Page 38 of Patio Lanterns

“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.”

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