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

anymore. Well, some still do. The Carthusian Monks still wear them. And they lash themselves with whips during the penitential seasons.”

“You read too much. You’re making me feel stupid.” Marianne looked down at Patrick’s drawing and started laughing. “That is so mean.” He’d sketched out her name in Old English lettering in the banner under the skull.

Patrick capped the marker and put it down on the table. “I’m hungry now, too.”

Marianne made Patrick dinner while he took a shower. She was just flipping the grilled cheese sandwich in the frying pan when Danielle and the family came home from the park.

“Yo,” said Michael. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped off the cap with the opener on his key chain. “You’re still here.”

“Yup, I’m still here.” Marianne held out her hand for his cap, and he tossed it to her. She dropped it into the open trashcan right by her. “I don’t run from the place like you do.”

“Uh...” Michael got visibly flustered. Poor guy. He was a hundred and ninety pounds of walking guilt. Marianne always chalked it up to having an unbelievably judgmental wife.

“I was just kidding, Michael.” She smiled timidly at him; he liked her best when she looked timid. “Everyone needs to get out of their own house for a while. That’s why I’m here so much.”

“Right, right.” Michael was staring distractedly at the tile across the room. He wasn’t listening to Marianne or her gentle comfort measures at all. “Where’s Patrick? I wanna show him the new tank for my bike before it gets dark.”

Marianne reached up for a plate on a high shelf and turned around. “In the shower.”

Michael raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

He shrugged uncomfortably and almost chuckled to himself. “Nothin. Just, you know... you guys are alone here... taking showers... I don’t know.”

Marianne blinked at him. “I wasn’t in there with him or anything.”

Danielle walked in the kitchen then and read her husband’s awkward demeanor inside of a nanosecond. “What’s going on? Where’s Patrick? What did you do, Marianne? Is the dog dead?”

“No. Geez, relax.” Marianne flipped the sandwich. “Nothing’s going on.”

Danielle turned her psychic eyes to her husband.

Michael put his hands up in surrender. “I was just trying to figure out what was going on here while we were gone.”

Danielle’s jaw fell open with an audible pop. “Were you guys doing it?”

“NO!” Marianne pointed accusingly at Michael. “Patrick’s in the shower and he thought it was weird. It’s not weird. Nothing’s going on.”

Danielle turned to her husband.

He shrugged innocently. “Hey, he’s in the shower. She looks kinda nervous. What was I supposed to think?”

“I don’t look nervous!” Marianne turned to Danielle. “Do I?”

Danielle cocked her head to the side. “I don’t know. Your hair’s all messed up. Your sweater’s buttoned wrong.” She turned and nodded at Michael. “Yeah. Good call.”

He winked at his wife and then looked at Marianne and almost jumped backward. She may have been staring him down. “Hey,” said Michael. “I’m just looking out for you.” He gestured with his thumb toward his wife. “You gotta be careful or you’ll end up with six kids like her.”

Danielle looked surprisingly calm. “Take it back, my love. Take it back now.”

“I mean us,” said Michael quickly. “We have six kids. I just meant that you gotta be careful with showers, is all. Danielle can tell you.”

“Are you saying I have a thing for the shower?” said Danielle.

“Hey,” said Michael, shrugging. “It’s the only time I don’t smell. I don’t blame you.”

Marianne really wanted to cover her ears, but she didn’t want to be rude. She put the sandwich on a plate and put the pan in the sink.

“Geez, Mike,” said Danielle. “Marianne’s gonna go hop in with Patrick just to get away from you and your smelly pillow talk.”

“Oh, sorry.” Michael grimaced. “Hey, I didn’t mean to call out your inner feelings, or nothin.”

Marianne shuddered but didn’t answer. She just grabbed the plate and ran from the room. Married people were sometimes so inconsiderate of the virgin ears of virgin girls. The old ladies at church were the worst, though. Marianne used to help cook at the potlucks till some ancient widow had kindly educated her about what style of lingerie to buy when she was married.

“Make sure you get a nightie with a fur-lined hem; it’ll keep your neck warm.”

Look of horror.

Self-satisfied snicker.

Marianne pulled herself away from the traumatic memory and opened the door to Patrick’s bedroom. “Gah!” she screamed and bolted in the other direction, almost ramming into the wall behind her.

“What?” said Patrick, opening the door fully and sticking his head out.

Marianne stood in the hall with her eyes tightly squinted. “Are you dressed?”

“Yes.”

She opened her eyes and quickly shut them again.

“Well, mostly,” he said. He was wearing pajama pants, but no shirt. She’d seen skin, and that had been enough to spook her. Patrick laughed at her. “Okay, the shirt’s on, now. What’s wrong?”

Marianne kept her eyes shut. “Michael’s been schooling me in shower sex,” she whimpered.

“Oh, come on, dude!” yelled Patrick in his scratchy sick voice.

“Sorry,” Michael shouted back.

Marianne opened her eyes, and Patrick was shaking his head at her. “She doesn’t even know what a condom looks like. Leave her alone.”

“What?” yelled Danielle. “Get her back in here. We need to have a talk.”

Marianne covered her face with her free hand. “Another time, maybe.”

“Fine,” said Danielle. “Just don’t come crying to me when you find out you’ve got Patrick’s spawn sucking the life out of your uterus.”

“Oh, man.” Patrick grabbed Marianne by the arm and pulled her into his room. He pushed her into the chair and headed for the door. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No, it’s all right.” Marianne exhaled. “The scary images will fade soon enough.”

“You sure? Just give me a few minutes; she’ll never bother you again.”

Marianne put her feet up on the edge of the bed and leaned back in the swivel chair. “Puh-lease. Not even you can reign in Danielle.”

Patrick looked offended. “Marianne, I have