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

overstating things. It was exciting, but not life changing or anything as gooey as that. In a week, they’d probably be hanging out again as awesome friends. She could totally fricking do that. No fricking problem.

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