Chapter Text
Present
December 1972
The snow stopped falling a few hours ago, blanketing New York’s streets in white powder, making it look fresh and clean, like newly changed bedsheets. Champagne glass in her hand, Waverly looked outside their 5th Avenue apartment window, enjoying the serene picture of Central Park in the winter. It was a perfect day in every regard. A soft smile crept onto her face as she was surrounded by joyous chatter of their family and friends. She turned back to the living room and sipped her drink with quiet satisfaction that the retirement party she had been planning for months was such a success.
Her husband, James, was stood by the Christmas tree surrounded by his work associates. Someone must have told a joke, and they all laughed, already relaxed and loosened by the freely-flowing alcohol. It was a rare image; they all held high-level positions on Wall Street, and Waverly couldn’t recall the last time she saw so many of them happily chatting in one room. James was young, but at 58, he was already able to retire comfortably, a decision Waverly wholeheartedly agreed with.
Their son, James Jr., looked like a spitting image of his father, with his smart suit, crispy white button-up shirt, and a grey tie. Waverly even agreed with his insistence to wear flared pants tonight, so proud of him she was. Only 22 years old, Junior fit right in with his father’s colleagues, navigating skillfully through the packed apartment and entertaining all the guests.
A soft melody of jazz standards filled the room. Junior had tried to convince her to go with something more modern, more groovy, but Waverly had been resolute in her choice even after learning how expensive good pianists were. Unlike all the latest folk-rock and pop songs dominating the radio stations, there was something timeless about jazz, and no amount of persuasion would change her mind. No nonsense, like, ‘Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.’ What did that even mean?
Noticing now mostly empty trays of appetizers, Waverly set off to the kitchen to find the catering crew and instruct them to serve more canapes. The golden dress hugged her body in a way that made her self-conscious, so she crossed her arms, covering most of her torso. James had requested that she wore that dress tonight, and Waverly didn’t have the heart to decline. He always wanted to show her off, a fact she found both charming and strangely flattering when they had first started dating almost 25 years back. A chant of her husband’s nickname stopped her by the door. She turned around with a smile on her face, watching him surrounded by a clapping group of excited men.
“Champ, Champ, Champ!” the crowd demanded a speech.
James clinked a spoon against the glass tumbler in his hand and cleared his throat. Waverly didn’t hear his first words as their maid, Mary, whispered in her ear about a telephone call.
“Can it wait? James is giving his speech,” Waverly tried to banish the irritation from her voice. After all, it wasn’t Mary’s fault that someone decided to phone at this hour. Whoever this was, they could wait. Waverly was certain of it.
“It’s your sister, ma’am,” Mary responded, letting Waverly decide for herself.
The room erupted in a burst of collective laughter. Even her father-in-law chuckled good-naturedly. Waverly stole a glance at James, who stood in the center of their living room, proud of his opening joke. Assured that he was doing well, she quietly excused herself and followed Mary to the hallway. Wynonna never called, and James would forgive her for slipping away for a minute.
Making short hurried steps, since the tight dress restricted her movement, Waverly made it to the small side table that housed the telephone. She removed the clip-on earring from her right ear and brought the handset to it. The coiled cord sprung up and down, tethering her to the rotary dial telephone and the person waiting on the other end.
“God, fucking, piece of shit…” Wynonna’s voice reached her between clanking and static noise.
Waverly smiled against herself. Nothing would ever tame her sister, not even age. “Wynonna? Are you still in Europe? It must be long past midnight for you!” she chastised, easily falling back into her role as the reasonable one.
“Oh, thank fuck. Hi, Waverly. How are you? Good. How am I? Also good. All right, now that we’re done with pleasantries, I have something important to tell you,” Wynonna said in rapid-fire. She was breaking up, and Waverly shuffled closer to the telephone as if that would somehow improve the transmission.
“Nonna, slow down. Is everything all right?”
She heard her sister take a deep, shaky breath. “I found her, Waves. I found Nicole.”