Marianne Surrenders

As Marianne made her way to Sarah's house, she reminisced about their friendship. They had been the closest of friends since childhood. It was to Sarah that Marianne turned for support when she first learned of her husband Michael's infidelity. She wept and trembled uncontrollably in Sarah's arms that day, as they both sat on the chaiselong in Sarah's grand hallway.

Sarah lived only thirty minutes away, and Marianne thought the walk would clear her head. Recently she had found herself in a fragile state of mind. Even though it was over seven years since her husband had left, she struggled to rediscover her confidence. As a result, she had been without a partner ever since. Now, at thirty three years of age, she longed more than ever for the companionship of a man.

Michael was her first and only love. They met at school when they were both fifteen. He was a rough and ready kid from the wrong side of the tracks, but he had a good heart, at least he did back in those days. Every day, on the way home from school, he would offer to carry Marianne's books. Being a shy girl, Marianne would burn with embarrassment, turn crimson, and refuse.

Finally, after many weeks of pursuit, she succumb to his charms and they spent almost every day together after that, mostly because that's how Michael decided it would be. He would make a lot of the decisions in their relationship.

A few years later Michael proposed and they were married. As with many relationships spawned from childhood sweethearts, things grew stale. Michael grew bored, and he grew to resent Marianne. She bore the brunt of his wild and controlling nature.

Being married so young, he worried he'd missed out on too much of his youth and doing the sort of things that young men do. He didn't like being tied down anymore. It wasn't long before the dark side of his personality began to emerge and he returned to his troublesome ways. Run-in's with the law, and late night drinking sessions with his buddies became regular occurrences – sometimes he wouldn't come home for days.

He often took his frustration out on Marianne. Although he never physically struck her, she was never left in any doubt that he blamed her in some way for something. It didn't matter what.

Their home began to bear the scars of Michael's explosive temper; holes in walls, broken furniture, shattered door frames. Marianne managed as best she could, but the damage became difficult to mask.

Sarah's family home was located off the beaten path in a small, semi-rural location. Part of a larger country estate, it was a quiet and safe place to raise children. Each house in the area was completely unique. Sarah's was a large detached house with a wooden porch and well maintained gardens front and rear. Its old stained glass windows were much coveted by the neighbours.

As she approached, Marianne's mildly optimistic mood turned to one of nervous apprehension. There, in Sarah's front yard, standing adjacent to a newly planted tree, was the figure of a young man, a young man who's face she could not quite place. He was tall, well built, and bare chested. In one hand he held a large garden fork, and with the other he mopped his brow.

The young man stopped and, leaning against his spade, turned to look at Marianne. He squinted and held his hand up to block the sun from his eyes. She felt him staring intensely as she approached. It was not often that she was observed so enthusiastically and unabashed by anybody. Flustered, and feeling a little vulnerable, she looked at the floor, afraid her face would in some way reveal a dark secret she didn't realise she had.

She stopped a few paces from him and asked if Sarah was home. Her voice almost never came out, and cracked when it did. She cleared her throat and, with trembling fingers, coyly brushed a few loose strands of auburn hair behind her ear. He didn't answer at first, just continued to gaze. It could have been mistaken for arrogance had there not been the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

His eyes unashamedly fluttered back and forth from her face, to her breasts, to her lips, back to her face, and then lower down her body. Unbeknownst to Marianne, under the glare of a bright sun, her white cotton dress revealed as much as it concealed. The warm pink tone of her flesh clearly visible beneath the surface of the thin white fabric. A compromising silhouette exposed every contour of her slender body. Her decision not to wear a bra that afternoon had left the young man transfixed.

“
Erm... Yes, I believe she is. I'll just go inside and tell her you're here,” he said finally. Then he disappeared down the garden path, leaving Marianne alone with the newly planted tree – a cherry blossom.

It struck Marianne as odd that this apparent stranger should be able to inform Sarah of her presence without actually asking her name, but it was a minor issue and she thought nothing more of it.

As she waited for the man's return, Marianne admired the garden, in particular, the newly planted tree. It only reached up to her shoulders in height, but it all ready had several pretty pink blossoms adorning its supple, waxy branches. She contemplated taking one and placing it in her hair, like she used to do as a child – it always made her feel pretty, like a princess from a fairy tail. She gave it some thought then decided against the idea fearing it might look silly for a grown women to do such a childish thing.

The young man reappeared some five minutes later. “Sorry. Looks like I made a mistake. She's not home. She must have slipped out the back when I wasn't looking and gone on an errand or something,” he said.

Again, he stood in front of Marianne; his eyes darting about her body. “You're welcome to come inside and wait for her if you like?” He motioned his arm towards the house. “I'm sure she won't be too long.”

“
No. It doesn't matter. I probably should have given her a call to let her know I was coming. It's no problem. I will call around some other time,” said Marianne, gesturing in the direction from which she had arrived.

“
Don't be silly,” he replied. “You should come in and wait for her. She'd be disappointed to know that she'd missed you. Come in and wait.”

He smiled – he had a kind smile, and his teeth were white and healthy. This time his aquamarine eyes didn't dart around her body at all. They looked directly into hers, where they lingered in anticipation of her response. His pupils were large, and his eyelashes particularly long, for a boy, she noticed.

Marianne hesitated for a moment then looked at her watch. “Well I suppose... if you're sure she won't be long that is?”

The man nodded, threw his fork back into the ground, then turned and lead Marianne in the direction of the house.

* * *

The door closed behind Marianne, taking with it the sound of birdsong and leaving both of them in eerie silence. Although she had been here many times before, the house seemed darker than usual and much cooler. She followed him down the hall, past the ornate Edwardian chaiselong, and into the living-room where the young man told her to take a seat.

“
Would you like a drink?” he asked. “We have fresh orange.”

“
That would be nice. Thank you,” she replied. Now slightly more baffled than before. “We?” she thought to herself.

He returned no more than a minute later, now wearing a t-shirt, and with a glass in his hand.

Marianne was perched on the edge of the couch stiff and upright, with her knees pressed firmly together and her hands laying flat upon them. Feeling tense and a little apprehensive, she wondered why she'd acted so out of character by agreeing to enter an empty house with a complete stranger. It made no difference that it was the familiar surroundings of Sarah's house, who was he?

He handed her the glass of orange. Meekly, she reached out and took it. As she did their hands touched. Her fingers briefly caressing his. He did not flinch or pull away, instead he gave her a glance and smiled.

He sat in the chair opposite and looked on in silence at Marianne. She could feel her face starting to burn. Nervously, she sipped the drink and gestured towards the window. “The weather's been really lovely the last few days,” she said, attempting polite small talk.

“
Yes, it has hasn't it. Really lovely,” he replied.

“
So, I see you're planting a tree for Sarah. That's nice.”

The young man gave a chuckle and replied, “Yes. Yes I am. It's a cherry blossom – Sarah's favourite.”

“
Mine too!” replied Marianne eagerly.

He continued, “Yeah, apparently, when she was a kid, her and her best friend used to pick the cherry blossoms from the trees, put them in their hair, and dance around the garden, pretending they were princesses or something. That's why she likes them; fond memories I guess. Kinda funny huh?”

Marianne's face contorted. She thought for a moment, took another sip of her drink, then said, “Um... Sarah and I used to do that.”

At which point the young man rolled back in his seat, laughed and said, “Geez, you really don't remember me do you Marianne?”

Marianne almost choked on her drink. She coughed and said, “How the hell do you know my name?” Trying to wipe the wine from her chin with as much dignity as she could muster. “Do I know you?”

The young man laughed again. “Why don't you have a guess Marianne?' he said. “Go on, have a guess.” He was enjoying his little game now.

Perplexed, Marianne eagerly looked him up and down. She started at his feet. He was wearing a pair of expensive looking hiking boots, but they were dusty from from digging in the garden. His jeans were tight around his thighs – he was obviously someone who liked to keep in shape. His t-shirt was taught across his toned and previously bare chest; it stretched tightly across broad shoulders. She looked at his face intensely inspecting every line. He definitely looked familiar, but it wasn't until she noticed the dimple that adorned his right cheek when he smiled that the penny finally dropped.

“
Tommy?” she stammered inquisitively. “Little Tommy Ryan? Sarah's kid brother? It can't be?”

She stood up and threw her arms around him.

“
Hey, it took you some time but we got there in the end.”

“
Oh my God. Little Tommy, or maybe...” she paused to eye his strapping arms again, “...or maybe not-so-little Tommy anymore.”

The young man, or Tommy as it were, smiled modestly and nodded his head. “Yeah, it's me. I can't believe you didn't recognise me.”

“
Are you kidding me? You look so...” again she paused to admire his form, '...so different!'

“
Well, to be fair to you, I suppose it has been a while since I saw you last. What is it? Ten? Fifteen years?' he replied.

Marianne scratched her head. In all honesty she couldn't remember the last time she had seen Sarah's younger brother. His existence was probably of little significance to her at the time. After all, she was a good seven years older than him, and he would have still been in short pants back then.

“
Yeah,” she said unconvincingly. “It must be ten years at least.”

Tommy picked up on Marianne's uncertainty and was a little disappointed. Growing up he had found his sister's best friend alluring. Being so young at the time he wasn't sure exactly what it was about her that fascinated him. Yes, she always had a certain earthy, natural beauty about her, but there was more to it than that. Simple things like the way she moved, the way she interacted with the world around her, and with other people. Unfortunately for Tommy, Marianne had barely noticed him. To her he was just her friend's kid brother; a child; an invisible little boy. As they grew older Tommy had to endure the heartache of seeing Marianne fall in love with someone else – someone much older, and stronger – his name was Michael. Although it hurt, Tommy took solace in knowing that he and Marianne had a bond. It didn't matter that she didn't know it yet. Tommy was confident that in time, one day, she would discover it for it herself, and they would be together. To him it was destiny, and nothing can stop destiny.