Page 79 of Patio Lanterns

Robin dashed into the bathroom and punched in the number. Four rings later, a recording gave her the number for after-hours service. She quickly dialed and prayed that someone would pick up.

“Rite Quik Transfer.” The woman on the other end of the line sounded very much live.

“Oh thank goodness,” Robin wheezed in relief. “I placed an order for a party I’m having tonight, but the delivery hasn’t shown up, and my guests are due to arrive in a little over an hour.”

“Do you have your invoice number handy?” the woman asked.

As Robin read out the twelve-digit number, she could hear typing on the other end of the line. That had to be a good sign.

“Pell-tee-ar?”

“Actually, we pronounce it Pell-chay, but yeah. I placed the order through Crawley’s General Store in Lake Whippoorwill.”

“Well, we have your order, Miz Pell-tee-ar, but it’s been scheduled for tomorrow.”

“What? That’s impossible!” Robin’s life flashed before her eyes. “Could you check again?”

“It says right here that delivery is scheduled for the twenty-fourth. That’s tomorrow. Saturday. Today is Friday, the twenty-third.”

The room started to spin. “But how could that be? I wrote up the order myself—”

She examined the order form in her other hand. There it was, under the Delivery Due date: the twenty-fourth.

How was it possible to fuck up the date, not once, but twice in the same week?

“Your delivery is scheduled to arrive tomorrow between ten and two,” the woman said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” Robin’s voice squeaked. “Thank you.”

This was a disaster. And it was all her own doing. How could she be so careless and not double-check the fucking date for crying out loud? Mrs. C had warned her. Be careful, she’d said.

On the verge of a breakdown or blacking out, Robin sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Maybe she could fill it with water and drown herself before anyone caught onto how badly she’d fucked up. Again.

Hardship only made her stronger echoed the voice in her head, harkening back to her great-grandmother’s inspiring story. Maybe Rosalie’s ghost was there in the bathroom with her, ready to dole out some tough love. Now pull yourself together, get up off your ass, and figure this shit out.

She grabbed Mutt’s leash, and they slipped out the side door, sprinting across the backyard before anyone spotted them.

They scurried down the road, cutting through yards, scooting across drainage ditches, and crossing side streets until finally reaching the Stanhopes’ front door. Gasping for air, she hunched over to catch her breath as she frantically knocked. The way she was huffing and puffing, she might as well have blown their house down.

“Robin!” Mr. Stanhope said as he opened the door. “We’re just getting ready to head over. What are you doing here?”

“I need help,” she panted, still sucking wind.

“Help? My goodness, what’s wrong?” he asked with a pained look of concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she wheezed. “But do you have any spare lights you could bring tonight?”

“Lights? What kind of lights?” he questioned.

“I ordered patio lanterns for Mom’s memorial, but they’re not going to make it in time. And we need lights. Mom loved lights.”

“Uh, there might be some out in the shed. Let me take a look,” he said.

“That’d be great.” She gulped more air into her burning lungs. “And ice. We’ll need lots of ice.”

“We’re bringing our cooler with us,” he said. “Look, Robin, maybe you should come in and sit down for a minute? Have a drink of water?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but no time. I need to get to as many neighbours as I can.”

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