Got the Blues

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Beau sat, cross-legged, on the bed while Ann-Marie sobbed against his leg. His foot was falling asleep and every time he moved, it seemed the upper bunk’s cheap spring frame caught a wisp of his hair and jerked it out.

He didn’t talk, just stroked his hand through Ann-Marie’s brutally short hair and down her shoulder. He didn’t say it was going to be all right (it probably would, eventually, but it sure as f**k didn’t feel like it now) and he didn’t try to cast blame. He didn’t even go for a soothing “there, there” because he never really knew what that meant.

Vin didn’t bother to knock. He never did. “Christ Almighty,” Vin exclaimed, a paper bag of liquor tucked under his arm. “What’s wrong with her?”

Beau never knew what to do with a crying woman. He’d not really had to deal with many of them, and for that, he gave profound thanks. When he was growing up, tears were looked on as weakness the instant he hit his fifth birthday. Crying over pain was apt to warrant a slap and a shake from his father to shut up that “girly mewling” noise. Still, after all that, he knew better than that. He rolled his eyes expressively at Vin and sighed.

“She’s upset.”

“Strangely enough, I’d already deduced that, Sherlock,” Vin snapped. He pulled the vodka out of the paper bag and tossed the brown paper to one side. “I have some tonic for that. Is there a glass around here?”

Ann-Marie pushed herself up from her prone position, face ravaged and wet, swollen eyes red. “Hey,” she managed. She sniffled unselfconsciously, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She gestured toward a plastic set of shelves in the corner. From one drawer, Vin extracted the red Solo cups, that staple of drunk students everywhere. He poured a generous shot into the cup and handed it to Ann-Marie. He held the bottle up toward Beau, who shook his head.

“Well, you look like s**t,” Vin said.

“You always know just what to say,” she muttered, then knocked back her cup. She inhaled sharply, her eyes watering for a different reason.

“What happened?” Vin asked. “I thought you had two states, Angry and Really Angry.”

Beau glanced at Ann-Marie for permission. She nodded briefly, a quick jerk of her chin and then she swallowed the rest of the vodka, holding out the cup for a refill. Vin obliged while Beau organized his thoughts carefully. It wouldn’t do a spot of good to get it wrong. Or to imply that Shan…he sighed.

“Ann-Marie and Shannon are broken up,” he said.

“What?” Vin exclaimed. He took something out of his pocket and let it drop to the floor. Beau watched it fall—a pen.

“What was that for?”

“Checking to see if gravity was still on-line,” Vin said. “I thought you two were thick as thieves.”

Ann-Marie rubbed at her eyes and Beau took the opportunity to dig out his pocket handkerchief and hand it to her. She nodded thanks and blew her nose noisily. “That’s so weird of you. Do you always carry a snotrag around?” She considered the square of white cotton for a moment, as if she meant to give it back to him, then shrugged and kept it folded up in her hand. She’d probably need it again in a minute.

“I think it’s cute,” Vin said. He snagged a chair from Ann-Marie’s desk, flipped it around backward and sat down, resting his chin on the back. “Kinda retro southern gentleman. So, what happened?”

Ann-Marie knocked back another shot of vodka, peered into her cup and then held out her hand. Somewhat reluctantly, Vin handed over the bottle. Not, Beau knew, from a desire to keep her from drinking herself into a stupor, but because if she was chugging straight from the bottle, Vin wouldn’t be drinking anymore.

“Shan decided,” Beau said, “that it would be better for them to break up now, rather than suffer through a long distance relationship.”

“Harsh.”

Beau pressed his lips together. There was more to it than that; Ann-Marie had been talking about applying for work up near the school where Shan had started her doctorate. Shannon’s email had been brutal: “I will not be responsible for your resentment if you come up here and are miserable. Our lives are taking different paths, and while I will never regret what we’ve been to each other, nor will I love you any less, I feel that it’s time to cut the s**t and stop pretending that we can make this work, because I don’t believe that we can.”

“She’s been gone, what? Since end of June?”

Ann-Marie shrugged. “She moved up after school ended. I haven’t seen her since the end of May, aside from Skyping.”

“Were you fighting?”

“Not really, no.” Ann-Marie twisted her fingers. “And I don’t think there’s anyone else, I mean there’s no one else on my side, but she’s just being responsible and…stupid. Well, sometimes we were fighting. She doesn’t want me to relocate to Washington. She thinks I’ll hate it.”

“She’s probably right about that,” Vin observed. Beau felt the tension in Ann-Marie’s shoulders get worse.

“I just want to be together!” Ann-Marie wailed and collapsed again, against Beau’s leg. His foot had just started to wake up and now he was entrenched in warfare against the pins and needles. “It doesn’t matter where we are!”