Page 3 of Patio Lanterns

To the best of Robin’s knowledge, no one had been up there since her mother died the year before. Yet, the evenly-spaced stripes mowed into the lawn were evidence that the grass had been cut recently. The flower beds that should’ve been overrun by weeds had been tended to and now flourished with pink and pale lemon perennials. Strange.

Even more surprising, Robin appeared to be the first to arrive. It wasn’t like Lark and Dove to be late, and it certainly wasn’t like Robin to be early, well, anywhere.

We said we were meeting here on the twentieth. I’m positive we said the—

She checked her watch. It was the nineteenth.

Argh. She’d been so focused on proving to her sisters that she could be punctual that Robin had completely lost track of what day it actually was. Shit, shit, double shit. Another reason why it was better to be late. Someone else would’ve been there to let her in, and she wouldn’t be up shit’s creek without a key.

With a sigh, Robin shut off the engine and turned to her passenger. “Well, don’t just sit there, let’s go find the spare.”

Without needing any prompting, Mutt Lange leaped out behind Robin and took off snout-first exploring a whole new world of scents. Figured he’d find the spry-pup energy he couldn’t muster back at the burger joint.

She hunted for the spare key beneath the welcome mat, in flowerpots, along the undersides of each windowsill. No stone was left unturned, literally, as she searched on her hands and knees in the garden for one of those fake rock key holders. No luck. With daylight quickly fading, she began devising more drastic measures. There was always her old bedroom window on the second floor. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d climbed through it, although it’d usually been to sneak out during the night, not break into the cottage.

Mutt barked happily as he took off on the worn trail to the lake. Through the clearing in the trees, the water was an endless stretch of blue; calm, and entirely inviting against the soft purple sky. Robin immediately gave up her search for the key to follow his lead. She passed by the cottage’s namesake blue canoe, long ago repurposed as an elevated flower bed and permanent landmark. Its hull now overflowed with perky buds and blossoms matching those along the front of the cottage, and she wondered who had planted and watered them, just as her mother once had.

Equally as curious was who had put the Pelletiers’ floating dock in the lake that spring. Perhaps her mother had hired someone to carry out the annual chores, and Lark or Dove had simply overlooked cancelling the contract after she passed away.

Mutt Lange handily beat Robin down to the water, where he was hind-deep and splashing about, paddling in circles like a canoe with only one oar. He sported the biggest grin on his sopping wet, furry face. Probably enjoying the closest thing he’d had to a bath in months.

Robin strolled the length of the dock, and by the time she’d reached the last pressure-treated plank, she’d reclaimed some serenity for herself. The soothing sounds of the gently lapping water between the slats and the distant echo of loons welcomed her back to a place she hadn’t known she’d missed.

She slid off her sandals, sat on the edge, and let her feet dangle. Her toes skimmed and dipped into the refreshingly cool water, making giddy ripples across the surface. It immediately brought her back to a time when the neighbours knew one another, sharing countless meals laden with grilled meats, lending a hand with cottage repairs and boat launches, parents watching the neighbourhood children play, splash and grow older together. There were fireworks and thunderstorms, beach picnics, and late-night dock parties. Lake Whippoorwill had been an idyllic home away from home.

A relaxed smile played on her lips. Maybe it took a few years away from this place for Robin to realize how good she’d had it there all along.

Rolling with the contented feeling, she reclined back until her head touched the dock. The surface still radiated warmth from the afternoon sun, spreading a gentle heat across her back and down her outstretched arms. Her body settled into the rhythm of the calming sway. She fell into slower, deeper breathing, giving in to nature’s soothing white noise, drowning out any staticky thoughts in her head. High above, wispy clouds’ feathery tendrils drifted toward the horizon, and tiny pinpoints of light became perceptible sparkles at twilight.

Suddenly, a fine mist of cold water pelted Robin’s face and arms, jolting her out of her dream state. Mutt stood over her, vigorously shaking the lake out of his fur, impolitely spraying her as he completed his final spin cycle.

She sat up and brushed the droplets off her skin and face. “You couldn’t have done that a little further away?” Mutt just smiled back before plopping down beside her on the dock.

KER-SPLASH!

Robin turned her attention to the lake. If a fish had just plunged, it had to be a whopper.

Further out, she saw a head bobbing. Long arms extended outward, breaking through the glassy surface. Gliding effortlessly with cutting strokes, the swimmer exuded confidence and control, demonstrating a mastery of the open water as they moved with grace and agility. It was almost life-affirming to observe them, along with being strangely familiar. Her skin tingled with goosebumps as she was overcome with a sense of déjà vu, recalling the pleasure she once took in watching… Aidan? No. It couldn’t be.

* * *

Long-limbed and lean, Aidan Hunter was a sun-kissed Adonis with deep turquoise eyes and an easy, symmetrical smile that melted hearts. Robin’s in particular. His blonde mane, bleached almost platinum by Labour Day, fell across his eyes, and he constantly swept it aside with a stroke of his long, cool fingers. He had a lanky swimmer’s build with broad shoulders and toned abs that tapered into a smooth, hairless vee above the elastic waistband of his board shorts.

Robin had memorized almost every inch of him by heart, except for that most mysterious area of his maturing male physique, arousing her adolescent curiosity and lusty obsession.

Despite him being much older, six whole years older, she’d pulled out the stops to make Aidan notice her. She shadowed him everywhere. Switched from a childish one-piece swimsuit to a daring new bikini. She’d even studied hockey, for crying out loud, ready to impress him with her knowledge of Mats Sundin’s career scoring average should they strike up a conversation around the campfire.

No matter what Robin did, she couldn’t turn Aidan’s head. She didn’t hold his indifference against him. But, oh how badly she wanted to.

It didn’t help her crusade for attention that Aidan’s best friend was her sister Lark, and the two were annoyingly inseparable. Two summer peas in a pod, they were the same age, and were both tall and tanned with strikingly good bone structure, like two models who’d tripped out of a Coppertone ad. Most people assumed that such a well-matched pair must’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend, but they went out of their way to assure everyone that their connection was completely platonic. They did everything together except the ol’ bam-bam in the ham.

On the upside, Lark’s friendship with Aidan kept him around. A lot. The Blue Canoe Cottage was only a five-minute walk from the cottage he and his divorced mom lived in down the hill. Aidan’s proximity kept him within ogling range for Robin, but it also made it frustratingly impossible to get him alone to prove she wasn’t a kid anymore.

Out of desperation, Robin poured her heart out to Aidan in a four-page, handwritten, two-sided, single-spaced love note, describing all the ways she fantasized about ravaging his body. With a hormonal teen’s raging imagination but a middle-schooler’s vernacular, she resorted to copying the explicit details straight from the pages of one of her mother’s Harlequin Blazes.

Surely that would get Aidan’s attention.

And boy, did it ever.

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