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

backed away from the door and fled to her room. She grabbed her jacket and purse and changed her shoes. She felt bad for Mom—it wasn’t fun to get ganged up on—but not bad enough to go make up with her. The lady needed to chill out. She put her hair up in a ponytail and went to the bathroom to take care of some egg roll business. Patrick could force her to eat, but he couldn’t make her keep it down.

Marianne had the faucet running to provide cover noise and was head down over the toilet, smack dab in the middle of things, when the door clicked open beside her. “Mary?” called Mom.

Crap! Marianne jerked backward and tossed her toothbrush in the sink with a loud clatter. When the hell would Mom learn to knock first?

Mom opened the door in time to see Marianne getting up off her knees. “Honey, are you sick?”

“Um, yeah,” breathed Marianne. She wiped her eyes and tried to sound fatigued. She leaned forward quickly and flushed the toilet. “I mean, no. I thought I was going to be sick, but I’m fine now. False alarm.”

Mom put her hand on Marianne’s shoulder. “Can I get you something?” She was acting pretty friendly, so she must have come in to say sorry. Sickness by itself wouldn’t have transformed her so quickly.

“I’ll take some water,” said Marianne.

“Okay, sweetie,” she said. “You should get in bed.”

“No, it’s okay. I feel better now.”

“But...” Mom snapped her mouth shut. No doubt, she was hearing Dad’s recent lecture playing in her head. “I’ll get you some water.”

Mom walked away, and Marianne brushed her teeth. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! If Mom ever caught her again, she’d know that something was up. It would hurt her, and that would suck. She had to time her eating patterns better from now on. Get more control. If she’d been less hungry before, she wouldn’t have gone overboard when Patrick forced that plate into her hands. Besides, she didn’t even like puking; it was gross and dangerous. If she lived alone, it would be one thing... Yeah, better timing was the answer. Stay hungry, but not so much that she might fall into another binge. That could work.

She picked up her stuff from off the ground and walked into the living room. She rounded the corner to the front hall and saw Mom answering the door for Patrick.

He smiled at both of them. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Marianne. “I’m ready. Let’s go,” she said quickly.

“Mary, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Mom. She still looked worried.

“Nah, it’s cool,” mumbled Marianne. “Ready?” she asked Patrick brightly.

Patrick looked at Mom, confused.

“She’s sick again,” said Mom. “I think she should stay in bed.”

Marianne froze on the spot and held her breath. She wasn’t prepared for this... Patrick was going to know everything in about ten seconds and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Patrick creased his forehead. “You’re sick?”

Yes and no. Marianne just stood there. She didn’t respond at all. She couldn’t think of one blessed way to lie her way out of this. He’d never buy the sick story. Not this time.

Mom nodded at Patrick. “I found her in the bathroom throwing up,” said Mom. “You wouldn’t want to take her out like that, right?”

Patrick stared at Marianne. She saw the exact moment when his brain clicked it all into place. She saw his lips part slightly and his slow exhale. His gaze flicked down over her body, but he didn’t speak.

Mom was watching her, but Marianne didn’t care. She let the grief show unhidden on her face. She shook her head a fraction of an inch, though she didn’t know what she meant by it. It may have been a denial; it may have been her pleading with him to not be angry.

Patrick put his hand behind his neck and cleared his throat. “I don’t think you’re sick, Marianne.”

No! Marianne’s knees did a little spasm. She was either going to bolt in the other direction or collapse. He wouldn’t out her to Mom. He couldn’t.

He didn’t. Patrick looked at Mom, then back again. “I think your dinner just didn’t agree with you.”

“Yeah,” said Marianne. She was impressed with how much volume she managed. “That has to be it.”

“Because you feel a lot better, right?” asked Patrick.

“Yeah, I feel fine.” Marianne was so grateful that he was covering for her, she’d have gone along with anything he said.

“Good.” He smiled at her. “So, um... you still want to go, right?”

Conniving bastard. He was just trying to get her alone so he could interrogate her. She should have known. She didn’t want to go anywhere with him.

... or maybe she did, deep down.

Patrick saw the indecision on her face and gave her a hard look while Mom wasn’t looking. Marianne responded to the order instinctively, though not without a surge of resentment. “Yeah, I want to go.”

“Mary,” whined Mom.

“I’ll be home early,” she said. “And Patrick will bring me home right away if I get sick again. Okay?”

“Whatever,” said Mom, tight-lipped.

Marianne smiled at her and walked out the door with Patrick. They crossed the yard toward his truck in silence. Marianne didn’t want to be alone with him, and yet she did. She had to clear this up; it was nothing, and he needed to know that.

They got in the truck, and Patrick started the engine. “I don’t think either of us wants to go Frisbee golfing anymore.” He looked at her when he spoke, but only in brief spurts. “Do you want to get a coffee or something?”

“Sure.” Marianne forced a little smile onto her face. “No calories in coffee.”

Patrick looked at her like her head had been cut off.

She wrinkled her nose. “Bad joke?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Too soon?”

“Yes, Marianne,” he moaned. “Way too soon.” He reached over and pulled her toward him by the arm.

She scooted to the middle seat and buckled herself in. She laid her head on his shoulder. “Coffee sounds perfect,” she said.