Deep Betrayal

guardian of the lake. Her descendants, and the descendants of the human men who loved her, paid her homage for centuries. They’d make offerings of tobacco or wild rice or copper.…” His voice trailed off, and I watched as his thoughts went far away.
    “I remember Mother had a trove of Indian Head pennies. Old ones, from back when pennies were actually made of copper. She used to make an offering every year. But ever since she died, none of us ever did.
    “That’s what Maris meant when she said we’d neglected her. I always thought it was just a story. I mean, it was easy enough to think so. I’ve been swimming this lake for decades, and I’ve never seen any evidence of her.”
    I sank lower on the bench and groaned. “That’s my point, Calder. You know why you haven’t seen her? She’s. Not. Real.”
    “C’mon, Lily. We came from somewhere. Let’s keep the possibility open that she’s the root of the problem. It beats the alternative. Have some faith in your dad. I do.”
    With those words, I felt as if I saw Calder for the first time. How he cared for Sophie and doted on Mom. How he trusted Dad, even now, when I couldn’t.
    With Calder, I didn’t have to worry about things falling apart anymore. In some strange, unexpected way, he had become the glue that held us all together. He had faith in my dad, and I loved him for it. I really loved him.
    So there was only one option for me now. Like it or not, I was banking on an impossibility.

29
CORNUCOPIA
    W ithin the hour, Calder and I had driven the long and winding road up to Cornucopia. There was a crafts fair going on in the tiny hamlet, and people had parked their cars and RVs on every grassy inch alongside Highway 13, stretching a mile south out of town.
    We parked and walked the rest of the way in, following the smell of wood chips, sugar, and hot oil, passing elderly couples headed back to their cars with the spoils of their day.
    Calder held my hand as we weaved through row afterrow of booths, finally making it to the center of it all. “See anything?” he asked.
    “I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” I said. “A wood-carver’s son? Was Pavati being literal or should I start looking for a freakin’ Pinocchio?”
    Calder frowned. “I’m hoping it’s one of those things where we’ll know it when we see it.”
    “Maybe we should ask someone.”
    “You go that way,” Calder said. “I’ll take this row. I’ll meet you by the fry-bread stand.”
    When Calder left, I was consumed by the crowds: old women in embroidered sweatshirts, old men in suspenders, young mothers pushing strollers over uneven ground. I saw plenty of watercolor paintings, clocks mounted in driftwood, and ceramic garden gnomes, but I didn’t see any marionettes, or any kind of wood-carver’s son, for that matter. There was nothing here that might give us answers. That is, unless the secrets of the universe were hidden in a tchotchke.
    Wandering aimlessly, I found myself standing near booth 124 and a line of RVs where the vendors camped for the weekend. I caught a glimpse of Calder just as a little girl in a purple dress ran by, clanging and ringing with a hundred metal tassels sewn to her skirt.
    “So cool,” I said under my breath.
    “It’s a traditional Ojibwe jingle dress,” said a guy behind me. I turned to find Serious Boy lighting up a cigarette and leaning against a silver-bullet Airstream trailer. “They’re doing a dance demonstration over at the park.”
    I gotta get me one of those , I thought.
    “Forget it,” said Serious Boy, reading my expression. “You’d never be able to sneak up on anyone again.”
    “I don’t sneak.”
    “Puh-lease.” He blew a cloud of smoke in my face, and I waved it away. “You were made for sneaking. And why would you want a jingle dress when you look so good in band T-shirts?” He pointed at me with his pursed lips. “Where’d you score the Grateful Dead? That looks legit.”
    He dropped his cigarette into the dirt and ground it out with the toe of his boot. I looked away and, in doing so, caught a glimpse of a wooden wind chime. A beautifully carved mermaid wearing an intricately braided crown of copper wire dangled from its center.
    “That’s pretty,” I said.
    “It’s one of my dad’s carvings. They’re very popular; he sells a ton of them.”
    Serious Boy was the wood-carver’s son? He was one of Pavati’s boys?
    “So,” I said, not really knowing how to start this