A/N Thank you all for the reviews. They're very inspiring! I'm enjoying writing this extension of Raylan's story. It helps postpone the inevitable realization that there will be no more Justified. Of course, that doesn't mean there will be no more stories, even when this one is done (it's not even close!)
I'm mostly posting on Tuesdays and Saturdays, but with the holiday, this chapter was ready early, so why not?
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
Willa tucks her chin to her chest and shuffles her feet, bringing the bat to her shoulder. She's small compared to the other kids on the 6-year-old-coach-pitch team and Raylan and Winona hold their breath as the coach winds up and throws.
CRACK! Willa makes contact, the ball sails over the coach's head, and their little girl stands there, stunned.
"Run!" Raylan yells. "Willa! Run!"
The mom who's playing umpire for this game gives Willa a nudge. "Go on, Honey, run!"
She takes off, hesitating at first, but when the ball rolls all the way to the fence and the outfielder struggles to snag it in his glove, the first base coach waves her on and she picks up speed, ponytail bouncing out the back of her ball cap. She almost trips when she glances up to where Winona and Raylan are sitting as she rounds third.
"Go, Willa!" Winona yells, cupping her hands around her mouth.
Raylan leaps to his feet. "Home run! That's my girl!" He turns to hug Winona but catches himself, instead shading his eyes and looking toward the dugout. She folds her arms across her chest, following his gaze.
Four or five other kids in matching bright blue batting helmets and white shirts with Delphi Dolphins printed on them run out to high-five Willa. Back on the bench, her eyes find her father's and she gives him thumbs up and a huge grin.
He sits back down, a grin spreading across his face, too. "I took her to the batting cages last week."
"I know. She told me." Winona leans forward with her elbows on her knees and rests her chin in her hand as she looks at him. "You must be a good coach. She swung and missed on every pitch last game."
"She's a quick study. All she needed was a little practice keeping her eye on the ball."
She studies him as he looks toward the bench again, beaming, obviously proud of their daughter. He's changed into jeans and a Florida Marlins t-shirt, the shirt stretching nicely over his muscled arms.
It's a hot, sultry afternoon and Winona grabs a water bottle from the insulated cooler at her feet, conscious of not touching him as she passes it over. At one point their knees bump accidently and she scoots on the bleachers, leaving a wider space between them. She meets his gaze and looks away. This is hard.
"Where's Richard, tonight?"
If this is Raylan's idea of breaking the tension, it doesn't work, not for her, anyway. She and Richard have been bickering all week, her husband's usual unflappability disrupted by pressure from his boss to get this job done on schedule and anxiety over his son's upcoming visit. Winona is out of sorts for an entirely different reason.
"They're still trying to finish this job. He wants to take a couple of vacation days next week when Tomás is here."
"Willa seems excited to see him. How long's he stayin'?"
"I don't know, really." Richard has been vague about Tomás' schedule this time and she's not sure why. Last year he was with them for two or three weeks now, and then again, right before school started in August, but this time when she's tried to pin Richard down so she can make other plans for the summer, he's given her the run around.
Willa's next turn at bat is a strike out, and her team loses, 3-1, her homerun their only score.
"You did great," Raylan says, throwing an arm around her.
"I did just what you said, Daddy! I kept my eye on the ball and I got a homerun!" She looks up at him. "Why didn't I hit it the last time?"
"Rome wasn't built in a day," Raylan says. Willa looks puzzled.
"Daddy means you can't hit every ball," Winona offers. "Hey, that's okay I can't hit any."
"You just need to practice, Mama." Willa says seriously.
They walk together to the parking lot, Willa skipping ahead. At the car, Winona opens the trunk and pulls Willa's overnight bag out. "I packed you a change of clothes for the party," she says. "And your present for Brooklyn is in there, so be careful not to smash it."
"Party?" Raylan takes the bag and shuts the hatch for her.
"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" She avoids his questioning look, fishing in her purse and coming up with a postcard she thrusts at him. "Willa's invited to a birthday party for one of her friends tomorrow at Pizza Palace."
"Pizza Palace?" He scowls as he stares at the cartoon king with a large nose and a slice of pizza in his hand smiling up from the card. "Is that the place where the waiters dress like knights and everyone has to wear a crown?"
"It is." Winona laughs and whispers to Willa. "Make sure Daddy takes a selfie with you. Mama wants to see."
"Pizza Palace is awesome," Willa says. "You get a crown and gold coins and there's all kinds of games and they sing and everything. It's Brooklyn's birthday, so she'll get to sit on the throne."
Raylan smirks and raises an eyebrow.
"Not that kind of throne," Winona says.
"I can't wait," Raylan says, to his daughter, but he rolls his eyes at Winona who chuckles.
"You sure it's okay if I pick her up a little early on Sunday? We've got to go to the airport to get Tomás. His flight gets in at five."
"That's fine," Raylan says. "I've got a transport over to Desoto early on Monday morning. I'll be back on Tuesday." He opens the back door of the SUV and tosses in the duffel bag. He tells himself it's a truck, but in truth, he bought it for the crash safety rating. He did his research, the same as when he insisted on the used Volvo when Winona's Toyota died.
"Hop in," he says to Willa.
"Bye, Mama." Winona bends over and Willa gives her a kiss before climbing into the back and buckling herself into the booster seat.
"Don't feed her too much junk," Winona says. She thrusts her hands into the pockets of her sundress and leans against the car.
"I won't," he promises. "I'm gonna go to the grocery on the way home and pick up some kale." His eyes twinkle and she smiles.
"And if I know you, you'll also get ice cream, Oreos, and hot dogs."
"There you go, all four food groups. Doesn't that balance it out?"
"There are five food groups, Raylan," Winona says. "And I balance it out the rest of the time."
"We make a good team." The words are out before he considers them, and his eyes fall away from her.
She nods. They are a good team. She misses him. Misses their stolen moments. It's been over a month and she knows they're doing the right thing, but it doesn't feel right.
"What're ya doin' for dinner?"
She shrugs. "I'll grab a salad on the way home." With Richard working she's not looking forward to going home to eat alone in an empty house, flicking through channels with nothing on. It gives her too much time to think.
"Why don't you come over and eat with us?"
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
"I do!" Willa cries through the window. "Can we make tacos?"
"There. We have a chaperone." Raylan grins. "I guess it's been decided."
"Chicken tacos, with lots of veggies," Winona says. "Okay?"
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"G'night, Mama," Willa says. "I love you."
She tucks the blanket around her daughter and smoothes her hair. "Love you, too, Punkin'. Richard and I will see you Sunday and we'll go pick up Tomás."
Raylan kisses her cheek. "Night, Willa."
"Night, Daddy. Love you."
"Love you back." Raylan closes the door behind them, leaving it open a crack with the hall light on the way Willa likes.
In the living room, Winona picks up her purse. "Dinner was good. I didn't know you'd become such a chef." She was surprised not only with the well-stocked refrigerator, but also with his growing collection of cookware and other tools. Not to mention Willa's eagerness to help.
"Necessity. Willa likes Indian take-out about as much as I like peanut-butter and jelly, and I know how you feel about too much pizza," Raylan says.
"Well, I'm impressed." She shoulders her bag, hand on the door knob.
He cocks his head, leaning against the doorframe. "You don't have to run off."
She smiles. "Don't you think I should? Our chaperone has gone to bed."
"We could talk."
She stares at her feet. The polish on her toes is chipped. It's time for a new pedicure. "We've never been very good at that."
"Wanna play gin rummy?"
She laughs. "I suppose we could talk. Out here." She gestures to the stoop.
"Seems safe enough. Want a beer?"
"Sure."
He disappears, returning with two frost-coated bottles of Sam Adams.
"You like to switch it up," she notes.
"I do." He sits on the cement step, stretching out his long legs in front of him and she eases down beside him. Close, but not too close.
A car rounds the curve, headlights illuminating the driveway and the porch, then disappears towards the front of the complex.
"What's your middle name?" Winona asks, in between sips of beer.
"Earl," He grimaces. "You knew that."
She wrinkles her nose. "I thought that was it, but I wasn't sure."
"Why'd ya need to know Winona Louise?" Even in the dark, she can see his teasing grin. He knows she's about as fond of her middle name as he is of his.
"Funny." She taps his bottle with hers. "They needed it at the parish for Willa's first communion class." She takes a long drink.
"First communion?" He turns his head to look at her. "She's six."
"It's just instruction. She won't actually commune until she's eight."
"Still." He makes a face. "They really like to get their claws in early, don't they?"
She sighs, brushing a stray hair from her face. "I know. I'm really not sure about the whole thing either but Mama..."
"Tell her I said 'no'."
"Really?" She's relieved to have an excuse for her mother. She wasn't fishing for him to object, but she really should've expected it. Of course he should have a say.
"You're lookin' for an 'out', right?" He finishes his beer and sets the bottle down between them. "Just tell her I said I don't want her bein' indoctrinated so young. I think we should wait until she can make the decision for herself what she wants to believe."
"I might not use the word 'indoctrinated' when I talk to Margery." The corners of her mouth turn up. "But I think so, too. Thank you."
"For what?" He snorts. "Your mother never liked me anyway. Now she just has another reason."
"She does think you're a good dad," Winona says. "She knows you want the best for Willa."
"Well, there's that at least."
"She's never really forgiven you for not being here when Willa was born." She looks straight ahead and not at Raylan, but she knows he's clenched his jaw, resisting.
"Have you?"
Now she looks. "I hadn't, I don't think, when we were together. I think that's where some of my anger came from." She nods slowly. "But now I've kind of let that go. I mean, I still wish you'd been here with us in person, not just seen her in the delivery room over Skype, but I guess I get that you just weren't in a good place. And I see how you are with her now, how you adore her and she adores you right back and, well, it just doesn't matter all that much."
A breeze comes off the salt marsh behind the condos, bringing the stinging smell of the ocean with it and ruffling her hair and the skirt of her sundress.
His voice comes soft. "I wish I'd been there."
It's the first time he's said it, ever, and it takes her by surprise. She waits, to see if he'll say more.
"I shoulda been there." He stares straight ahead. "The only child I'm likely to have and I missed it. 'Cause I was...what...scared? Still pissed that you left me again? I don't even know why."
She scoots closer, laying her head against his shoulder. "It's okay. You aren't that man anymore. You've changed. She's changed you." She takes a breath. "Remember when you found me hiding out at Gayle's and I told you that if you were gonna change for me, you would've done it already?"
He nods.
"You changed for Willa. I'm not even sure you realized it while it was happening. I mean, look where you live." She chuckles. "Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens in a family-friendly condo."
She tilts her head up to see the smile.
"I guess I have changed."
"I wish I'd waited for it." The words catch in her throat.
He slips an arm around her. "Looks like we both have our regrets."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"There he is!" Willa squeals, pointing. "Tomás! Tomás!."
Winona isn't sure how Willa's even recognized him; he looks so different. He's taller for one thing, and his hair, thick and dark like his father's, hangs in waves past his ears, bangs almost covering his eyes. She's surprised the private school his grandparents have him in allows that. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt, jeans with a rip in the knee he could stick his foot through, and black Converse high tops. He hasn't seen them. He's looking at the ground as he shuffles forward, the headphones jammed in his ears likely drowning out Willa's cries.
As he reaches the end of the moving walkway, he finally looks up and spots them. The expression on his face doesn't change, but he makes his way across the carpeted area separating arriving passengers from those there to greet them.
"Tomás!" Willa is jumping up and down now, but the boy ignores her.
Richard steps forward to hug his son. "It's good to see you." Tomás accepts the hug grudgingly, but doesn't remove the headphones. Richard tugs one out of his ear.
"Hey!" he growls, angry. "I was listening to that."
Willa bounces over. "Hi, Tomás!"
He looks at his father. "I don't go by Tomás anymore. Call me Tom or Tommy, okay?" He moves to stick the ear bud back in, but Richard stops him with a hand on his arm.
"Say hello to Winona and Willa. They've been excited to see you."
"Hi," Tomás says. Then he scowls at his father. "Satisfied?" He sticks the ear bud back in and points at the sign for baggage.
Willa looks about to cry and Winona reaches for her hand. "Tomás – Tommy," – she tries to follow the boy's directive – "is probably just tired," she tells her daughter.
The little girl pouts all the way to baggage claim. "I hafta go to the bathroom," she says to her mother.
"Alright," Winona says. She leans in to Richard. "I'm going to take her to the ladies room. Maybe you can mention to him that she's been looking forward to seeing him?"
"I already did." He looks at his son, standing morosely at the turnstile waiting for his bag.
"Well, her feelings are hurt and I don't blame her. He was so good with her last year. What's happened?"
Richard shrugs. "He's thirteen. Almost fourteen. I guess he's at that age. I don't want to start his visit off with an argument."
"So, you aren't going to say anything? Because if you don't I..."
"Don't, okay? You'll just be the wicked step-mother if you do."
She turns her back to him and tugs on Willa's hand. "Come on, Punkin', we'll use the restroom and maybe get some ice cream while they wait for the bags."
"Ice cream?" Willa cocks her head at her mother, as if she isn't sure what she just heard her say.
"Yes. A special treat," Winona says as they walk away. "Just for you."