How to Have an Affair
These are the rules. Unwritten. Unspoken. But followed.
They don't talk about Richard. This rule is never broken. Whenever they're together that way, Richard doesn't exist. Nor does any woman Raylan might be seeing, not that Winona ever knows about any of them anyway. She imagines there are other women, but he's never introduced anyone to Willa, so whoever they might be, they aren't very important.
They don't plan ahead. They never talk about next time. But they both know there will be a next time.
They don't say I love you. It's all been said and done. There's no need for the words.
They don't talk about Willa. This rule gets broken more than the others, but they try to keep her out of it. There was them long before there was her.
o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o
It all starts when Raylan calls in the middle of the night.
"Willa's sick." He sounds worried and Raylan hardly ever worries, so she's instantly awake.
"What's her temp?" she asks, already pulling on jeans under the old UK t-shirt she sometimes sleeps in.
"I can't find the thermometer," he says. "But she's burnin' up."
"Get a wash cloth cold and put it on her head," she says. "I'll be right over."
She slips her feet into flip-flops and gathers supplies from the bathroom; the ear thermometer, children's Tylenol, Pedialyte. She grabs a clean pair of pajamas from Willa's room – if the fever breaks she'll sweat through the ones she packed. She lays a hand on Richard's shoulder.
"Willa's sick. I'm running over to Raylan's."
"Mmm hmmm," he murmurs, not quite waking up. "Youwantmetocometoo?" The words jumble together.
"No need. Hopefully I'll be back soon." And she's down the stairs, grabbing her keys from the hook by the door.
It's five minutes to Raylan's condo, if that. To her surprise, six months ago he'd jumped at the chance to leave his downtown apartment and get in on the new development, even though he hates the suburbs and his drive to work is longer. Now he lives less than two miles from Winona's house. Sometimes she walks Willa over to drop her off on Raylan's days. She's always lonely on the walk back, even if Richard is waiting for her.
Now she turns into the complex and weaves her way around to Raylan's townhouse. It's towards the back of the development, and he has a nice view of the pool and the salt marsh beyond from his patio. She can't see any of that now, of course, but the lights are on and the garage door is up, so she lets herself in and heads back to her daughter's bedroom.
The rest of Raylan's place might be sparse, but his little girl's room is a bright splash of color. Father and daughter painted it together and it took Winona a week to get all of the paint flecks out of Willa's hair. It's yellow, Willa's second favorite color, and just like her room at home, one wall is chalkboard paint so she can draw all over it, mostly dogs and horses.
The pink flowered quilt is thrown back and Raylan is sitting on the bed, Willa half on his lap, a washcloth on her forehead.
"Mama," her voice is a whine. "I don't feel good. My head hurts."
"I know punkin'." Winona lifts the cloth and lays a hand on Willa's forehead. She raises an eyebrow at Raylan. The child is burning up.
"How long has she been like this?" She knows she sounds irritated. She pulls out the thermometer, lifts Willa's curls aside, and fits it in her ear.
"I was doin' paperwork. She woke up and called for me 'bout an hour ago," Raylan says. "She was fine when she went to bed."
The thermometer beeps. "102.6," she reads.
"Is that bad?" He's talking over the top of Willa's head, whispering so their daughter won't hear.
Winona mouths the word 'No." and pours some of the Tylenol into the plastic cup. "Here, baby."
Willa swallows the medicine without complaint, an indication of how bad she really feels.
"Daddy and I will be right back," Winona says.
"No mama," Willa reaches for her mother as Raylan eases her off his lap.
"Here," he says. "Hold onto Mr. Bear and we'll be back in a minute."
Willa pouts, but holds out her arms for the well-loved stuffed animal.
"Should we go to the ER?" Raylan asks in the hallway. He keeps his voice low.
"No," Winona says. "Not unless the Tylenol doesn't bring it down."
"When will we know?"
She sighs. "In an hour or so, I'd think. You know Raylan, I haven't done this parenting thing before either."
"Yeah, that's right," he says. "Sorry."
She lays a hand on his arm. "It's not your fault. Kids get sick." His eyes meet hers, relieved, and she feels a twinge of guilt realizing he expected her to blame him.
"Mama! Daddy!" Willa cries. "It's been a minute."
Two hours later, the fever isn't gone, but it's down, and after six or seven mind-numbing repeated readings of Click Clack Moo, Willa is finally asleep.
Winona eases off the bed carefully, pulling the sheet up and tucking Mr. Bear in beside her baby girl.
"You want a beer?" Raylan asks as they tiptoe out of the bedroom.
It's three in the morning, but she nods and follows him to the kitchen. He gets two Heinekens out of the fridge and slides open the patio door. Twisting off the caps, he hands her one. He hooks a thumb at the window. "We'll be able to hear her if she wakes up."
It's a cool night, somewhere in the sixties; a relief after a string of ninety degree days with a hundred percent humidity. The patio is small, but he's wedged a porch swing in one corner beside the potted palm she and Willa picked out as a housewarming gift.
Willa's pink bathing suit hangs over the privacy fence. "She went swimming?"
"Yeah," he says. "Like I told you, she was bouncin' around as usual." He looks toward the window again, listening.
"She'll be fine, Raylan. There's probably something going around at preschool."
He nods and takes a long pull on his beer. "Nice shirt," he says, grinning.
She looks down and laughs. "It's old. Probably yours."
"Mighta been." He lets out a breath. "Looks better on you," He says, almost too quiet for her to hear.
A flush of heat spreads through her and she raises the bottle to her lips.
She loves Richard, really she does. He's nothing like poor, dead Gary, although she'd loved him, too, or thought she did. Looking back, she's not so sure. But Richard's a good man, calm and steady. He loves her, and he loves Willa. He even says he likes Raylan and maybe he does. He certainly bends over backwards to be sure Willa's daddy always feels welcome in their home.
So it's shitty that she knows - as well as she knows her own face in the mirror – that she's never going to love Richard - or anyone - the way she loves the man standing here. They couldn't make it work – God knows they'd tried – but it's not like they can walk away and never see each other. Willa took care of that option forever. And seeing Raylan so often makes her heart ache.
Maybe that's why she says it, or maybe it's the way the moon comes out of the clouds at just that moment, lighting up the patio, catching the look of longing in his dark eyes. She wonders if it matches her own.
"I miss you sometimes."
At first, she wonders if he's heard her. Then he sets his beer down and in two long strides he takes her face is in his hands and he's kissing her, his mouth soft on hers, his tongue parting her lips.
"Raylan," she murmurs. But what starts as a protest becomes a plea as he walks her backwards, through the open door and back into the kitchen. He lifts her easily onto the counter, sliding his hands up her back inside the shirt, kissing her the whole time. He pushes the shirt up, cupping a breast and teasing it with his tongue.
"Oh, God."
She's lost. She locks her legs around him and he moves again, carrying her to the couch. He drops her on the cushions and she pulls the shirt over her head, tossing it aside. She squirms out of her jeans and opens her arms to him.
He sheds his own clothes and eases himself down slowly, kissing his way down her body. She lifts her hips and he gives her that familiar grin before lowering his mouth, making her gasp. She comes almost instantly and he slides up and into her while she's still trembling, barely thrusting twice before shuddering with his own climax.
-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-
"This can't happen again." He blows out a breath and she rolls over onto her back, pulling the sheet tight over her breasts.
He leans on one elbow, looking down at her. With a finger, he brushes a strand of hair from her eyes.
"I know, Raylan."
But Winona is nothing if not practical and since this is the fourth time in as many months that the two of them 'accidently' fell into bed - or whatever piece of furniture might be available - she realizes this isn't going to stop unless one of them stops it and it seems neither of them can quite talk themselves into doing that.
So she rolls her eyes and her lips twitch into the slightest of smiles. "But it probably will."
"Seems more'n likely."
He kisses her and slides out of the bed, picking up his discarded jeans and boxers and dressing quickly.
"Heidi'll be bringin' Willa back any minute." He tugs back the shade and looks out, but there's no sign of his neighbor's mini van.
He scoops the lacy black bra off the floor and tosses it to her, watching as she puts it on and wriggles into matching panties.
"Stop staring," She blushes and looks in the mirror, running her fingers through her hair before reaching for the dress hanging on the doorknob.
"Zip me up?" She turns, showing him her back and he steps forward, sliding the zipper up slowly, one hand resting lightly on her hip.
"Thanks." She slips on her heels and they walk down the hall taking the stairs out of the loft into the kitchen.
He takes a beer from the fridge and leans against the counter, popping the cap and taking a long pull. "You wanna do dinner tonight? You, me and Willa?"
He knows Richard is in Jacksonville at his parents until tomorrow, because his daughter told him. Winona never breaks that rule.
She digs in her purse for a lipstick and swipes it across her mouth. "She'd like that." She puts the cap back on and drops the tube back into her purse. "Tell me something," she says, looking up at him. "Did you arrange for this little play date so we'd be alone?" She crosses her arms over her chest and waits.
"I did not," he says. ""Willa likes playin' with Neveah."
"What kind of name is that?" Winona says, helping herself to a sip of his beer.
Raylan rolls his eyes. "It's 'heaven' backwards."
"Oh." Winona's nose wrinkles. "So is her mother some kind of new ager?"
"Nah. Hell, I don't know," he says. "She seems nice."
"Seems nice?" Winona chuckles. "If you let our daughter go somewhere with her, I know damn well you ran her name and she came out squeaky clean." She sips his beer again. "It's one of the things I love about you." It also annoys the hell out of me, she thinks. If we were together, this would turn into a fight about you being so damn suspicious all the time.
"Like I love you drinkin' my beer." He opens the fridge and grabs another one.
"So, this arranged play date," her eyes twinkle. "Where did they go?"
"Not arranged." He insists. "Heidi got some free passes to that Sky Zone trampoline place so she invited her." He shrugs. "It was all very spontaneous."
"And there was no time to call me and tell me?" She smirks. "I could've gone shopping, or gotten my nails done."
"Wouldja rather?"
"I really ought to say yes."
"But ya can't, can ya?" He grins back at her, but there's something darker, questioning in his eyes, and she leans in, giving him a soft kiss just as they hear the front door open.
"Mama!" Willa squeals, flying into the kitchen and throwing her arms around Winona as if she hadn't seen her just last night. "I jumped so high! Higher than Neveah." She looks up at her daddy. "She was scared, but I wasn't."
"That's my girl."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"You need to help me with this, Daddy," Willa says. She pulls a folder and a pencil out of her pink-flowered backpack and hops up next to him on the couch. Winona braided her hair today and he tugs on one gently as he settles an arm around her.
"Whaddya need help with?"
"We hafta do a family tree." She lays the paper on his lap. "See, Mama already helped me with this part."
He looks at the sheet. There's a large tree filling the page, and Willa has colored it neatly, staying in all the lines. Her name is printed carefully at the top; Willa Grace Givens. His name and Winona's are printed below. Lines run out from each of the branches and the lines under Winona's name are all filled in, while his are empty. Winona could have helped with this, too, she knows all the basic details, but she's left it to him.
Willa points. "There's Mama and you and MeMaw and Grandpa. And over here is Aunt Gayle and Uncle Dan. But I gotta do your side, too." She takes the paper back and her tongue slides out from between her teeth as she grips the pencil. "What's your daddy's name?"
Raylan takes a sip of beer. "Arlo."
Willa prints Arlo Givens on one of the lines under Raylan's name. "That's a funny name," she giggles. "Was he funny?"
"Nope."
Her eyes flick up to his. "Mama said he died."
"Yes, he did. Before you were born." He takes another longer pull from the bottle.
"Do you miss him?"
He considers lying to her, telling her a story about a happy family – or at least a less miserable one – but he knows that eventually the truth will out. He wonders if this is why Winona left this to him – letting him decide how he wants to present it. The woman knows him. He swallows the unexpected lump in his throat.
"He wasn't a nice man," he says. "I'm kinda glad you'll never meet him."
"Was he a bully? Miss Carlos says we shouldn't be bullies and it's okay to tell if a bully is bothering you."
"He was kinda a bully," Raylan says. "And Miss Carlos is right, you don't ever want to be a bully."
"I'm nice," Willa says. "What was your mama's name?"
"Frances," Raylan says. "And she had a sister, my Aunt Helen."
"Were they nice?"
"They were," he finishes his beer and considers getting another, but he tries to keep it to one or two on the nights he has Willa. "My mama liked to garden, especially tomatoes. And Aunt Helen made the best Jam Cake. I can still taste it."
"I like tomatoes. What's Jam Cake?" Willa's nose wrinkles just like her mother's and it makes him smile. It's easy to see Winona in their daughter, harder to see himself, although Winona insists he's there.
"It's hard to describe," he tells her. "I probably have her recipe somewhere." It's likely in one of the boxes he's moved – unopened - from Kentucky, to the rented house he shared with Winona, to the apartment downtown, and now here.
"I like strawberry jam," Willa says. "Did you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Nope." He tugs a braid again. "There was just me. Like you."
Willa smiles. "Mama says Tómas is like a brother, but he doesn't live with us. He lives with his gramma and grandpa in Pill-a-del-pia."
"Phila-delphia...it sounds like an 'F'," Raylan corrects. "He's your step-brother. There a place on here for that?"
Raylan remembers Tómas from last summer, a quiet, dark-haired boy around twelve, with startling blue eyes and a chip on his shoulder a mile high.
"Miss Carlos says we can draw on extra lines if we want, but I don't want to."
He's surprised. "Not even for Richard?"
"He yelled at me."
Part of Raylan wants to immediately join in on the Richard bashing, but he knows Winona's husband to be an even-tempered sort with real affection for Willa. The guy is no Gary - Raylan even likes him – which makes what he's doing with Winona a constant buzz on his conscience. The least he can do is defend him here.
"About what?"
Willa shrugs.
"Willa..."
She sighs, again bringing her mother to mind.
"Why did he yell at you?" Raylan persists.
"I was playing and I hadta go to the bathroom so I ran in the house real fast and left my bike in the driveway." Her lower lip trembles. "Richard almost hit it with his car and he was really mad."
"I'da been mad, too." He tips her chin to look up at him. "You need to do what your mama and Richard say, and I bet they tell you to put your bike away, right?"
Another shrug. "Yeah."
"And if he'd hit your bike, then you wouldn't have one and that'd make you sad."
"Mama would get me a new one," Willa says with confidence. "Maybe a pink one."
He laughs. He can't help it. "So you want a pink bike?"
Willa nods. "A big girl one. With hand brakes. Like the one Neveah has."
"But you aren't taking care of the one you have." He disengages himself and gets up from the couch, heading to the fridge for that second beer. Willa's voice follows him.
"I'd take care of a pink one."