Rescue Me

5

Wendy and Stan dropped Ford off at the airport at one-thirty. By four, they were more than a hundred and fifty miles north of Piedmont, with Stan at the wheel of the Dodge Dart. Contrary to his threat, or promise, or whatever it was, he hadn't cracked a single joke all the way up Interstate 5.

Wendy had crawled into the back seat and promptly fell asleep as soon as they had left the airport behind. Stan let her snooze. She woke up, sat up, and yawned. "Thanks, Stan. I probably would've wrecked by now. Where are we?"

"Passed by Willows a little ways back," he said. "You hungry again?"

"Gettin' there. You pulling off the freeway?"

"You're down to less than a quarter tank. I'll buy some gas for you. I saw a sign for a Shell station back there."

"Want me to drive?"

"Feel like it?"

"Yeah, lots better, thanks."

They stopped at the station, Stan filled the tank and paid for the gas—the station owner politely declined to flip a coin, double or nothing—and Wendy took the wheel. Stan watched her for a few minutes. "You're a good driver, Wendy."

"Thanks."

"Hey, you in a hurry to get home?"

"Not particularly." Wendy shot him a glance. "You're not hittin' on me, are you?"

Stan laughed. "Now I know how Dipper woulda felt if that photo had pumped up his ego! Nah, I'm a married man, but if you got an hour to spare, I'd be glad to teach you a few things."

"Like what?" she asked suspiciously.

"'Bout fifteen miles ahead is a place called the Rolling Hills Casino. How much dough you got on you?"

"Forty, fifty bucks, in there. But I don't gamble."

"Let's stop anyhow, just for an hour. No more. You watch me and see if you can pick up a few little tricks—I'll show you, they're easy—and if you don't double your money in that hour, I'll pay it back to you double anyways. Somehow I'm feelin' lucky."

"You're not gonna cheat, are you?" Wendy asked.

Leaning back, Stan said easily, "Nope, never do. Not in a casino, anyhow. One hour, then we grab some dinner, and back on the road. What do you say?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Wendy told him.

She drove for maybe another mile before asking, "Do you think I made a mistake, comin' down to Piedmont? See, I didn't know you guys were coming."

"Meh, it was a spur of the moment thing with Ford and me, too," Stan said. "I woulda called you at the Shack otherwise. Nah, you didn't hurt anything. Matter of fact, I think you connected with Wanda better'n me or Ford. I know you connected with Alex." He chuckled. "In case you didn't know, he's deeply in love with your car. Which drives great, by the way. I'm impressed at how quiet it is."

"Took a lot of work to make it that way. Finally got the engine right where it should be," Wendy replied. She sighed. "You think me and Dipper can hold it together for another two years?"

In a fatherly tone, Stan said, "Kiddo, I can't predict the future. Maybe Dip can, he's got a chunk of Bill Cipher inside him somewheres."

Wendy didn't take her eyes off the freeway. "Come on, straight answer, man. I'm serious."

"OK," Stan said. "Yeah, you can make it, but be careful, ya know? You two tread easy. Time gets closer, you're gonna want to hop in the sack—"

"Stan!"

"Watch the road," he said. "Yeah, take it from me, you are, it's human nature. And I ain't even gonna tell you no. Everybody's gotta lose it some time, 'less they're a nun or a priest or something. But if you mean to hold off, good for you. Not many kids do these days. Only commit. Know what I mean? You gotta commit to each other."

"I think we have already," Wendy said.

"Yeah, well, don't just think. Be sure."

She said sarcastically, "By the way, thanks so much for bringing up that time me and my friends stole Blubs's car while he and Durland were making their public-service video in the gym."

"Oh, was that you?" Stan asked innocently.

"Yeah, of course it was, but how did you know?"

Stan chuckled. "Your dad told me."

"What!"

"Yeah, said he knew all about it. You weren't drivin' the cruiser then, though. It was Fenwick Thompson—"

Wendy yipped with laughter. "Fenwick! No, Franklin!"

"Fenwick," Stan said firmly. "I know his mom well. Lu Thompson. Short for Lumilla. She says the Thompsons have a knack for colorful first names. He may call himself Franklin—heck, I would, they saddled me with a name like Fenwick—but now you know. Anyways, he was drivin', but you were the one leaned out the window and taunted Blubs and Durland. Blubs claims you guys put a thousand miles on his car. How much really?"

Laughing, Wendy said, "We drove it about a mile to Yumberjacks and left it there, because Thompson had parked his mom's car in the lot and that was our getaway. Seriously Stan, how come my dad didn't take a belt to my butt if he knew?"

Stan glanced sharply at her. "He ever do that?"

"Not even once. You know Dad. Just the threat from him's enough—he's never hit me or the boys, but he sometimes made us wish he would, 'cause hearin' him bellow is worse. Tell me—how come Dad didn't smack down on me for that little prank, if he knew?"

Stanley stretched. "Two reasons, Wendy. Number one, Blubs had given him a ticket the week before for going five miles over the speed limit in his lumber rig. Number two, Dan was gonna punish you. He meant to use that as the reason for shippin' you off to your cousin's sawmill or whatever it is for the summer. But I talked him out of that. Convinced him that makin' you work in the Shack would be punishment enough."

Wendy took a moment to absorb that news. "Thanks for that, Stan. Saved my life. Hey, there's the casino sign. Next exit?"

"If you're up for it."

"Take my mind off worrying about Dipper," she said. The place was right off the freeway, architecturally a bastard child of Frank Lloyd Wright's prairie style and something designed by an architect who worked for the Wizard of Oz.

It was the first time Wendy had been inside a gambling den, and the dings and murmurs and yells of triumph and curses of bad-luck Charlies nearly overwhelmed her for a moment.

"You'll get used to it," Stan bellowed in her ear. "Let's buy some credits."

True to his word, Stan took her on only a one-hour tour of the casino. Wendy had a grasp of blackjack and she and her dad and brothers had played poker, but watching Stan play was a revelation. They sat in briefly at three different tables, with Stan counseling her after each of the first two, verbally re-playing the hands with her.

Then at table number three, a low-stakes game of Hold 'Em, Wendy took a seat beside Stanley and they dealt her in.

Eight players and the dealer at that table, two of them Wendy and Stan, five of the other six from the other games they had sat in on. Wendy remembered what Stan had said: They all had tells. The white-haired guy played his cards close to his chest, but he rubbed his lip when he had a good hand and was pretending he was making up his mind, and he did a little quirk-up one-sided smile when he was bluffing on a bad hand. The woman next to her tilted her head right when she was confident, left when she didn't like the cards she held. And so on.

It wasn't cheating, Stan had explained, it was skill at reading people. She might not know which hand any of the players had by the way they held their eyes, but she got a good sense of when to bet, when to check, and when to fold. As she proved over the next half-hour.

Stan made nearly five hundred dollars there, wiping out his losses at the other tables and putting him in the black by about two hundred bucks.

Wendy risked thirty in all and made sixty-seven. Stan had said she'd double her money, and she did a little better than that.

"So," Stan said as they cashed in, "let's get some grub, and you can pick up the tab."

She was willing to do that, but Stan, the old smoothie, grabbed it first with a grin. Then, alternately driving and dozing, the two of them drove the rest of the way to Gravity Falls and got there around midnight.

6

Friday passed with nothing more than a slight thawing of cold-war tensions between Mabel and Wanda. Wanda offered to make breakfast on Friday morning, but Mabel said that was fine, she just wanted cereal. Dipper went for cereal too, demonstrating solidarity with his sister. However, he at least talked to their mom during the meal. After the first offer and refusal, Mabel didn't have a single word to say.

She drove to school, as usual. Dipper decided not even to wait for the bus. He just walked it. He got there a few minutes before first period began and joined Mabel in home room.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Still pissed," she growled. "Mostly at myself."

"Come on."

"It's bad enough for me," she said. "But you're gonna miss seeing Wendy! I don't know why you don't hate me."

"Because you're my favorite sister," he said.

"Yeah, right."

No track practice on Fridays, so Dipper was planning on riding the bus—but as the students flooded out that afternoon, he stopped when he saw his dad standing outside. "Hi, Mason," Alex said. "Where'd Mabel park?"

"Uh—over there," he said. "Toward the back."

"I see it now. That green's hard to miss. Let's go wait at the car for her."

They got there, he unlocked the Carino, and he got in the front seat. Dipper got in the back. Mabel came toward them, head down, backpack slinging in her hand, and didn't even notice them until she unlocked the driver's door. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"I got home from work early," Alex said. "Wanted to go for a walk, wound up here, and hoped you'd give me a ride home. Dipper just didn't want to ride the bus."

"It smells like barf," Dipper said, picking up his cue.

"It always smells like barf!" Mabel said.

"So did I, when you two were babies," Alex said. "Come on. Let's go home and sit down with your mother and talk this thing out. Everybody's been mad and upset for too long already."

"She's finally gonna lower the boom, huh?" Mabel asked.

"What does that even mean?" Dipper asked.

"Means I'm gonna get my heart torn out and stomped on," Mabel said. "For my own damn good. Like I'm the only person who ever f—uh, screwed up."

"Don't go into this with a negative attitude," suggested her dad. "Slow down. That light's going to change before we get there."

She slowed and stopped at the red. "I can't help being negative, Dad. What's she thinking? Military school?"

"We'll talk."

They sat in the living room. As with their visitors of the previous day—something neither Dipper nor Mabel knew about—the Pines parents had Dipper and Mabel sit on the sofa, while they took the two armchairs.

Mom started: "All right, I apologize for reacting so strongly. I should have calmed down before confronting you. Mabel, do you accept that?"

Mabel nodded sullenly.

Mom said, "Good, thank you. But you do realize why I got so upset, don't you?"

Mabel nodded again, her face reddening. "Yeah. I guess."

"You didn't want us to get in trouble," Dipper said, trying to help out.

"Something like that," Mom agreed. "All right, let's try something. Mabel, pretend you're the mom. You found that picture in your teenage daughter's things. She's just like you. What would you do as punishment?"

Mabel made a face. "I don't know!"

"Neither do I," Mom said calmly. "Help me out here. Prescribe a punishment and let's think about it."

Mabel crossed her ankles and re-crossed them. "I . . . guess . . . take my driving privileges away? For good?"

"For good? Did the photo hurt anybody?" Mom asked.

"Not 'til you found it."

"All right. The harm wasn't permanent. Remember, you're being the mom. Why should the punishment be permanent?"

Mabel gave her a sideways glance. "'Cause I'm really . . . mad at my daughter?"

Mom shook her head. "I'm not mad any more. I'm concerned. I want to be firm. But I'm not mad now. So—want to change that from a lifetime ban on driving?"

"A year?" Mabel asked.

Dad said, "I think that's still a little harsh. Let me propose a compromise. From now until January first, you'll go back to learner's permit status. You drive only if one of us is in the car with you."

Mabel looked up, hope in her face. "Mom?" she asked in a little-girl voice.

"Is that strong enough for you to remember this?" Mom asked.

Mabel nodded. "Y-yeah." She pressed her lips together hard. "Th-thanks."

"How about me?" Dipper asked.

Mom said, "Ask Mabel. She's the mom right now."

"Dipper didn't do anything," Mabel said slowly. She started to cry silently, tears slipping from her eyes. "He wouldn't even get mad at me. I don't think anything should happen to him. And those b-beer bottles weren't his, or ours. Honest. I really did get them out of the recycling."

"And if Dipper drives the twinmobile in the meantime between now and New Year's?" Dad asked. "You won't get jealous?"

Mabel shook her head. "No." She shrugged and corrected herself: "Yeah, I will, I can't help that, but I'll live with it. I guess that's part of the punishment, huh?"

Her mother asked, "Will you ever do anything like this again?"

"Oh, God, no!" Mabel blurted.

"All right," Dad said. "Dipper, here. You take this for now." He handed Dipper an envelope.

"What's this?" Dipper asked.

"Your airline tickets," Dad told him.

Dipper jumped up from the sofa, his eyes dancing. "For—Dad, thanks!"

"Congratulations, Dipper," Mabel murmured. "Have Teek call me when you see him."

"Mabel, you're going, too," Mom told her. "Keeping you away from your friends is too harsh. You can go. A week from today, both of you will fly up to Portland and one of your great-uncles will drive you to Gravity Falls for Thanksgiving week. Alex and I will see you on Wednesday."

"Yay!" Mabel jumped up and did a victory dance all around Dipper. Then she stopped. "Thank you, guys," she said. "I'm so sorry I blew up like I did. It just—I—it was my fault, but—I know—I'm sorry. I—"

"Wait before you finish that thought," Dad said, holding up a finger. "Some provisos. Number one, no sleepovers! Not for this trip, anyway. Number two, Mabel, you don't drive anybody's car unless your mom or me is in the vehicle with you. Number three, Dipper—this is not punishment, it's just precaution—you can't be alone with any of the girls in the photo. And even if you're in a group with any of them at any time—behave yourself!"

"Aw, Dad," Dipper said, turning as red as Mabel.

"Are we good?" Mom asked.

Mabel threw herself into Wanda's arms to hug her. "No!" she said, laughing. "But from now on—we're sure gonna try!"

The End