Marianne by Elizabeth Hammer (best books to read in life TXT) 📕

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?”

“I’m studying to be a cosmetologist. You know, like a hairdresser.”

“Really?” said Patrick. “That’s perfect for you.”

Marianne cringed inside a little. She wasn’t ashamed at all, but she was always afraid people would misunderstand and think she was vain—was that vain, too? Whatever. “Why is that perfect for me?”

“You like to help people.” He smiled at her and she felt better. “Do you like it so far?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling a little.

Patrick waited a moment, then looked at her. “Sure? That’s all I get?”

“Work is work,” said Marianne with a significant look.

Patrick laughed and turned right, off the main street and into a shopping center. “Are you hungry? I’m going to get Monkey a milkshake to make it up to him.”

Marianne turned and grinned at the baby. “You want ice cream, baby? Ice cream?”

Monkey Baby smiled big and pointed out the window. Patrick pulled up to the speaker of the fast food place and ordered a small chocolate shake. “Marianne?”

“Nothing for me,” she said quickly. “I don’t have my purse or anything.”

Patrick stared at her.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” She couldn’t stand it if he bought her anything. Besides, she didn’t like eating in front of people she didn’t know. It made her feel greedy or something.

Patrick handed the milkshake to Marianne when he got it. “He’ll probably chuck it if I give it to him.”

Monkey said, “Num!” when Marianne handed it to him. She balled up the straw wrapper and looked around for somewhere to put it.

Patrick looked at Marianne meaningfully and flung the receipt he was holding over her legs and into the mess of tools. Marianne laughed, but all the same, she put the wrapper in her pocket instead.

Danielle came out to meet them when they got home a few minutes later. Marianne got the baby out while Patrick asked how the puke was treating her.

“It’s everywhere,” said Danielle. “And Michael’s a little stuffed up, so he’s lying on the couch while I do everything.”

“Hey, I’ve got one for that,” said Patrick, handing Marianne her soda. “Dan, what do you tell a woman with two black eyes?”

Danielle smiled at Marianne. “I love these.”

“Nothin’” yelled Patrick. “You done told her twice.”

Marianne snorted. That was the worst. She hoisted the baby higher on her hip. “You want me to keep Monkey for a while?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll need the port-a-crib.”

Patrick shut the truck door. “I’ll get it.”

Marianne unlocked her front door with the hidden key, went inside, and set Monkey down at the kitchen table to finish his milkshake. Her parents weren’t home yet. They must have felt bad for lying to Patrick and gone out to lunch after all. Thorough of them.

Patrick knocked on the side of the open front door. “Where do you want it?”

“Can you sit here with him while I put it up in my room?”

“Sure.” He set the folded up playpen in the hallway and came into the kitchen. He stayed by the kitchen door, though, probably thinking the baby would freak out if he got too close.

Marianne squeezed by him and hefted the playpen toward the bedroom, trying to think of a way to get him to stay after this. How self-destructive was that? Just that fact that he existed seemed to hurt her feelings, but she still wanted to be around him. She’d have to analyze that part of herself the next time she was sitting on the shower floor, weeping from the pain of self-loathing.

All the doors off the back hallway were shut, and it was very dim because her eyes hadn’t adjusted yet. She accidentally banged the playpen into the side of the linen closet.

Marianne opened the door to her bedroom and backed in with the crib. Her room was even darker than the hall. Weird. She never closed the blackout curtains.

And her CD player was on.

It wasn’t the disc she’d left inside it, either. It was creepy, mournful organ music. What the? Marianne dropped the crib in the doorway and felt for the light switch. A hand covered hers and someone spoke out from the darkness. “My love...”

Marianne screamed and stumbled over the playpen into the hallway. She backed herself up against the linen closet, ready to scream again.

“It’s just me...”

Her visitor stepped into the doorway of her bedroom. The light was faint, but she could make him out. Marianne turned around, put her hands on the cabinets, and purposely banged her forehead against them. “What the hell are you doing here, Alvin?”

7

Decease and Desist

“I needed to see you, Marianne,” said Dark Lord Alvin.

She closed her eyes and banged her head on the cabinets again. “How did you get in here?”

“I snuck in,” he said. Just like a cockroach.

“Marianne?” called Patrick. She looked up and saw