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Mama had always said Waverly had been born with lightning in her heels. Years pass before she realizes Mama was talking about the relentless light that Waverly carried around, the light never seemed to want to go out. It flamed bright, right out of her chest, and she’d always been lit up with the need to carry it around, and warm as many people as she could.
Tonight, it feels as if that fire might go out.
The approaching storm rumbles at the farthest edges of the sky. Mama had said it was the sound of someone breaking horses in the sky, far away. Waverly used to dream about those horses.
The prairie winds always brought bad dreams, but this time they’d taken her dreams away.
Now she’s hiding upstairs, and has her hands pressed over her ears to drown out the silence below her. The silence is worse than the shouting.
She used to like the sound of the rain beating on the roof. Mama would gather them all up in her bed, or on the couch downstairs, under a big pile of blankets, hands wrapped around mugs of hot milk. It was one of the few times when they all sat quiet, and Waverly knew no one would yell, or pinch, or steal toys. No one wanted Mama to let go of them. Ever.
She doesn’t like this storm.
Waverly’s eyes are screwed shut against the onslaught of the rain, so she doesn’t know Wynonna has come in until she feels hands cover hers.
Small. Soft. Gentle.
Not Daddy.
Wynonna wipes at Waverly’s face, but she’s just spreading the snot around. She can’t do this like Mama does. She doesn’t know how .
Only Mama does.
When she bats Wynonna’s hand away, she almost gets a swat in retaliation. Instead, Wynonna stills, and she looks at Waverly like she does when Willa’s done something really mean. Something Wynonna doesn’t like, but she can’t say so in front of Willa.
She’s never been patient, but tonight Wynonna waits while Waverly cleans her face on her sleeve, and hiccups the last of the sobs to the back of her throat.
Wynonna hasn’t let Waverly hide in her bed since the night Willa burst in, angry because she didn’t want to share her sister. That was the first time she stole Mr. Plumpkins.
Tonight is different. Wynonna takes her hand, and Waverly doesn't need to face the nightmares alone. She can’t fall asleep, but she can hold onto her big sister, and that’s almost as good.
Outside, the rain drowns the whole world.
---
Wynonna Earp dreams of pirates. They sail across stormy seas, find buried treasure; they even give some of it to the poor pirates.
Then, she wakes.
There’s a steady breathing against her back, small hands cling tightly to her night shirt.
Everything floods back.
She’s gone...
Wynonna swings her legs over the side of her bed, bare feet wincing on cold floors. She steps quietly towards the window.
The rain has stopped. But it poured with such a fury that as far as her eye can see, everything is knee deep in water.
So much water.
“ There’s a storm blowin’ in. Keep Waverly safe. ”
She tiptoes downstairs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows Mama isn’t going to be in the kitchen, drinking her coffee, arguing with Daddy about something. But it’s just in the background, so Wynonna stops and stares when it’s only Daddy that she sees…
Alone. Already drinking whiskey out of a coffee mug.
She knows because coffee makes Daddy a little nicer, and whiskey makes him a whole lot meaner.
Wynonna taps her fingers on the kitchen table. “When’s she comin’ back?”
Daddy glares, bores a hole right through her.
Willa plops into the seat next to Wynonna. “She’s not.” A simple, cold statement.
She wishes she could go back to sleep, dream of pirates, maybe even be one.
Later in the day, Wynonna wades out into the murky waters. She can’t even see the toes of her boots through it.
“ I will. ”
“ Promise? ”
Waverly grips her hand, and Wynonna knows she has to hold on. Hold fast to this little hand, or she’ll sink. All those times Mama told her to look after Waverly, even when she was just a baby, Wynonna wonders how she’s going to do that when everything’s sinking with the storm.
“ Promise. ”
Wynonna Earp loses her faith this day. Not in any particular thing. Just loses her faith in general. It doesn’t come back for a very long time.
---
There are clouds gathering on the horizon.
It’s not the first time in her short eighteen years that Waverly’s sensed a coming storm. She almost wishes it would hit already, as if her world being ripped apart would be better than the muggy weight of apprehension. At least that would get it over with.
She knows the storm isn’t coming for her. It never is. It’s always about someone else, and she just gets caught up in the tempest, blown along by a force beyond her control.
It’s coming for Wynonna, whatever it is. She just knows it.
If only Wynonna would talk to her, stop shutting her out, then maybe Waverly could help.
She just wants to help.
---
September.
She’s got it calculated. Wynonna is leaving Purgatory for good - in September.
She gets her last paycheck from Pussy Willows, which will cover the bus ticket - the last thing she’s been saving for.
Now all she has to do is convince herself that it’s the right thing to do.
.
She avoids talking to Waverly. Because Waverly’s hugs and Waverly’s reminders that she loves Wynonna are enough to convince her to stay. Even in this hellhole of a town.
And she can’t do that.
She spends most of her time at Pussy Willows, even if she isn’t working.
Unfortunately, she’s become recognizable.
TJ yanks on her arm as she leans against the bar. He pulls her into his lap and his breath is hot, unwelcome against her cheek.
“You know what I love about watchin’ you dance?”
His words are more like the hissing of a snake, and she pulls away, pushes and fights, but he’s strong.
“You got that devil in your eyes, the one you seen all them years ago.”
Wynonna’s fighting arms go slack.
“It’s still chasin’ you, keepin’ you on your toes. I can see in the way you move.” His nose runs along her neck. “Mm, I do love the smell of fear on a woman.”
Suddenly, everything in her snaps to, and she pulls swiftly away, winds her arm back as far as it will go, and punches him square in the nose.
She buys a ticket for the next bus out of Purgatory the following day. That’s one less hotel room and a few less meals, without September’s paycheck. She’ll figure something out.
She keeps a photo of Waverly in her cheerleading outfit in her wallet - a reminder of the small sense of normalcy that her sister has gained. That Wynonna knows she’ll never have herself. She’s got no choices in her own damn life, but Waverly …
Maybe Waverly can have a good one.
The rain is heavy and constant. Like the heavens have opened and are spilling all their tears. Wynonna presses her hand to the bus window, and the sky’s tears are cold against the glass.
She pulls her jacket closer and sinks into the seat, falling into unsettling dreams. Familiar childhood ships burn and sink. Pirates see their last days.
---
Waverly’s blood runs cold with the rain.
Wynonna left her room in a mess. There’s clothes scattered everywhere, toiletries still in the bathroom, a half-empty bottle on the dresser. If it was anyone else, she could almost believe they hadn’t really left. That they were coming back.
But this is Wynonna, and Waverly only has to check one thing.
The little chain Mama left, looped through the hole of a key that opens nothing.
It’s gone, and so is Wynonna.
Everyone she loves has left her, but Waverly refuses to let the water seep into her heart. The moment it does, she knows it will rust away.
---
Wynonna has always trudged through the sloppy remains of her family’s name. The muddy, murky mess left behind by Hurricane Earp.
Broken homes.
Broken hearts.
Bits of splintered trees and souls scattered by the storm, left for everyone else to clean up.
Not a day in her life did she imagine her only desire would be to clean that shitstorm up. Clean up every remnant.
So the next one would never see this storm.
.
“ You’re wrong, Wynonna. You are .”
Waverly walks out of Shorty’s with Wynonna’s life in her hands.
Ten fingers and ten toes. Silk hair and peach fuzz nose. A small cry that meant one thing: I need you .
Wynonna had expected a few things upon seeing her child.
Falling in love with her wasn’t one of them.
But there she lies on that pool table, baby in her arms, heart stolen, and she’d never want it back. Not from this one, not from her .
Heavy tears fall to the floor and the thunder before the storm crashes inside her chest, higher, bigger. Like a hurricane that destroys everything in its path. All inside of her soul.
She wraps Peacemaker in a blanket and prepares herself to aim the tempest. To take everything in its path.
---
Waverly can’t really feel the helicopter take off.
When it had landed, she’d braced herself against the buffeting winds, and noticed the odd way the ground seemed to quiver beneath it. She’d cradled Alice close, and hoped that the deafening noise wouldn’t scare her.
Now, the hair whipping around Waverly’s face, and Nicole’s, hardly seems to matter.
All that matters is what left in that helicopter.
Alice had just lain there, expression solemn in that odd way only a baby can be. The whole ride there, she hadn’t cried once, even though she had to be hungry. It was as if she knew, as if she’d known all along, even before Waverly did.
Waverly hadn’t wanted to know. She’d never asked Wynonna what was going to happen after Alice was born, how they were going to protect her, because she didn’t want to hear the truth.
She didn’t want to hear that Wynonna was sending their hope away.
Nicole is there and ready when Waverly turns to her, as she has been right from the start.
Tucked in against a body that keeps stepping in between her and danger, Waverly can’t stop the tears any longer. A single cold, wet drop mixes with the hot salt on her cheek.
“We should go.” Nicole’s hand on Waverly’s back is firm, but her voice is soft. “Looks like it’s going to rain.”
Of course it is .
---
Doc follows her up the porch. Inside. Eyes on her like a faithful watchdog, but too apprehensive or too angry to speak. They both drip wet from the downpour.
Wynonna pulls her jacket off, and the first thing she notices, or remembers, rather, is the pressure against her chest. Her boobs hurt .
She rifles through cupboards. Doc still watches. He plays with the edges of his hat, nerves all in his fingers.
“Where’s the… goddamn… ” Wynonna mutters to herself.
Doc sets a box on the counter she’s leaning over. Breast pump .
“The Wikipedia said that your-”
She holds up a hand and silences him.
Wynonna turns so her back faces Doc and situates herself. Waverly bought her one of those fancy double breast pumps.
“May I ask a question?” Doc’s voice is a painful tone of quiet.
Thunder claps and Wynonna jumps. “If I said no , would you not?”
He sniffs, and Wynonna isn’t sure if it’s from crying or the cold.
“When did you begin concocting this…smuggling operation with Nicole?”
Wynonna turns and faces him again. The pumps protrude comically beneath her shirt. She stares at them for a second before looking at Doc as if they don’t exist.
“After… Hypnos.”
His lips purse and his eyes grow more red by the second.
“And you did not… you did not believe I should be privy to this information?”
Wynonna closes her eyes, just for a moment. The steady whir of the breast pump reminding her how empty her arms are. How, once upon a time, not even long ago, she wanted them that way. But now this contraption is attached to her instead of her daughter .
She opens her eyes, and Doc’s face breaks her already shattered heart.
“What would you have done? If I told you?”
Doc’s mustache twitches with the anger that seems to be building. “I could have-”
“What, Doc? Kept her safe? You know what’s coming for us. Goddamnit, you know !”
And now in her empty arms there’s rage. In her chest, in her whole body, she feels it catching up to her. The emptiness that settled when she watched the helicopter fly away with Alice Michelle.
Doc doesn’t have a response for that. Like there’s too much sorrow, heavy on his chest, not letting the words out.
They stand, motionless. The pump whirs louder when there’s no words, and Wynonna notices that her breasts don’t hurt so bad. She flicks the machine off, and there’s an eery lack of noise, except for the rain. It sits between them while she reaches under her shirt and untangles herself from the pumps. Doc looks sideways, turns a little, lips still pursed in a thin line
“I… it’s done.”
It’s unfair, really. Even in the midst of heartache and tragedy, Wynonna can’t seem to escape the awkwardness that seems to follow her everywhere she goes.
One look at Doc’s face, and her mind puts up its walls again. Defending.
“You know why I did this, Doc. Look at me. Look at me !” She doesn’t have to say the words.
I couldn’t let her become me .
Doc’s chest heaves and he moves forward, into Wynonna’s space. He holds his hand out, an offering.
She takes it before she falls. And she collapses into him. Cries fall from her throat. Doc is there, silent, a rock, holding her. They sink to the kitchen floor, a heap of heavy limbs and tears and one less person than there should be.
She’s not sure how long they stay like that. She feels one lone tear drop to her shirt where Doc holds her. His voice trembles as he speaks, louder than the rain:
“We will break this curse, Wynonna. We will bring her home.”
---
Waverly doesn’t even have to ask. Nicole just takes care of everything.
She hadn’t told Nicole about Mama, and the blankets in the rain. Not because she didn’t want to, but because there’s so much to tell, and they’ve had so little time in which to tell each other everything.
They’ll get there, one day. Hopefully. For now, Nicole makes a little nest on her couch, and brings over two cups of chamomile. Waverly burrows into her side, and watches the water stream down the window.
Nicole puts off heat like a furnace, and Waverly doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how easily she can fall asleep in Nicole’s arms.
“Do you think she’s safe?” Waverly murmurs against the bulwark of Nicole’s shoulder.
Nicole kisses the top of her head and squeezes Waverly tight, reassuring in her conviction. “I know she is.”
Alice might be gone, but she will be held in the ways Waverly wasn’t.
Waverly curls her legs up onto Nicole’s lap, tightens her fingers around her untouched tea, and tries not to think about anything but the life that’s here, the life that she can touch.
---
Nicole guides Waverly’s Jeep down roads that are unfamiliar to the rest of them, but she knows the way already.
She’s steadfast, a rock in the sea of emotion swirling around the rest of the vehicle.
Wynonna is in the front seat next to Nicole, fidgeting. She needs the control of riding shotgun, but is far too nervous to be the one driving.
Waverly is behind Nicole. She occasionally reaches out, brushes a finger against the hair at the back of Nicole’s neck, or the crisp edge of her collar. Small touches, grounding her.
The last few weeks feel so surreal, she needs to get back down to earth. Now, more than ever.
The clouds have only just begun to draw back, taking the fog of death with them. Waverly stares out at the grey line of the horizon, and it stares back.
Mama stared like that, right after Bulshar…
Waverly reaches out, and gently probes at the loss. It’s gone numb, frozen in the mist. It had been hard to be around Mama, not when she couldn’t really see past her anger at Wynonna. When she couldn’t stop hearing the battering of raindrops on the roof every time she saw Mama.
Waverly doesn’t know how to mourn the mother who abandoned her.
The one thought she can latch onto is that now, because of Mama, this strange little family they built out of damp ashes and whiskey fumes gets a second chance.
Finally, she and Wynonna get to have a future. A life. Hope.
She’s ours.
---
Wynonna leans her forehead against the window and watches the roll of the clouds. Bits of light peak through thin layers of white.
It’s been overcast the whole day. She’s hoping it won’t rain.
She holds a small scrap of paper tight in her hand, every now and then opening it up, smoothing it out, reading the address.
“Hey.”
Nicole’s voice brings Wynonna out of her thoughts. She’s not even sure how long she’s been stuck there.
Nicole squeezes her upper arm gently. “This is it.” She points out the window towards a small house. There’s a white fence around the front yard.
Wynonna inhales deeply for extra courage, swings the car door open. It smells different here. Clean. New.
She watches Nicole open the back door for Waverly. Watches Waverly move close into Nicole’s side. Wynonna smiles, small and to herself.
Jeremy steps out of the following vehicle with Dolls. Doc exits last. He lingers. He tips his hat lower over his eyes, kicks the dirt at the ground.
Wynonna has never seen John Henry Holliday so nervous.
Taking a deep breath, she goes to his side. She flicks his hat up playfully and motions with her head: this way .
A dirt path leads around the back of the house, where Gus said they’d be. A small, white goat bleats as they pass it, lying in fresh green grass.
“Just like that now, that’s right.”
The familiar voice drifts from around the corner. Like the smell of coffee in the morning. Warm, welcoming. A small, joyful laugh follows. They move towards it.
They slow, halt at the scene before them. Gus is kneeling in front of a few chickens, back facing them. A tall, gangly two-year-old leans into her side. Her hair is a deep, dark brown, long and untamed.
“I can do it!”
Alice Michelle Earp can’t say her hard “k” sound. It sounds like a “t”.
She squats down and holds her hand out, offering seed to the hens.
Doc’s hand finds it way into Wynonna’s. He squeezes tight.
The overcast sky opens. The sun shows itself, shining down on their daughter like an answer to a prayer.
Like found faith.
Wynonna Earp can’t predict the weather. But she’s quite certain that it won’t rain on this day.
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