Aftermath of a Storm
(June 3, 2016)
By Friday morning, Gravity Falls was drying out. The torrential rain of Tuesday had soaked the soil and filled the streams to overflowing, but dry weather moved in on Wednesday, and after taking the golf cart out that evening to reconnoiter, Soos announced that the Mystery Trail was no longer a muddy slough and that he would give it another day and be running the trail tours again beginning Friday morning.
In the meantime, life went on: before the Shack even opened on Thursday, Jeff and Steve, two of the Gnomes, came and asked Soos for some help—their tribe didn't need it, the arboreal (or, as they preferred, civilized) Gnomes, because they lived in the trees, and they'd come through the rain squalls pretty well. However, their cousins, the underground feral Gnomes, had lost half of their stored food when their burrows flooded.
"They won't come ask you themselves," Jeff explained. "Too proud. They didn't like the way the Queen and I ran things, so they went back to the old ways—life underground, no police force or government, just anarchy. Now they're embarrassed to admit they need help, but we're reaching out to them. We're sharing our food, but that means we're all gonna come up short—what's Mabel giggling about?—so if you could find it in your great big human heart—"
No one could say that Soos didn't have a great big human heart. Within an hour, Stan, Ford, and the McGuckets created a food bank for the hungry Gnomes, concentrating on foods they liked: dried beans, nuts, berries (they went crazy for trail mix, and Soos emptied all the trail mix from the Shack's shelves and vending machines into a box), that kind of thing.
Dipper got Jeff's assurance that it wasn't a trick. When they could get away on Thursday afternoon, he and Mabel even carried bags and boxes of the food over to the Gnomes' territory, where they saw a miniature refugee camp of miserable-looking, muddy Gnomes huddling under improvised shelters of twigs and leaves. They were ferals, who had come up with their families from the flooded burrows. They were gruff at first, but when Mabel cooed over some of the Gnome babies (who were born fully half the size of the adults—nobody knows how that works), their icy mood thawed out and a couple of them actually muttered thanks.
As the twins started back for the Shack, Jeff had hitched a ride in Helen Wheels because he had other business in town, the Gnome said, "Our biggest problem is that no Gnome ever wants to admit they were wrong about anything. The thousand of us who are civilized barely can hang together as it is. Only the Queen unifies us. I wish the feral Gnomes would come back, accept her authority, and rejoin us, but—they're too stubborn. And if they ever do come back, we'll never let them forget how stubborn and stupid they've been."
"Is there anything else we can do to help them?" Mabel asked. "I could knit some little clothes for the babies."
"Thanks, but that wouldn't work. It's against Gnoman nature to wear anything but our normal raiment," Jeff said. "But if you want, you might donate some cloth. The women can make the clothes, as long as the cloth's the right colors. Blue and red preferred."
Mabel collected all the blue red scraps in her sewing basket, and Jeff said he'd have a couple of Gnomes pick them up early on Friday and deliver them to the neediest Gnome families. They let him out in town, where he set about whatever business a Gnome might have among humans.
Mabel suggested a little sightseeing. By then the falls had diminished, though the cataract still was bigger and more roiled than it had been before the rains. Mabel detoured to the lake to show Dipper, and again, though the floodwater had receded, the high-water mark, littered with leaves and twigs left behind from the overflowing lake, showed that half of the beach had been covered. Workmen were out on one of the piers, banging hammers and repairing damage, and a sign indicated that Tate McGucket was offering a big sale on water-damaged fishing equipment and supplies.
On the way back to the Shack, Dipper asked, "So are you and Teek—"
"We've got a truce," Mabel said. "We're talking, we're friendly, we're just not—romantic."
"And . . . is that gonna change?" Dipper asked.
"We'll see."
The warm, dry weather stuck around. Friday was fine, and Wendy and Dipper did their run along their nature trail, noting that, evidently alone of all the bodies of water in the Valley, Moon Trap Pond had not overrun its banks. But then it didn't hold ordinary water.
Both of them felt a certain eager excitement. Friday had become Dipper's and Wendy's traditional movie night. Ordinarily they'd have the first one of the summer at the Shack, but Mabel was planning a sleepover with Grenda, Candy, and Pacifica, so Wendy said, "My place, Dip. Dad and my brothers will be off bowling until one in the morning."
Dipper had a hard time controlling his anticipation all that day. Tourists kept them all busy, though—the June build-up was coming on earlier that year. Melody, who kept track of numbers, said that they were getting as many visitors the first week in June as they normally did the week before July.
Grunkle Stan, now moved comfortably into his new house just down the hill, came over to help out, as did Graunty Sheila. Sheila, though educated as a scientist, had worked retail for a few years, and she helped out at the registers as Stan took over the museum tours and occasionally spelled Soos on the Mystery Trail runs.
Partway through Friday morning, Soos cheerfully said that Abuelita had phoned to say she would be returning in a week. "It'll be so good to have her back home," he said. "Luisa's baby's fine, and Luisa's already, like, out of bed and walking and junk!"
"That's not really a great trick for a new mother," Melody said. She had spent only two nights at the hospital when each of their children was born, and after Little Soos came along, on the second day after her return from the hospital Melody had worked the counter.
Soos shrugged good-naturedly. "Yeah, but I tell you what, Mel, we gotta take a trip down to Mexico again this winter just to see my new grand-cousin!"
"I'd like that," she said, kissing his cheek.
Teek came in just before eleven, he and Mabel were civil to each other, polite and smiling but not really all that cheerful, and the day went well enough. When the workday ended, Mabel said that before the sleepover, she, Candy, and Grenda were going to the movies to see an X-Men picture and they would get pizza before the show.
Stan and Sheila stayed for dinner at the Shack.
And Wendy said, "Let's us go, Dip. See what kind of rotten movie's on tonight!" They walked out to her Dodge Dart, and she stopped him as he was opening the passenger door. "No, you drive," she said.
"Really?" he asked. Since he and Mabel had obtained their licenses, he'd put in much less driving time than Mabel had, because she was reluctant to give up the wheel of "their" car.
She handed him the keys. "Try not to hit any pedestrians," she said, grinning, and she got in on the passenger side.
"This is still technically illegal," Dipper said as he took the driver's seat.
"Not in Oregon, man," Wendy said, buckling her seat belt. "And 'specially not in Gravity Falls. Hey, I don't really wanna cook. What Mabel said sounded good—let's us pick up a pizza on the way."
They did, and they carried it into the Corduroy house, ate it at the table, and then Wendy said a little too casually, "Watch the movie in my room, OK?"
"OK," Dipper said. "But I gotta admit, I'm feeling awkward and sweaty."
Wendy laughed. "Yeah, getting you that way was my first goal of the evening!"
They turned on the TV—still too early for the schlock movie, so they muted it as the evening news played out—kicked off their shoes, and stretched out on Wendy's bed.
"Let's get comfortable," Wendy whispered, tugging at Dipper's tee shirt. He let her peel it off. She unbuttoned, but did not remove, her flannel shirt. And she left the bra in place. They weren't ready for the big step, and didn't intend to take it for at least another year—but with their mental connection, they didn't need to angst out over that so much.
Dipper put his hand on her bare stomach, gently stroking the soft, warm swell, feeling the silver ring she wore in her navel piercing cool under his palm. "That's nice," she murmured, arching her back, and she reached over to rub his stomach, too.
Mmm, Dipper, I so missed this!
—Me, too, Lumberjack Girl. Uh, do you want to get into serious mental make-out, or are we just fooling around before the movie?
This serious enough for you?
She sent him a strong mental image of her—well, doing more than a tummy-rub. He started to shiver and clenched his teeth. She felt his excitement growing, and that reinforced hers, and—
Well, a mental make-out session carried out with mutual love and considerable intensity invariably left both of them feeling happily lazy, dreamy, and snuggly. When the movie came on, a cinematic masterpiece called Don't Open the Oven, they were able to giggle through it like a couple of preschoolers.
But when the movie lagged into a dull spot, Dipper asked her a serious question: "What's this about you drinking beer?"
"Aw," she said, "You got that, did you? Yeah, I've got to cut that out. Back in the spring, I was getting so antsy, you know—waiting for you to come back, excited 'cause I got into the university and meant to surprise you and couldn't figure out how to do it, plus being worried when you passed out from the heat, all that—I got into a bad habit of sneaking some of Dad's beer about two or three times a week. Not a lot, never more than one at a time, but I was doin' it because it kinda relaxed me. I didn't know I was thinking about that just now. How'd you sense it?"
"Well," Dipper admitted, "that one time when we were sort of peaking, I got your thought: This is way better than beer!"
"Mm," she said. "That's right, too. Nicer. And more relaxing, yeah. OK, though, you're right. No more sneakin' Rimrock. It's bad for me, and I probably could've got Dad in trouble, too, if Blubs had caught me and wanted to make a case out of it."
"How?" Dipper asked. "You were eighteen."
"Yeah, but Oregon law says nobody under 21 can drink beer unless it's with the permission and supervision of a parent or guardian," Wendy said. "If a parent doesn't supervise, the parent can be charged, too. See, I didn't do it when Dad was even around, so he couldn't supervise. I just drank a beer now and then away from home, in the car."
"Wait, wait," Dipper said. "You were drinking beer and driving?"
She chuckled. "Not exactly. More like drinking beer and sitting in a car, or in Dad's truck once or twice. But like I say, I never had more than one at a time. It would take at least three to get my blood alcohol to the legally intoxicated level." She stretched and turned on her side, draping her arm over his bare chest. "My lumberjack genes. I burn it out quick. Still, you know, under 21 and all. But don't worry, 'cause I'm swearing off right now."
"I can't stand beer myself," Dipper said.
"You ever get drunk?"
"Ha!" Dipper said. "I think I'd puke before that. No, Mabel and I tried it back in the winter one day when the folks were out. I did not like the taste. We each had maybe an ounce, and then we flushed the rest of the bottle down the toilet."
"Yeah, the taste takes gettin' used to," Wendy said. "My high-school friends started early. I mean, Robbie used to breeze through a six-pack in an evening sometimes. Thompson would get it for everybody, and I shared a few with them. I've never been falling-down drunk, but I got a buzz a few times. It's not so great, though. There are better ways of getting a thrill."
He kissed her and slipped his hand under her open shirt, caressing her back. "This, you mean?" He kissed her again, a peppermint kiss.
"Hmm," she whispered, and he felt her lips curl into a smile. "Could be. You up for a little more cuddling?"
"Mm-hmm. You?"
"Bring it on," she murmured.
Later that night, Dipper, feeling a warm and cozy afterglow, agreed that it was time for him to leave. Wendy drove him back to the Shack, where Mabel's sleepover was in full raucous swing, the girls squealing with laughter, Grenda hammering the attic floor. As he got out of the Dodge Dart, Dipper said to Wendy, "I think I'll get some things and take Grunkle Stan up on his offer and sleep at their place tonight."
"Want me to wait, drive you down?"
He leaned into the open driver's window and kissed her. "No, get back home. I'll just walk down the hill. Stan's still up—I can see lights in their place through the pines. Scoot, before your dad gets home and asks where you've been."
"Did you just tell me to scoot?" she asked in mock indignation.
"Please scoot," he said.
"That's different, if you ask nicely." Another kiss, and she set out for home. Dipper called Stan, got an immediate invitation to come and stay the night, and went to stuff some clothes and a few toiletries into a bag.
Wendy drove home dreamily humming. The world seemed right, she was feeling wonderful, and she would beat her dad and brothers home by at least an hour, so Dan would have nothing to be suspicious about.
Then again—
And about the same time, as the boys piled into Dan's pickup truck and he stowed his bowling ball behind the seat, Dan caught a glint of light, something reflecting the bowling alley parking-lot lights. He reached beneath the driver's seat and pulled out an empty beer can.
"Huh," he said. Rimrock, his brand.
Except he never drank beer in the truck. Not once.
And the boys didn't use the truck.
That left only—hmm.
Dan didn't say anything. He crushed the can to a tight aluminum ball and stuck it into his pocket.
Then he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.
Before ten minutes had passed, one of the boys asked, "Dad? You mad or something?"
"Naw," Dan said. "Just thinking."
The End