her. “No one wants to be with a girl who’s always feeling sorry for herself.”

  “I do not!” said Marianne.

  Mom grimaced. “You kind of do, sweetie.”

  Marianne’s mouth fell open. “Traitor!”

  Mom shrugged.

  Marianne glared at her and reached over for Georgia’s cloves. When she didn’t react, Marianne pulled one out. Then she lit it—still no reaction. Marianne inhaled…

  “Okay, geez!” Mom snatched it out of Marianne’s hand. “You’re not going to go and get addicted, are you?”

  “This isn’t my first cigarette, Mom.”

  “It isn’t?” She stared at Marianne for a second and then handed it back. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Well… I guess you’re gonna do it, anyway.”

  Marianne took it. “What the heck was that? Way to parent, Mom.”