Sarah tucked her knees under her chin, making herself small in the middle of so much nothing and nowhere. She concentrated on the gentle chatter of the lake lapping against the anchored pontoon raft. But sound carries over water, and she could still hear stilted snatches of conversation coming from shore. Her mother, tense. Her grandmother, brusque. They weren’t arguing, exactly. To argue would be something. 

She’d swum out to the raft as a sort of protest. A childish performance, at ten years old, but Sarah allowed herself this. After all, her mother was just leaving her here with that woman, her grandma. Leaving her here, in the hands of a relative stranger, in this wild place. 

To her left, an ageless stand of pine trees came to the water’s edge. A lone birch, prematurely yellow in midsummer, poked through the evergreen canopy. That’s me, she thought. 

Like the birch, the sap inside Sarah had dried up, resisting the green and easy life of summer, of childhood. Her grief whittled her down from the active, happy girl she had once been to a sliver of her former self — a hard, polished shard. What little was left ached to laugh again, but she wasn’t even sure if she remembered how. The loss added to her private misery. 

It was lonely to be the only birch in a stand of pine. 

The shoreline stretched past the wood pier once painted brick red, now faded. The sand and pebble beach wrapped around Grandma’s place to the right, opening into a small sunny bay choked with lily pads. Sarah couldn’t see any frogs. 

The north woods of Wisconsin had once been a happy place for Sarah. Swimming, sunshine, campfires. She even liked the smell of the mosquito repellent – the pine scent reminded her of her dad. Now, though, she wanted no reminders.

“Ma, she’s not coming in.” Twenty yards away, Sarah’s mother checked her watch. 

Good, Sarah thought. Mom hates being late.

“Oh, let her be. She’s OK out there.” Grandma waved her arms in the direction of the lake, as if swatting tiny, biting no-seeums. 

“I’m running out of ideas,” her mother said, lowering her voice. 

Sarah could still hear her across the lake, but now her mother sounded slippery and undone. Goosebumps pricked Sarah’s arms.

“She’s been like this since Nick…” Her mother looked out on the lake.

“It’s hard on a little one. Give her time.”

“How much longer?” Sarah’s mother shifted her weight and her shoulders slumped. “It’s been ten months. She hardly eats. She never smiles. She just stares off into space. I want to comfort her but she won’t let me. Nick’s death was hard enough on both of us. It’s taking everything I have every day. But this—Sarah is going to break me.” Her mother’s voice caught in her throat. “She just stares…”

Sarah narrowed her eyes, focusing her attention onshore. Until then, she hadn’t realized her mother had been aware of her withdrawal. 

Grandma ran a leathery hand through her gray-streaked hair. They stood without touching. “Go. We’ll be fine. You’re going to be late.”

“It’s only for a few days, until next Wednesday. My job is depending on this contract.” 

Grandma nodded. For an instant, Sarah thought the old woman was going to hug her mother. But when neither woman moved, she figured the motion must have been come from the play of light and shadow falling over the shore. An illusion.

“I put the emergency numbers on your fridge. Ma, I’m really sorry to do this to you. Leaving Sarah with you. If there were anyone else. . .anyone at all. . .” 

Sarah could only remember visiting her mother’s mother a few times before. Memories of hushed voices, tip-toed steps, and closed doors left her uneasy. She felt unwelcome, as if Grandma didn’t like to be bothered by the domesticity of family and especially of little kids. When Sarah was really little, she had wondered if her grandma ate small children up here in her witch’s cottage in the woods. 

Even still, she would never say any of that. She knew her mother had crossed a line.

The muscles in grandmother’s face tensed, as if slapped. “I raised you kids just right. You don’t go down that road with me,” she said, her words rough, her voice hard. 

Maybe there would be an argument after all, Sarah thought.

Mother took a breath to calm herself, and spoke slowly, her hands gesturing, placating. “Ma, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just you were never the cookie-baking type and you haven’t had any kids around for a long time. Since Dad died, you’ve lived up here by yourself. You seem to like it that way.” Her mother paused, looking around, as if to draw supporting arguments from the woods. “For God’s sake, mother, your nearest neighbor is a half-mile away.”

“Go on. We’ll be just fine.” Grandma’s voice was low – Grandma didn’t talk about Grandpa.

Mother surrendered, turning toward the lake, toward Sarah. “Sarah, hon,” she called. “Come in and give your Ma a kiss goodbye.” 

Sarah shook her head. Having committed herself to the raft she felt she should defend her position. 
“Sarah! Come in this instant!” 

Ignoring such a weak plea, Sarah buried her head between her knees. Her damp stringy hair itched her skin, but she vowed not to move a muscle.

She wore her swimming suit from last year, a little red one-piece with a white belt at the waist. She had hated it even then, wanting to cut the stupid belt off at least. Her mother wouldn’t let her, though, insisting it was “decorative.” At the time, the only thing that stopped Sarah from doing it anyway was her father liked it — he joked Sarah was his “Orphan Annie.” Sarah had always sought the approval and the attention of her father, cherishing moments. No matter the “Orphan Annie” comment—she was his. Daddy’s girl, and all that mattered.

This summer, the suit strained over her growing body and pinched. But the poor fit was nothing compared to the horrible feeling that now she really was an orphan. Why keep the stupid belt? It no longer mattered. Resolved, Sarah took firm hold with her right hand and yanked it loose. She flung the belt out into the water, peeking through her folded arms as it sank beneath the waves.

“Now I’m really late,” Mother said to Grandma, or maybe, Sarah thought, to her. Sarah focused on the swaying motions of the raft. “Can you take care of this? I really got to go.”

Grandma nodded. “I’ll make sure she comes in. Don’t worry. Sarah and I will get along just fine.”

Sarah heard soft footsteps treading on fallen pine needles as the two walked back up the hill to Grandma’s small lake cottage. She heard the aluminum screen door — slam! slam! — in and out. 

Mother’s car started and she drove away over the winding black top road leading to the highway. The engine noise muted in the rolling hills. Then, once more — slam! And then nothing but the gentle sound of the water, lapping, lapping. 

Where was Grandma? Was she just going to leave her only grandchild out here on the lake? Alone? 

Sarah hadn’t wanted to be left here in the first place. Her grandmother’s further abandonment grated at her ten-year-old sense of justice. Appalled, Sarah was determined to wait it out. She would not yield. She hugged her head to her knees, shutting out the harsh mid-afternoon sun.

The raft suddenly tipped to one side, waking Sarah from a sound sleep. She cried in alarm as she realized she had dozed off at her post. Her arms and legs cast wide to stop her from rolling into the water and she stared, wide-eyed, as a wet, wrinkly creature heaved itself aboard. 
Grandma. 

Neither spoke. Sarah watched as her grandmother knelt near the edge and lifted a large floating bucket from the water. She tried to peek inside, but didn’t want to seem too interested. Instead, she turned around, facing the lake now, instead of the shore, and brought her knees back up under her chin. There was nothing to say.

Sarah was unaware how long she had slept or what time it was. The sun was lower in the sky, edging west and casting long shadows of pine trees over the water. It must be getting late. Sarah glanced to her right where her grandmother sat, legs dangling in the cool lake water. She noted with a certain odd pleasure that her grandmother looked uncomfortable in her faded black old-lady swimming suit. The spandex elastic in the suit had seen better days or maybe a rounder, plumper Grandma. Now, the material hung loose around the old woman’s body. Neither one of us has a suit that fits, she thought. Grandma seemed to be staring across the lake at something Sarah couldn’t see. 

Drawing confidence in what she perceived as a stalemate of sorts, Sarah took the opportunity to really look at her grandmother. Her short salt-and-pepper hair had dried in the breeze, framing her tan, weather-beaten face in a messy, lop-sided halo. Strong, wiry limbs supported her body, thickened with age. Her hands told silent tales of hard living and sacrifice. 

Sarah knew she was staring, but couldn’t help herself. An entire lifetime of experience sat beside her, embodied in a person she hardly knew. Sarah was surprised to find she felt embarrassed, apologetic…almost. Her mouth clamped shut as her grandmother caught her eye. 

“It seems it’s just about dinner time,” her grandmother said, looking directly at her, staring her down. “What do you say we go in?”

The mention of dinner made Sarah’s stomach growl and she realized she had missed lunch out here on the raft. Going in now, however, would be giving up. But giving up what, she wondered. Sarah shook her head, determined not to budge.

“Not ready to go in then, huh?” Grandma sighed. “I was hoping you might want to stay for a while.” She pulled the galvanized aluminum pail closer to her and rummaged through its contents. “Here, I packed us a picnic supper.” 

Her grandmother held out a tin-foil package of something. Usually a picky eater, Sarah could feel her stomach turning traitor with hunger. She reached for the packet, muttering a “thanks” under her breath. Grandma took another tin-foil package from the bucket for herself and two Cokes. She handed one to Sarah.

Sarah inspected her sandwich. The meat appeared to be salami, which she hated. There were other bits she couldn’t even recognize. She made a face of disgust, which to her annoyance, went unnoticed. Sarah made a show of picking out what looked like black olives. She sniffed. The sandwich smelled good, anyway. She noticed Grandma was already half done with hers. Not wanting to die of hunger with this eccentric, unpredictable stranger, Sarah forced herself to take a bite.

The sandwich was good. It was really good. Sarah refused to admit it aloud even as she inhaled the sandwich. She washed it down with the Coke and cast her eyes around for more. What else is in the bucket, she wondered.

“Go on, I packed another for you since you missed lunch.” Sarah could hear a lilt in her grandmother’s voice. She flushed, irritated at being so predictable. 

Sarah slid closer to her grandmother with the bucket between them. Taking a good look inside, she saw another tin-foil package, some more Cokes, a couple of beach towels, an old margarine container, and a bag of mini-marshmallows. She grabbed the sandwich and muttered, “I hate marshmallows.”

Grandma just smiled even more. “Well, then it’s a good thing they’re not for you.”

Sarah, who didn’t really hate marshmallows as much as she liked being contrary, tried to make sense of her grandmother’s declaration. “You’re going to eat them all by yourself?” She was thinking of dessert now, and regretting coming out so strong against the sweet. She had eaten them before on camping trips. They were OK.

“Nope.” Grandma answered and turned silent, choosing to swish her bare feet over the side of the raft. Sarah sensed something mysterious was going on, and she hated not knowing what it was. Two can play this game, she thought. Grandmother and granddaughter sat quietly, rocking in the gentle current. 

Sarah’s left leg fell asleep and her back started to ache. She longed to give in — there was nothing she could do to change the fact she’d been left. But, while she may concede the battle, she was still in the war. She let herself lie back on the raft, stretching her tired muscles. Might as well be comfortable.

The sun was well on the western horizon by then and Sarah gazed up at the inky, indigo sky. A slight breeze played across her skin. She could smell the fresh evergreen scent of the woods on the wind. The effect was soothing, reminiscent. She crossed her arms under her head, feeling better than she had all day.

“Getting ready to go in?” Grandma asked. 

Sarah shook her head. In the fading light, the lake was too beautiful to even think about going inside. She was surprised to find stubbornness wasn’t keeping her on the raft anymore. 

Grandma registered Sarah’s answer and didn’t press her. Neither spoke. 

Sarah felt herself drift into the euphoric twilight that comes right before falling asleep. A lazy smile spread across her face.

Plink! Sarah heard a faint, unrecognizable noise. Plink! There it was again! She sat up and stared at her grandmother. 

Plink! Sarah blinked. Had she just witnessed Grandma tossing a mini marshmallow out into the water? Several others were bobbing in the waves. Plink! Her mouth hung open and her mind, still foggy from sleep, worked to rationalize what she saw.

Plink!

“Grandma! Stop it! What are you doing?” Sarah couldn’t help herself. Grown-ups simply didn’t do such unexplainable things. Grown-ups were always rational, boring, and on time. If Mother could see Grandma now, she’d say Grandma was off her rocker.

“You’ve got a lot to learn,” Grandma said, as she threw another marshmallow onto the water, creating tiny ripples on the waves. “See those little sparkles of light out there?”

“The sun reflecting off the water?” Sarah could see the tiny bobbing reflections, but didn’t know what they had to do with marshmallows. 

“Sure, if you think it’s just reflections, then this is going to seem a little strange. Here, want some?” Grandma held out the bag.

Sarah took a handful, putting one marshmallow in her mouth to slowly melt on her tongue, and wondered how things could get any stranger than they already were.

“Why are you throwing marshmallows into the lake?”

“Those lights, the ‘reflections,’ as you say? What you don’t know is they’re actually tiny, glowing pixies dancing on the surface of the water. Look at them go – they’re having quite a party. See how they bob and weave?” Grandma waved her finger at a cluster of little lights. 

Sarah knew her grandmother had to be kidding. She knew pixies didn’t exist. She wasn’t a baby, after all. But she found herself squinting, leaning forward, and trying to reconcile the lights into particular forms.

“No—careful. It won’t do for you to be too curious. Pixies are a private bunch. See how they’re always a ways away, never right here with us? They keep to themselves.” Grandma threw another marshmallow.

Sarah gave her grandmother a look of disbelief. “So why are they dancing, then?”

“A long time ago,” Grandma began. 

Sarah rolled her eyes. 

“What?” Grandma snapped. “What’s with the eyes?” 

Busted. “It sounds like a made up fairy tale, is all,” Sarah protested.

“Well, it is — you know that. Do you want to hear the story or not?” 

Sarah reminded herself Grandma was not the cookie-baking type. She nodded. 

“Fine then,” Grandma began again. “A long time ago, the pixie prince fell in love with a beautiful silvery minnow. This was a problem, him living on land and her living underwater, but they loved each other so much nothing could keep them apart. The prince cast some of his pixie magic on himself so he could breathe underwater, and the couple set up house in a dense seaweed forest in the deepest part of the lake, far away from everyone.” Grandma paused to throw another marshmallow. 

“Well,” she continued, “The prince’s decision devastated the rest of the pixies—they missed their prince so much they carried out elaborate schemes to lure him back to dry land. All sorts of fuss and nonsense. But the sea weed forest was so dense and so dark the prince wasn’t even aware the pixies were missing him.” Grandma paused to catch Sarah’s eye before beginning again. “It’s my opinion, though; he wouldn’t have left his minnow anyway. Not for anything. They really were in love…are in love even still.”

Sarah leveled a doubtful stare at her Grandma. 

“What?” her grandmother asked. “Don’t believe it, if you want. But I’m not done yet telling you their story.”

“The pixies,” she continued, “sad and frustrated that none of their plans to lure the prince back home were working, finally came upon an idea — a marvel so amazing it would certainly be seen even way down at the bottom of the lake. They would throw a huge party on the water, dancing on the waves, glowing as brightly as they could, using as much pixie dust as they could spare, pretending to have the best time of their lives. They would have so much fun the prince would have to surface to see for himself.” She threw another marshmallow, and helped herself to the next one.

“Now,” Grandma continued, “throwing these marshmallows is just my way of being neighborly. Pixies use a lot of energy to dance on the water and to burn so bright. And, as everyone knows, pixies love sugar — what do you think pixie dust is made out of anyway?” She turned to Sarah and smiled.

Sarah sat quietly for a moment, taking in the nonsense. Pixies dancing on the water — come on! But the more she wanted to scoff the idea, to brush it away as the crazy ravings of an old lady, the less she could. She felt a stirring deep inside, awakening feelings of lightness and frivolity she had denied for too long. Childlike wonderment ached to come out and play. She looked out onto the lake, her eyes following the sparkles glinting off the slow, easy currents. And before she knew what was happening, she took a marshmallow and threw it as far as she could.

Her grandmother chuckled as the small offering arced across the lake. Just as the marshmallow was about to hit the water, a large fish breached the waves and caught the sweet in its mouth. Sarah and Grandma both let out cries of astonishment. Grandma clapped her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Well done, Sarah! Marshmallows are probably why the walleye grow so big around here!” 

They each tossed another handful of the marshmallows, running out just as the sun slipped below the tree line on the western edge of the lake. The bright white evening star, Venus, appeared on horizon. Grandma passed a beach towel over to Sarah. “I suppose you’re still not ready to go in?”

Sarah shook her head. Night came upon the lake, issuing forth an alarming darkness, robbing her of the sense of calm she felt earlier. Thousands, perhaps millions of stars twinkled above, but they provided too little light to comfort her loneliness. 

Nighttime had always belonged to Dad. Her father made a point of tucking Sarah in each evening when she was little, reading her a story, and when she was older, asking her to read one to him. I miss him so much, Sarah thought. She found herself blinking back tears, and buried her head in her knees again.

“Your dad was a good man. I miss him,” said Grandma. 

Sarah jumped, startled. She had forgotten where she was, on this raft, in the dark, with her grandmother. She had been a million miles away, grasping at memories of happier days. Though her grandmother whispered, her voice seemed loud, an intruder in the night. 

“The important thing, I think, is to keep your memories of him. Keep them close.” Grandma looked around. 

“Maybe that’s why you came out here in the first place. All alone to think and remember. All by yourself, not another soul around.” Grandma paused, lost in her own thoughts. 

Sarah began to wonder if she had fallen asleep. In the darkness, she couldn’t tell. 

But then, Grandma continued. “He used to take you on the lake, I recall.”

Sarah nodded. The good times. The more she tried to remember them, the foggier and more dreamlike they became. She was afraid about what she might forget, not even realizing what she lost.

“So, you ever do any fishing?” Grandma asked, clearing her throat. Sarah sensed her Grandma was humoring her in the way adults did when they asked questions they already knew the answers to. But she nodded anyway. 

She and her dad — just the two of them, her mom had slept in that particular day — went out in her dad’s old aluminum row boat bright and early one morning. She recalled the bulky life vest scratching under her chin each time she cast her line. Impeded by the vest, her short arms only managed to splash the bobber a couple feet from the side of the boat. 

Dad said not to worry about casting because she was wearing his lucky hat. Sarah remembered thinking if the hat were as lucky as it was smelly, she’d bring back dinner. “I caught eighteen blue gills one time,” Sarah said.

“He ever take you hunting?”

Sarah shook her head.

“No? Well, I’ll take you then. While you’re here.” 

“Grandma! I’m too little to go hunting!” Sarah said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She could tell Grandma was trying to tease a smile from her. 

“Not the way I do it. Tomorrow morning, you and I will go.” She reached into the bucket and found the old margarine container. Removing the lid, she offered the contents to Sarah.

“Blackberry?”

Sarah took a berry, firm and warm in her fingers. Placing it in her mouth, she tasted a burst of sweet and tart and something else. She noticed Grandma watching her.

“It’s the sunshine,” Grandma nodded. “What you’re tasting you can’t quite name. Sunshine.” 

As Sarah’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out details in the nightscape of silver and steel. 

Grandma was visible now, sitting beside her, eating blackberries one by one from the tub. 

“We’ll go berry hunting tomorrow. I picked these earlier today over by the shore.” She gestured toward the stand of pines Sarah noticed earlier that day, the one with the lone yellow birch tree. 

“But, as you said, you might be a bit young to be a hunter. Even a berry hunter. Hunting ducks, deer, or berries, the technique is the same.” Grandma paused, reaching for the old margarine tub. Most of the berries were gone now, leaving a dark slurry of juice behind. She dipped her callused fingers into the liquid, staining them. 

“Young or old, what any good hunter needs to start with is some camouflage,” Grandma grinned and looked at Sarah as if daring her. 

Daring me to what, Sarah wondered. But before she could puzzle it out, the old woman brushed her purple fingers across her wrinkled face, leaving three parallel lines on each cheek.

Sarah hooted, her voice echoing across the lake. “You’re crazy!” she cried out.

“Just wait until I do you!” Grandma said, dipping her fingers back in the bowl. Sarah shrieked with laughter as her grandmother painted cat whiskers and a purple nose on her face. 

I must be dreaming, Sarah thought, and was surprised to find she was enjoying herself.

“Now, you need to understand berry hunting is a very serious matter. See all those stars overhead?” 

Sarah nodded, looking up. The sheer number of them was overwhelming. Sarah recognized the grouping of stars she watched every night from her bedroom window at home. Concentrating on the familiar shapes, she limited the universe to a manageable size. But, with her fixed interest in one small part of the sky, Sarah became aware of the unsettling sensation of the Earth rotating beneath her. And by some freak misstep of nature, that she was about to be flung loose. Dizzy, she reached out to grab hold of the pontoon raft.

Grandma helped Sarah regain her balance and whispered, “Did you know, those stars, those tiny pinpricks of light, are suns, just like our own? They shine with light, just like ours. The sunshine in the berries we just ate — well, it’s just really starlight, when it comes down to basics. The berry needed light to live, just as we needed the berries. The starlight is in us now. We’re just one small part of the universe.”

Grandma cleared her throat. “Everything on Earth is made out of bits of stars, in one form or another. And every little piece of each one of us — every atom in every one of our cells —is just on loan. I like to think when our time comes; we return our atoms to the universe. We become starlight again. Then, when I sit out here alone at night, I’m not alone at all. Your grandpa’s here. You’re dad’s here, too. They’re the stuff of stars now — the very same light that makes those blackberries taste so good.”

They sat in silence for some time. Sarah watched constellations swirl slowly around the Pole Star as she contemplated what her grandmother had said. 

Eventually, Grandma whispered, “Ready to go in?” 

But she knew her grandmother only asked because she felt she should. Sarah wanted to spend the night on the lake, under the stars. With Grandma. With her family. 

They each wrapped themselves in a beach towel for warmth. Grandma lay down, finding a comfortable position and Sarah watched as she drifted off to sleep. Although Sarah vowed to stay up, she felt the heavy eventuality of sleep pressing upon her. She lay down next to her grandmother, and closed her eyes.

* * * *

The slow burning heat from the rising sun woke Sarah. Golden beams glanced off shallow ripples on the lake. Tiny prisms of light darted across the surface of the water. The pixies are dancing, she thought, smiling. Her grandmother still slept, curled up under her towel, snoring quietly, in rhythm with the bobbing of the raft. She looked around her, at the lake, the woods, the cottage up the hill. She no longer felt intimidated or alone. She felt a sense of comfort and belonging in this place. Her grandma’s place. 

She found the remaining marshmallows in the bucket. One by one, Sarah tossed them into the lake. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her grandmother stir. Sarah grinned as Grandma watched her feed the pixies. It felt good to smile, to make someone else smile. “I’m glad you’re up,” Sarah said, tossing the last marshmallow. “We should get going.” She stood up and carefully padded her bare feet to the edge of the raft.

Grandma’s sleepy eyes twinkled as they followed her granddaughter. “Get going where?”

“Berry hunting,” Sarah answered and dove off the platform. The smooth teal depths of the lake still held the chill of night. Her teeth chattered as she swam, her eyes focused on the sun-drenched shore.