Page 63 of Patio Lanterns

How many are you expecting?”

“We’re hoping for at least a couple dozen or so,” she said.

Mrs. Stanhope looked puzzled. “That number seems rather small considering all the people around here who knew your folks.”

“Does it?” Robin gulped. Suddenly, she had a sinking feeling she’d grossly underestimated the number of guests who might attend this shindig.

“Your parents were pillars of this community for over thirty years,” Mr. Stanhope reminded her. “They were involved in the cottage association and were regulars at all the Lake Whippoorwill gatherings and get-togethers.”

Robin swallowed hard. “How many people do you think we should expect?”

They looked at each other. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “But if I were a betting man, I’d guess around a buck and a quarter? Maybe even a buck fifty?”

“A hundred and fifty people?” Robin’s jaw dropped.

“At least,” Mrs. Stanhope said. “Pretty much everyone we know is coming.”

Robin took a deep breath and shuddered as she exhaled. Oh my God. A hundred and fifty people? And that was probably a conservative guesstimate. She definitely needed to order more ice. More wine. More everything. Fuuuck.

“Just imagine who’d be coming if they hadn’t moved,” he said. “The Chans, the Tremblays…”

“The Macleans,” she added.

He looked at her, perplexed. “George and Linda sold their place?”

She nodded. “Yes, dear. In January, while they were still in Arizona.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m sure I told you. They received the same offer as the Chans and the Tremblays.”

“Eighteen and a half percent over appraisal?” Robin wondered. “We got a letter addressed to Mom about our cottage with the same number. So did the Koskies.”

“Are you considering it?” Mrs. Stanhope asked. “If you were, we wouldn’t blame you. But selfishly, it would be sad knowing that the Blue Canoe Cottage no longer belonged to the Pelletier family.”

“The end of an era,” her husband said.

“We haven’t decided what we’re going to do,” Robin said, finally ringing up the Stanhopes’ basket of items. It was so strange that so many neighbours had received the exact same offer. “By chance, did you also get a letter from Polaris North?”

Mrs. Stanhope shook her head. “No, dear, we didn’t.”

“Probably because they knew we’re not interested in selling for any amount,” Mr. Stanhope said firmly. “We reinvested in a top-to-bottom renovation over the past three years to keep our cottage in the family for another fifty, if not longer.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” It even took Robin by surprise how much she truly meant that. She was relieved that the Stanhopes were committed to staying. The place wouldn’t be the same without them or the other neighbours the Pelletiers knew. Of course, they all had a right to sell. Transitional ownership occurred. And it had always been wonderful to see a new generation of families falling in love with Lake Whippoorwill and carrying on the dock parties, backyard bonfires, and beach picnics.

But selling to a greedy developer who couldn’t care less about tradition or family? That was different. And if more people didn’t start standing up to Polaris North’s too-good-to-be-true offers and high-pressure sales tactics, their little community would get wiped off the map.

If she hadn’t been so flustered by Lark’s ambush, maybe Robin would’ve said all that and more to her sisters. She’d have to make time when she got home.

Robin rang up the purchases and the register drawer opened. “That’ll be fifty forty-six.”

Mrs. Stanhope gave her three twenties. “Well, it was nice bumping into you, Robin,” she said, as she was given her change. “We’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“See you then.” Robin forced out a smile, while an uneasy feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. And she had a hunch it wasn’t just the burrito.

21

Rick

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