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

She knew it. “Why?” Marianne wrinkled her nose. “What did he say?”

Patrick was silent for a moment and then spoke in a lower voice than before. “He said that you’ve been quieter, lately. He misses you. He said that you don’t eat dinner with them any—”

“I still don’t like this,” interrupted Marianne. “You shouldn’t have to mow our lawn. My dad should just pay someone to do it if he’s worried for me.”

“He’s worried about more than you and the lawnmower. And so am I.” Patrick shifted on the uncomfortable pock-marked rock so he was angled toward her. “You get a little morose sometimes.”

“I do?” Marianne really hoped that he was exaggerating. She always tried to be more cheerful when she was in public. She didn’t want to be one of those people. “Like when?”

“Like...” Patrick stared into the tide pool for a second before answering. “Like at dinner tonight. You seemed distracted, agitated. Just picking at your tomatoes.”

“Oh.” Marianne tried her best to scoff at that humiliating revelation of herself. “That was just me fighting to stick to my diet.”

Patrick looked at her, confused. “You’re on a diet? What for?”

Men. “For my big, fat butt. That’s what for,” she laughed.

Patrick did not laugh. “But you’re perfect.”

“How sweet of you.” Marianne gave him a half-smile and tried to lay her head against his shoulder.

Patrick caught her chin and held her face where he could see it. He looked into her eyes, one at a time, back and forth. “You shouldn’t be dieting. If anything, you’re underweight. I don’t think that’s safe—”

Marianne pulled her chin out of his hand and laughed. “It’s not really a diet diet. Just trying to eat healthy, you know.”

Patrick looked at her hard. “So, you’re being safe?”

“Yes.” She was totally in control of the situation, in any case.

Patrick looked out at the ocean and then back at her. “You promise?”

Marianne smiled softly. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. Patrick unzipped his jacket and pulled Marianne against him, wrapping it around her. “I love you.”

It took Marianne at least five seconds to respond, but she did. “Thank you,” she said. They sat there together watching the waves until the sun went down.

17

Martyr

Marianne jammed on her boots with excessive force, tweaking her little toe in the process. “Jackass!” she shouted. She wasn’t talking to herself, she was talking to the imaginary Patrick. She’d been cursing at him aloud the whole time she changed out of her school clothes.

She’d called his phone five times when he didn’t show up at school with Nana as planned. In a half hour’s time, she’d worked herself up to practical hysteria that he’d found Nana dead in her bed, and that’s why he wasn’t there. Or maybe that one of Danielle’s kids had finally gotten smushed by a car. She was so convinced that she’d left school early.

Nope. Patrick was just an inconsiderate jackass.

Marianne had called Danielle’s house—again—as she sped down the freeway, only to find out that nothing at all was wrong. Big-mouthed Beth answered the phone and told her that Patrick was sleeping. In the middle of the day. Sleeping.

If this had happened a few days ago, Marianne would have gone into some freaky guilt-ridden, he-doesn’t-owe-me-anything spiral. Today she was pissed. You don’t tell a girl you’re in love with her and then stand her up the next day. Jackass.

Marianne put on her peach sweater and stormed next door through the wind. Even if she didn’t have the courage to lay into Patrick, she’d at least be able to get some sympathy from Danielle. Marianne went into the house without knocking and found Danielle in the kitchen packing a big grocery bag with snacks.

Danielle looked up at her and pursed her lips, nodding. “Big-mouth told me what happened. You’ve got some catch there, babe.” She turned back to packing her bag. “That’s just a taste of marriage.”

“So, I’m right,” said Marianne, spreading out her hands. “He’s a jackass, right?”

Michael, Danielle’s husband, looked up from the motorcycle magazine he was reading at the table. “All men are jackasses, Marianne.”

Danielle turned and blew him a kiss. She turned to Marianne. “You’re still house-sitting for us this week, right?” They were driving out to Arizona tomorrow to visit Michael’s lovely mother, and Patrick was going back to Monterey to work.

Marianne shrugged. “Yeah, if you want.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “You could try to be a little more grateful.”

“Aren’t I the one doing you the favor?”

“Not unless you’re going in my place.”

“Hey!” said Michael, from the table. “I thought you were excited about this trip.”

“Oh, I am,” said Danielle, smiling at him. “I’m just not excited about the drive with the brats.” She turned around and mouthed “whoops” to Marianne. Danielle liked Michael’s mother about as much as she liked her own. At least she had the grace not to show it. Danielle really could be sweet sometimes.

“But why do you want me to stay, anyway?” asked Marianne. “I won’t forget to feed the dog if I sleep at home.”

“What if someone steals all my stuff?”

“No one’s going to steal all your stuff.”

Danielle was fully out of patience and snapped at Marianne, “Are you going to house-sit, or should I find someone else?”

“Yes, I’ll house-sit.” Marianne didn’t mind doing it, despite thinking it was unnecessary. It might be fun to be alone. She wouldn’t have to deal with any bothersome distractions from her loneliness and depression. Marianne crossed her arms. “Where are you going right now?” she said. “You should stay here and yell at Patrick for me.”

“I can’t do everything around here. We have to go to a stupid soccer game.” Danielle picked up the bag and practically threw it down on Michael’s lap. “Just go be your charming bitchy self, Marianne. You’ll do great.”

“Fine,” mumbled Marianne. She turned and walked all the way down the hall to the last door, Patrick’s room. She imagined herself shoving the door open with a loud