Page 17 of Patio Lanterns (The Blue Canoe Cottage #1)

Robin

Robin nudged Dove , sitting on the couch next to her. “I’m making an event flyer to deliver around the neighbourhood. What else do you suggest?”

Dove peeked at the screen. “Frankly, a little more pizazz. It doesn’t exactly pop.”

“Gee, that’s helpful,” Robin said, giving her a side-eye. “I thought you were good at throwing parties.”

Dove tipped her head. “You really have no idea what I do for a living, do you?”

Robin shrugged. “I know you go to a lot of fancy parties with fat cats in penguin suits.”

“I happen to attend several black-tie galas a year because that’s where potential clients are. You’re only as good as your client list in my line of work.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

Dove sighed. “I’m a luxury concierge. I provide services that enhance and define my clients’ elite lifestyles. Book their charters, balance their schedules, manage appointments and reservations, facilitate club memberships, and offer personal shopping to source rare or premium items.”

Robin sneered. “Luxury concierge? There’s no way that’s even a real job.”

“Well, it is, and I assure you, dear sister, I am exceptionally good at it,” Dove said. “Until recently, I’ve never even lost a client.”

“Uh-oh. Did Skipper’s yacht accidentally cross into the Bermuda Triangle?”

“Very funny. I didn’t literally lose a client. But one was stolen out from under me by a devious competitor. Shandy Mundy.” Dove spat out her rival’s name like it was a ghost pepper burning a hole in her tongue. “Gah, I despise her.”

“Shandy Mundy?” Robin smirked. “Sounds like a happy hour special.”

“She’s a real underhanded piece of work,” Dove said. “And it isn’t the first time she’s gone behind my back and tried poaching my client list.”

“What a cow,” Robin commiserated. It wasn’t even the first C-word that came to her mind.

“You can’t just replace a good, high-net-worth client overnight, you know. So I’ve been working my connections trying to get the word out.”

“Well, if I knew of any high-net-worth clients, I’d send them your way.

But most of my associates are broke-ass musicians who dig between couch cushions to scrape enough together for a pizza,” Robin said.

“On second thought, if you have any high-net-worth clients you wanna send my way, I’ll gladly apply to be their sugar baby. ”

Dove laughed. “I’ll let you know if I hear of any openings.”

Robin turned her attention back to the screen.

She changed the font and moved the text over to fit in a black-and-white image: a striking portrait their father had taken of their mom in mid-laughter on the dock.

It was one of the only photos of herself that Micki had actually liked, probably because she looked so beautiful—happy, carefree, and in that flattering light, about twenty years younger.

A stray thought popped into Robin’s head. “What are we going to feed these people? The flyer should probably mention that we’ll have refreshments,” she said. “Then again, that might attract riffraff wanting to hit an open bar and all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“Guess it depends on how much you want to spend. What’s your budget?”

“Um… did you not just hear my story about the couch cushions? My budget is as close to zilch as possible.”

Dove shrugged. “Easy. Make it a potluck. Then everyone brings a dish to share.”

“Good idea,” Robin said, typing on the keyboard. “Potluck and BYOB.”

“But you’ll still have to buy water and pop, and some kind of appetizers or snacks,” Dove suggested.

“Mom will haunt us from the grave if we don’t at least put out a few bowls of chips for guests to nibble on.

Oh, and wine. We should definitely have wine to make a toast to Mom. Chardonnay if you can get it.”

“Wine, yes, good.” Robin searched for a scrap piece of paper on the table in front of them. “Maybe I’ll start a list.”

“And what about decorations? Lights? Flowers?”

“Decorations.” Robin wrote it down under the wine. “What else?”

Dove smirked. “Wait a sec. I thought you were planning this shindig.”

“I know, I know, and I am, it’s just that you have such good ideas.” Robin gave her an adoring smile.

“I don’t know. Maybe music?”

“Okay, that’s one thing I’ve already thought about. I’ve started putting Mom’s favourite songs into a playlist.”

“Nice. She’d like that.”

“See, I have good ideas of my own every now and then.” She turned the computer screen to show Dove the adjustments she had made to the flyer. “How’s this? Better?”

“Much better. Almost makes me want to be there.”

“Oh, you’ll be there. We’ll all be there,” Robin said, feeling quite pleased with herself. “Okay, I’ll print off a few copies for the neighbours, and take a couple down to the general store to put up there.”

“Ooh, Creepy Crawley! Wicked Witch of Lake Whippoorwill!” Dove cackled menacingly as she wiggled her fingers in Robin’s face. “Don’t be stealing any of my bubblegum little girl, or I’ll turn you into a speckled toad!”

Robin swerved and gave her a playful swat. “Cut it out!”

The fun came to an abrupt halt as Lark marched into the room. “Robin!” She waved a muddy flip-flop. “I just stepped in your dog’s shit!”

Guess it wasn’t mud after all. “Oh, shit, sorry.” Saying shit about the shit on Lark’s shoe was pretty damn funny, and Robin giggled.

“Get out there and clean up the yard before anyone else steps in it, especially Nova.” She stomped away again.

“Okay, okay, I’m on it,” Robin called out. “Just give me a sec to finish up this flyer for Mom’s party.”

Lark returned, shaking her head. “I honestly thought you were putting us on last night. You mean you’re actually going through with it?”

“Of course I am,” Robin said. “We all are.”

“Not me. I want nothing to do with it,” Lark told her. “Mom never expressed anything in her will about wanting us to throw her a party.”

Robin shrugged. “What else were we going to do? Say a few nice words and then just chuck her cremains off the end of the dock?”

Dove and Lark glanced at each other. “To be honest,” Dove said, “I really pictured it being only the three of us. You know, low-key and quiet.”

“Low-key and quiet was not the Micki Pelletier way,” Robin reminded her.

“That may be true, but it would’ve been nice if you’d at least asked us what we wanted to do,” Dove said quietly.

Ouch. Quick, sharp, and to the point: that one stung like an air dart to the neck.

“You’re right, Dove. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you both first. I’ll try to be more considerate of everyone’s feelings,” Robin said sweetly. “I was only trying to take the burden off you guys by planning this myself as a way to honour Mom.”

“And you honestly think you can pull this off in two days?” Lark asked.

Robin frowned. “You don’t think I can?”

“It’s not that I don’t think you can, it’s that I know you won’t,” she said. “You’ll drop the ball like you usually do, and end up embarrassing this family and besmirching the memory of our mother.”

Robin was gobsmacked, and not just because Lark threw around an uppity word like besmirching. “Geez, tell me how you really feel.”

“Lark, come on,” Dove said. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

Lark sighed. “Look, Robin, I love you. You’re my sister. But your track record doesn’t exactly scream reliable .”

“I’ll have you know that an entire band relies on me,” Robin said. “I design the merch, I pay the vendors, I order the—”

Lark held up her hand. “Spare me. I’ve heard all about how you can be dependable for your little band, but can’t show up for this family when it needs you.”

When had this family ever needed Robin? Lark and Dove had it all figured out and well in hand long before she joined the Pecking Order.

If anything, Robin got pushed aside while her sisters did it all themselves, leaving her with very little room to contribute.

So, to say they’d needed her all this time?

Nah, she called bullshit. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Mom, Rob, I’m talking about Mom. Where were you after Dad died? Sure, you went home to visit, but I don’t think you came up here once.”

“Please,” Robin said defensively. “Mom knew I would’ve come up here if she’d asked me, but she didn’t.”

“Dove and I were here, there, and everywhere else she needed us to be before Mom even had to ask,” Lark said.

“We were the ones who took care of her. Dove drove her to appointments and stayed with her through the worst of it. I’ve dealt with the lawyers and agencies and all levels of government.

Meanwhile, you think you were handed this golden ticket for a free ride because you’re the youngest.”

A free ride? Oh sure. Robin’s life had been nothing but one big, nonstop merry-go-round.

“Excuse me? Not once did either of you ask for my help, and it seemed like you had everything handled. So what was I supposed to do without getting in the way?”

Lark threw her arms in the air. “I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

“I’m so fucking tired of this, Lark. I don’t know what you want from me.

You judge me for not being like you, and yet, whenever I try to rise to the occasion, you’re waiting for me to fail.

Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t the ideal daughter.

I’m sorry you see me as nothing but the fuck-up in the family who hocks t-shirts for a shitty band, can’t be responsible with her money, and disappoints her dying mother. ”

“Are you just about done?” Lark asked sharply.

Robin huffed, folding her arms. “For now.”

“Fine,” she said. “If you really want to throw this party for Mom, go ahead. But just remember, it was all your big idea. So when it bombs, it’s all on you.”

Robin was last to join the queue of customers waiting for their turn at the store counter. Mrs. Crawley was nothing if not methodical as she systematically tallied each item one by one. It was like watching a snail inch across every lane of the 401.

Finally, it was Robin’s turn. She stepped up to the counter and put on a smiley face. “Hello again. Remember me? I was in here with my dog?”