{When You're Gone ~ The Milk Carton Kids}
...I asked you for a favour, you ain't let me down, you ain't let me down yet, the songs you loved to sing, they are still ringing in my ears, the love you gave to me, I am still holding on to...
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The cloudless night has a chill that is uncharacteristic of Laurel Valley. I expected the wave of a humid night but instead, all there is is a cool breeze and the cicadas that surrounds me outside of the bar while I wait on Beau. I expected him to talk me down, remind me that we have training tomorrow morning, or simply inform me that he's coming to pick me up and bring me home, but he simply said 'Give me ten minutes. I'll be right there.'
His truck headlights begin to light up the roadway towards the bar as I hear another round of applause inside the bar for the end of a karaoke number, the raucous enjoyment of the night filtering through the doors to me on my little stoop outside. My body rises to watch him turn in and park the rickety truck and its sputtering engine and step out.
In all the time I've known Beau, he's never looked as put together as he does right now. His white t-shirts and dust-covered jeans were replaced with a clean pair of jeans and a crisp shirt. He's shaved his growing stubble down and on his head is a black ten-gallon hat that obscures his eyes. He waves over to me and I return it with a small wave. Within a few seconds, he is in front of me, his eyes searching the window seat where he had seen Scarlett and the boys hours before, before his brow furrowed in confusion as to the strangers who now occupied the booth.
"Where did--"
"They went to a party," I inform him, my eyes falling to the floor.
"And you didn't want to go?" He pushes.
"I'm already pushing the boat out even being here, by Uncle Deacon's rules."
Beau scoffs a little, shaking his head in a moment of disbelief.
"Y'know, he never seemed to be the warden type," Beau explains. "Still, I'm not family so what do I know?"
"I didn't ask you here to talk about why I didn't go to the party," I laugh, a small knot forming in my stomach as I try and steer the conversation onward. "Do you want to get a drink?"
"Here?" His eyes scan over the building, taking in the crowd inside singing along to some eighties classic being sung on karaoke.
"Where else?" I push.
"Ruby, there is more than one bar in Laurel Valley," Beau leans in slightly as though he doesn't want anyone else to hear his badmouthing. "And they're a hell of a lot nicer than this."
"I didn't think you were such a snob," I tease him.
"If insisting on taking you to a sweet little spot I know, if only so I can beat your ass at a game of pool, then yes I am a snob," he returns.
"Oh, it's on. Lead the way!" I confirm, wasting no time in heading towards the truck.
The truck lurches to life and within moments I am watching the neon sign of the bar fade out of sight in the rearview mirror, letting the open windows blow my hair around my face while Beau and I sing along to some old country song that blares from the car speakers, both of us relaxing into the cool breeze of our drive off the beaten path towards Beau's favourite bar.
----
The Starry Sister is a sweet little corner of a bar, with a few pool tables and a few regulars. There's a makeshift dance floor and a family of bar staff who all give Beau a warm hello as he enters with me behind him. He gives them a winning smile before pointing out a quiet little booth in some lower light for me to grab while he gets us some drinks.
I go to tell him just to get me a lemonade, when he already speaks it aloud to the barman, giving me a calming wink as if to say 'I got it, don't worry' and I am already at ease.
Before I know it, I have slid into the forest green leather booth seat with an ice-cold lemonade rattling with ice, and Beau takes off his hat before sitting across from me. I take in the crisp white of his shirt and the gentle scent of his aftershave.
"I hope I didn't take you away from anything too important," I tell him, my brows furrowing slightly.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd have called you a guardian angel, sent to rescue me," he laughs.
"What do you mean?" I ask. "Bad date?"
He takes a drink of his whisky, wincing slightly as it goes down, his finger tracing the rim of the glass.
"Date?" He laughs. "No, no, no..."
"Then--" I begin.
"Family reunion," he groans slightly, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, I see," I laugh. "That's rough."
"Every couple of years I get the message that the relatives want to have a big cookout, or someone's pregnant, getting married, or dead, and we've got to all pretend that we're anything but people with the same last name," he tells me. "I guess we're just not one of those families that are close, not like you and yours."
I almost choke on my lemonade.
"You're kidding, right?" I guffaw. "Me and my family aren't very kumbaya, if that's what you're getting at."
"Well, no, but Mr Taylor would clearly do anything for you and, I have only seen the person he is and was with his old lady, Mrs Taylor, may she rest," he lowers his eyes slightly when he mentions my Aunt Rita. "I didn't mean to make any assumptions."
"You're fine," I settle him, reaching my hand out to touch his arm, casually.
His eyes look down at my hand, his breathing pausing and I instinctively pull back, but he simply smiles as we catch each other's gaze.
"Well," he continues, "I was ready to make some excuse to the relatives when you called and I was out of there as soon as I could be."
"Was it that bad?" I ask him.
"My family aren't bad people, but they're barely acquaintances," he tells me. "All extended family who don't know how to look me in the eyes about any of the truths of how imperfect families can be."
"Are you the only one of your close family to go to the reunions?"
"Well, yeah," he half-laughs. "I'm the only one there is."
"Oh," I nod. "I'm sorry."
"It ain't your fault," he shakes his head, taking another swig. "You didn't burn down my parent's house, right?"
"Of course not," I sputter. "I'm so sorry, Beau. That's awful!"
He nods passively.
"It was the year I was in the Derby, they died two months before and I poured it all into training, all the grief and the rage and the reeling at how cruel life can be, y'know? I just threw it into being the best I could be. Maybe then, I'd have made 'em proud, I guess," he lowers his voice almost to a gentle whisper.
"And..." I hesitate. "The accident."
He scoffs darkly.
"Yeah, if you want to call it that," he nods. "Anyway, family isn't always blood, it's who is there to pick you back up when the world crumbles. And for me, that was Mr and Mrs Taylor."
I can't help but feel a swell inside my chest at the thought of Uncle Deacon and Aunt Rita helping through the aftermath of the accident, through the depths of grief and the shrieking pain of how much loss now echoes in the shadows behind his eyes.
"My Aunt Rita had the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known," I tell him. "She was always the person I ran to when I had a bad dream or... And Uncle Deacon, he's been my hero for my whole life."
"They'd have made great parents," Beau offers. "It's a shame."
"It wasn't for lack of wanting them," I tell him. "I remember hearing about it when I'd listen into my Mom's calls with Aunt Rita, how she'd cry about it not happening for them, something about her being infertile. And then she got sick a few years later, and then it became about getting her better, or keeping her comfortable."
"Your Mom is Mr Taylor's sister?" He asks, curiosity rising in his voice.
I nod, quietly. Beau takes the cue to leave his questioning there, and I wish there was a way to silently thank him for understanding.
"I..." I speak before fully forming my sentence. "I was sent here as a last-ditch effort to give me a fresh start."
"And how is that going?" He asks.
"Well, apart from the threat of losing the ranch," I say, and we both share a laugh. "I guess it's going okay."
"I have to say, it's been nice having someone around the ranch," Beau tells me. "Now don't go getting a big head or nothin', it's just a nice feeling to have someone else mucking out stables in the morning."
I roll my eyes and sip on my lemonade as Beau chuckles to himself.
"So why did you bring me here? What makes this such a sweet spot?" I ask Beau, my eyes taking in our surroundings.
"Well," he sighs. "It's a little slice of home for the folks around here, an under-the-radar gem, but mostly I like it because it's always where I find people can relax the most, and by the sound of your voice on the phone, it seemed like the karaoke bar wasn't fitting the bill."
"Ah, you heard that, huh?" I mutter sheepishly.
"And, I felt like you might want a few more hours of freedom before we get back to training bright and early tomorrow."
"It's not that I didn't want to go to the party, I just..." I sit forward. "I can't mess this up."
"The derby?"
"That," I agree. "But the fresh start, too."
He nods slowly, sitting forward. His hand reaches out to touch my arm, mirroring my earlier action. I track the journey of his hand across the table to my arm with my eyes and feel the gentleness of his pressing on my skin.
"Darlin', you aren't going to mess this up," he affirms. "If there's one thing I can see to be true, it's that you give a shit about this place. You care about the Ranch, about Mr Taylor, about it all. And people who care are far less likely to let it all go to shit."
"And you," I blurt out.
"What?" He asks, confusion passing across his face.
"You're on that list," I confirm, my eyes not meeting his. "Of things I care about."
His hand rests on my arm for a moment longer before he gently sits back, a shyness sitting on his shoulders.
"Well," he shrugs. "Don't go making a habit of talking soft on me. I'm still getting you training at six."
"Deal," I laugh.
We clink glasses and let the rest of the night fly away from us before the lights of the fireflies in the field guide us back home to the ranch. I sleep soundly, dreamlessly, and with nothing but the taste of lemonade on my tongue and the echo of Beau's hand on my arm that lingers longer than I expect, but that I long to feel again.
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