Zero Regrets

(October 10, 2017)


29: Getting Back to Normal

Tuesday was a regular school day for Mabel, but Dipper and Wendy had one precious day of fall break left to enjoy.

The two of them got out of bed early, and knowing that Mabel would have to drag herself in to her eight A.M. class and probably would skip breakfast, Wendy and Dipper decided to take care of that. Before they started their run, they put on a pot of coffee, scrambled a couple of eggs with cheddar cheese, popped sourdough bread into the toaster, and fried a couple of turkey sausage links for her.

Tripper's sensitive nose woke him, he woke Mabel, and at 6:45, she came yawning out of her room. She paused to unlatch the doggy door, Tripper clacked out onto the deck and ran down the steps, and Mabel, stretching and rubbing her eyes, said, "Thought you guys were gonna go for a run."

"We don't have class today," Wendy said. "And the last few days have been kinda stressful on you, so we thought we'd make your breakfast."

"Oh, yeah!" Mabel murmured, opening the fridge and taking out a pitcher of orange juice. "Curse my artistic soul! If I'd gone to WA instead of Olmsted, I'd have a longer fall break. Thanks, Brobro, that looks good. Mm. Hey, get the butter, please?"

Dipper took it and a jar of Wendy's Aunt Sallie's cherry jam from the fridge and set it on the table. "You have rehearsal this afternoon?"

"Nuh-uh," Mabel said, slathering butter on her toast the way a mason spreads mortar on bricks. "I'll be home around two-thirty, but I'll have to leave again at six-thirty for night rehearsal. Let's have an early dinner, OK? Burgers on the grill?"

"If it doesn't rain. If it looks like it will, Wen and I will throw something together. Don't choke yourself, Sis!"

Mabel slowed down her egg-shoveling to gulp down a big bite and then said, "I can't wait to get on the main stage! Sets are up on the stage, just need finishing, and we got the real puppets now! But so far, we're still in the rehearsal hall."

"You need anything else?" Dipper asked.

"Mm, no, thanks." Mabel mopped the few remnants of scramble up with a scrap of toast. "Seriously, this is so nice, guys. Hey, can Tripper go with you on your run?"

"Sure," Wendy said. "He's a good coach. He sets the pace."

"Cool. Be sure to latch the back gate after, though. He's a smart dog, but he shouldn't be out running around on his own."

"We'll take care of it," Dipper said. "Have a good day at school!"

"You two have a great day at home," Mabel said with a meaningful wink.

Dipper and Wendy, already dressed in their running togs, went into the back yard and did their stretching exercises under a pearly overcast sky, while Tripper climbed the steps to the deck for the breakfast that Mabel set out for him. He eagerly gobbled the dog chow, excited because two of his people were outside. By the time Dipper unlatched the back gate, Tripper had returned, clearly elated that he was going to get to run with them.

They broke into a jog, Tripper zoomed ahead, zoomed back, circled them, and then ran to the bridge to wait for them to catch up.

The bridge was sturdy but narrow. Tripper led the way, turned on the far bank, and looked back, dancing around as if saying, "See? It's safe! Come on! Even if it collapses, I'll dive in and save you before you drown!"

True, the creek was only a foot deep at the center, but the Noble Dog stood ready. Wendy ran across first, Dipper close behind her, admiring the view. Then they turned left and ran on the grassy verge of the forest reserve for two full miles to the point where they had planted a small stake. The clouds darkened as they ran, and just as they made their turn, the drizzle began. It wasn't heavy enough to soak them, but cooled them down.

Tripper, who tolerated but did not love baths, urged them to run faster to get home before the skies opened and the deluge began.

In reality, no deluge threatened or arrived. The mild drizzle, hardly more than a fog, continued. They crossed the bridge—Dipper, panting, said, "I'll buy a bucket of traction paint . . . and treat the treads . . . so they're not slippery when wet."

"Sounds good."

They got home, rubbed Tripper down with a towel—he was barely damp and greatly enjoyed the massage. Then Wendy and Dipper decided they were just damp and could have breakfast before changing out of their running clothes. Dipper scrambled eggs, Wendy toasted bread, and they made egg sandwiches with hot coffee and the last of the OJ to wash down the food.

Mabel had considerately cleaned up after her breakfast, and their own clean-up took only a minute. Tripper had settled down on the fluffy dog bed Mabel kept beside the doorway to the mud room and wriggled as he made himself comfortable, settling in for a nap.

"Come on," Wendy said, taking Dipper's hand and leading him toward their room. "We got that nice big shower stall, and I really, really need my back scrubbed."

"Glad to help, Wen," Dipper said.

"Yeah, maybe my front, too."

The soapy, warm, slippery shower left them in the mood, and after they got themselves out of the mood again, they took another, briefer shower and lovingly dried each other. Then, both of them happy, they lay lazily in bed, touching, cuddling, and thinking to each other.

You're sad about that lady in Willows.

Yeah, Mrs. Bordein. She spent her whole life wanting to somehow make it up to her big sister. Myrtle thought she'd failed her somehow. Just wish we could have told her what we did. But I think maybe somehow, she knew. Still, would've been nice to talk to her.

I'm sorry she felt guilty. Nothing she could have done.

Hey, what did Ford do with that medal—what was the demon guy's name?

Baphomet. Grunkle Ford disintegrated it yesterday, he said. It didn't register as having any power, but he got rid of it for good. Best thing to do with it.

So—if the thing up in the attic wasn't him, how come the medal burned my jeans and my leg?

Well—Myrtle got it from her sister, right? And her sister must've got it from whoever did the ritual up in the attic. Or maybe she was the one who got the girls to do it in the first place. Anyhow, either way, the medal was up there when the girls tried the summoning, and because at least one of the girls believed it symbolized whatever it was they conjured up, it absorbed some of the evil, I guess? Ford thinks it was harmless after we did the exorcism, but just to be safe—zap.

You know, Dip? I think we need to see to it that the families of the girls who were victims know that something nobody could predict or control influenced the girls and that it's been exorcized.

Don't know about that, Wen. It's a good thought, but I see problems. First, nobody ever wants to know about stuff like that. We might just open old emotional wounds, you know? And second, they'd probably want to sue the University, some of them.

Yeah, guess so. That's rotten. Maybe—how about we ask the Dean if we could do some kind of little memorial?

Like what?

Well, there's all those flower beds on campus. Dozens. What if we got some stones or bricks or something and inscribed on them the names of the students who died? We could put them in the flower beds, so they'd just, you know, be there. So people would read them and at least know that those girls had been students here.

I think that's a great idea. Let's ask her tomorrow.

OK. What time is it? Nearly eleven! We could get up and clean the place, but that'll only take a couple of hours. Plenty of time. You caught up on your homework and all, Dip?

You know I am. You?

Yep. Gee, here we are, naked in bed, nothing much to do. Any ideas?

Turned out they both had the same idea.

And it was a very, very good one.