Dog Days

(Sunday, July 31, 2016)

9: At the Lake and in the Woods

Sunday afternoon, a glorious free time for Dipper and Mabel—no work to do, since the Shack was closed, no baby-sitting, since Abuelita, Soos, and Melody took the kids to Mass and then entertained them all afternoon, in fact they had absolutely nothing to do but enjoy the—admittedly very hot—day.

For the second day in a row, the temperature was climbing into three digits, the weatherman said, and the hot spell would be broken only when an expected cool front pushed in from Canada, bringing rain showers and possible thunderstorms. That might happen Monday afternoon or night, so—best get in some relaxing time while they could enjoy it. It was an oddly breathless day, the trees drooping in the still, humid air. Stepping outside felt a little like stepping into a van that had been parked in the sun all day.

Dipper and Wendy rolled all the windows down and drove her car to Lake Gravity Falls, where she tutored him in swimming. He had always been terrible at it, but little by little with his determined practice and Wendy's patience with him, he was improving.

Now he could do at least a creditable crawl stroke out to the float and back without floundering or choking. He could also do a sidestroke and butterfly stroke, though he found both of these more awkward. As he gained confidence, he gradually stopped assaulting the water and instead let it hold him up. When he cooperated with it, he didn't tire himself out. Sometimes he wondered what he might have done if someone had started to drown back during the summer of 2012, when for like three days he was an assistant life guard.

Throw them a rope, maybe. Or hold out the pool skimmer so they could grab it and be dragged to safety. He sure wouldn't have been much good trying to swim in and save them.

That Sunday, after getting into their swim togs, he and Wendy swam out to the float a hundred feet from shore and climbed aboard it, together with about six other teens, all in couples, who were giggling and chattering. "Not too shabby, Dip," Wendy said, holding out a hand to help him up the ladder. "I'm still faster than you, but you're getting into a pretty fair swimming form. Poolcheck might even hire you back as a lifeguard now."

"Don't even want to audition," Dipper said, wiping water from his eyes. Once he would also have rearranged his hair, since swimming plastered it back and revealed his birthmark, but now, with Wendy as moral support, it just didn't seem to matter that much if anybody saw it. The two of them found an empty space to sit on the hot, splintered gray wood at the back of the float, looking out over the water toward Scuttlebutt Island, and they settled down, their feet dangling over the edge. It wasn't even noon, but a hard, hot sun beat down from a cloudless sky and speared from the blue lake in a thousand jagged reflections.

Sitting there next to Wendy, Dipper couldn't help thinking of the night a couple of weeks back after she'd had a little too much beer—her dad had given it to her, because he wanted to quiz her about her boyfriend, and as the Romans said, in vino veritas. Or maybe in this case in brewth there's truth.

Anyway, that night she had him drive her out here way after dark and they went swimming together. And in the moonlight, she didn't wear her red suit . . . or anything. And neither had he.

"Ah, you're thinkin' about that night," Wendy teased. Her thigh was touching his, and of course she could read his mind.

Not wanting to be overheard by the others on the float, Dipper answered her telepathically: —Well, yeah, Magic Girl. It was only the high point of my whole life!

She chuckled but responded mentally as well: Mm, well, it kinda left me hanging, but I guess it gives us a goal to aim for later on. We'll have to see if we can beat it for awesomeness one day. Wendy tossed back her wet hair—it was growing long again after she'd had it cut short the previous winter and now reached way down past her shoulders—and thought to him, Wonder what all these people would think if they knew you and I went swimming in the nude that time.

—That I'm the luckiest guy in the world. And the dopiest, since swimming and talking was all we did!

She took his hand in hers. I respect you for that, Dip. Seriously, at the time I was all torn out of the frame over talkin' with my Dad about you and my Mom and all, and he'd got me pretty much buzzed, and I guess my inhibitions were down—well, I'll just say if you'd tried anything, I wouldn't have hated it. But no, you were right to say we had to wait, and I'm glad. I'm also glad you didn't have even one beer!

—Can't stand it. It tastes horrible to me. Maybe I'm not just old enough to appreciate it. Better watch me when the pressure gets bad in college, though, and make sure I don't become a drunk!

Don't think there's much chance of that, Big Dipper. Stan has, like, one beer in the evening sometimes and always stops at that. I've only ever seen Ford sip one teeny glass of wine in a restaurant. Your dad doesn't drink, either, does he?

—Dad? No, he's like Ford—sometimes a beer or glass of wine in a restaurant, but aside from that, no. Mom's the same.

See, you weren't raised around it, like me. There's always at least two six-packs in the Corduroy fridge, and nobody notices if you sneak one. 'Course my dad can drink enough to put a moose under the table and still not hardly show any effects. And then in high school, I hung around with a rebellious bunch. Robbie would steal beers from his folks, and sometimes Thompson would buy 'em for him, Nate, and Lee. Tambry and I would join the guys in drinking beer once in a while when we shouldn't have. But we just got buzzed, not what you'd call drunk. I shouldn't even drink just now and then, though. Peer pressure can get you into some bad decisions, man.

—I don't have to worry about my high-school friends getting me to drink.

Wendy squeezed his hand. "'Cause you don't have many," she said so softly that only he could hear. "My poor guy."

By then, all the other couples had jumped back into the water. Maybe they were part of a group. Anyway, the rest of the teens had left the float, temporarily at least, to Dipper and Wendy. He shrugged. "Well, it's OK. I'm not antisocial, just not very good at being social. I have a few buddies on track team, you know, but we're not supposed to touch beer or anything. If somebody did drink and anyone found out about it and told, the guy would get cut from the team pretty quick. How'd we even get on this subject?"

"By my thanking you for being a gentleman that night when, um, nothing stood between us, dude."

"Oh, yeah." Dipper felt his face reddening, and not from the sun. He added, "Maybe one day we can try that again when you don't need to clear your head. Just to see how it goes."

"It's a date," Wendy told him. She gave him a playful elbow nudge. "Tomorrow?"

"Um, too soon," Dipper said. Silently, he asked, What's up with you? Are you feeling, uh, you know—

He could feel her amusement. Horny? Maybe a little. I get that way now and then. Of course, you wouldn't know, you never do that—

Despite himself, Dipper had to laugh. She knew very well how untrue that was.

It's cool, Dip. Just part of growing up, that's all. It's just, I dunno, lately I keep daydreaming about next summer, when you turn eighteen. I am so looking forward to that.

"Me too," he said. No one seemed to be paying attention, so they kissed, just once.

After an hour at the lake, they swam ashore, got dressed, and drove back to the Shack—Wendy, fair-skinned as she was, burned if she didn't use a high-powered sunscreen and refresh it so often that, she said, she started to feel like a sardine packed in oil. And it was miserably hot at the lake, even standing in the water.

Teek's and Mabel's cars both stood in the lot, and Tripper came dancing to the door to greet them as they came in. "Hi!" Dipper called. "The Ramirezes gone somewhere?"

"We're in the dining room!" Mabel called. "Yeah, they took the kids to Fairyland. We're having lunch."

"Little late for lunch," Wendy said. It was twenty before two. She and Dipper found Teek at the counter making turkey sandwiches and Mabel brewing mint tea.

"What's Fairyland?" Dipper asked.

"It's a little amusement park west of Hirschville on 126," Teek said. "You want sandwiches?"

"I'll make 'em," Wendy volunteered. "You and Mabes go ahead and start eating."

"Didn't know there was an amusement park anywhere around," Dipper said, getting out glasses and dishes for himself and Wendy.

"It's not big," Teek said as he took two sandwiches to the table, where Mabel had just set down their iced tea and a squeeze bottle of honey. "Maybe thirty acres or a little more. They have a carousel, little train ride, toddler playground, log flume ride, games, fairy-tale characters, all that kind of stuff. Little kids like it."

"Want some iced tea?" Mabel asked, rattling her glass. "It's got mint in it!"

"Talked me into it," Wendy said, spreading mustard on bread. "Dip, get me a glass with ice, please, and pour me some."

"I'm on it."

They had tasty sandwiches—turkey, a semi-spicy Dijon mustard, sliced tomatoes (Dipper had learned to tolerate them), lettuce, and sweet little pickles on the side. "How was the dog park?" Dipper asked.

Around a mouthful of sandwich, Mabel said, "Good! Tripper's such a good boy. Kinda shy of the other dogs, but he doesn't growl or anything. And he'll romp a little with them, but he loves most to play with me and Teek. You ought to see him chase a tennis ball! He never gets tired."

Tripper was sitting near the table, his gaze intent on whoever happened to be taking a bite. "I like how he doesn't beg," Wendy said. "That's a mature dog trait right there, not mooching for people food."

Mabel tossed him a little scrap of turkey anyway, and he fielded it like a pro.

After Teek and Dipper cleaned up—Mabel told Wendy "I like how you're training him", meaning her brother and not the dog—Dipper asked, "Mind if we take Tripper out for a walk?"

Tripper started to bounce like a furry rubber ball at the word "walk."

"Where you going?" Mabel asked. "If it's someplace cool, and I don't mean trendy, we may tag along. It got too hot in the dog park—hardly any shade."

"I thought we'd walk out to the Cipher effigy," Dipper said. "We ought to keep an eye on it, in case anything happens."

Tripper stopped leaping and sat with his ears held back.

"You're scaring Tripper," Mabel said.

Dipper asked, "Are you afraid, boy?"

After some moments of hesitation, Tripper held up his left paw. "He says no," Wendy translated.

"I know, he can answer questions," Mabel said. "Hey, let me show you something amazing! Let's go into the gift shop."

They did, and Mabel had them sit on the floor, "in a circle" as she said, though really they more or less sat on the corners of an imaginary cube about eight feet on a side. Then Mabel said, "Tripper! Center!"

The dog went to the middle of the room and sat down.

"OK," Mabel said. "Go to, um—Wendy!"

The dog stepped over to Wendy, who petted him and fussed over him. "What a good boy! OK, let me try. Now go to Teek."

Tripper did. Teek sent him to Mabel, who sent him to Dipper. He never made a mistake or even hesitated. Dipper tried something more complicated. "Tripper, show me Mabel's shoe."

He went to Mabel and put a paw on her left foot. "Good," Dipper said. "Now, where's my hat?"

Tripper came to him, stood on his hind legs, and pointed with his nose.

"This really is amazing!" Wendy said. "Tripper, where does Dipper sit?"

The dog trotted behind the counter and gave one lone yip from roughly where Dipper's stool sat when he was on the cash register. When they put a ball, a rubber bone, a block of wood, and Mabel's key chain on the floor, he could go and fetch whichever one they asked for. Dipper tested for the Clever Hans effect by going into the museum, where Tripper couldn't see him, and calling through the open door for the block.

Tripper brought the block and dropped it at Dipper's feet.

"Spooky smart," Dipper said, returning to the gift shop. He glanced at Wendy. "You up for the walk?"

"Well, it'll be shady in the woods, so OK. Long as we don't get too close to the thing," she said. "I still dream about Cipher sometimes. He gives me the willies."

"We'll go too," Mabel said, getting up. "What weapons do we carry?"

"I think your grappling hook will be enough," Dipper said.

But Mabel insisted, and in the end, she took a putter. Teek had one of Stan's baseball bats, Dipper took along a whip—it was actually a toy, but made of braided leather and six feet long and he'd taught himself to crack it after weeks of practice one summer. Mabel said the coiled whip on his belt made him look like Idaho Smith, not Indiana Jones, but whatever.

And Wendy donned her scabbard and took the axe that Dipper had asked a blacksmith to silver-coat for her. It was one of her favorites, short-handled but good for throwing as well as for wielding as a hand weapon.

Only Tripper went unarmed, though Dipper was beginning to wonder just how smart the dog might be. It was even possible that he could handle a small weapon—though what kind, Dipper couldn't say.

They all were uneasy. Dipper noticed that even Mabel didn't talk. Tripper was off the leash, but he stayed a step behind Dipper the whole way. There was no real trail to the effigy—hardly anybody even knew it was there, and few who did know wanted to visit it—but Dipper found the easiest way to thread through the underbrush.

When they reached the clearing, they heard the faint buzzing of the gold bugs, droning in, landing, leaving their little coating of gold, and flying away again. Bill's broken-off arm now looked complete to a little way past the elbow. The rest of the stone glittered. It all now had a thin coating of gold dust.

"It's throbbing, dudes," Wendy muttered.

Maybe that wasn't exactly the word, but yes, somehow the effigy seemed to pulsate—not physically, but somehow the air around it darkened and then lightened again, to a slow, monotonous rhythm. It was as though cloud shadows passed over it in regular procession. Tripper became agitated, running in front of the group and dancing from side to side, like a doggy goalie protecting the goal.

Dipper took a video of the effigy, hoping to capture the strange lighting effect. "I think Grunkle Ford ought to know about this," he said. "Everybody but Wendy, back off, please. I'm going to see if I can dip into the Mindscape and get in touch with Bill's, uh, good side."

"Brobro!" Mabel said. "He doesn't have a good side! He's like a Mobius strip of evil!"

"No, I can usually sense if he's being trustworthy or not," Dipper said. "Please, back away a little. And hold onto Tripper."

Mabel pulled the leash from her pocket, hooked it to the dog's collar, and she, Tripper, and Teek backed off about ten feet.

Dipper sat on a fallen log—how many times before had he communed with Bill from there? He reached for Wendy's hand and, holding it, sent himself into an autohypnotic trance.

He made it into the Mindscape, but couldn't sense or hear Bill. If he focused on the effigy in its cage, he had a sense of movement—sort of like a whirlwind of darkness settling in all around the statue.

Someone small came to sit beside him. If he looked head-on, no one was there. If he turned his gaze back toward the statue, the small white figure was sitting by his side, like a Gnome in a white robe.

"It's you, isn't it, Tripper?" Dipper's dream-self asked.

"Yes."

"Are we in danger here?"

"Yes. No. Think so."

"Should we leave?"

He heard a thin whine, then, "Want to."

"I'm waking myself up now."

Dipper opened his eyes and was surprised that no dog sat beside him. He stood, taking Wendy's hand. "Let's go," he said. "We can't do anything here. I'll have to call Ford again."

On the way back to the shack, a happy Tripper, off his leash again, pranced along in front of them. Only rarely did he pause to look back over his shoulder, not at the kids, but in the direction of the effigy.

And only at those times did lower his ears, glare with bared teeth, he bristle, and growl a warning.