Edie and the House on Hawthorn Street
Edie had been driving for hours while Bella rode shotgun in her booster seat, a fluffy maltipoo strapped in like a toddler. Her tiny chin rested on the padded edge as she stared out the window with grave suspicion.
Bella always looked suspicious. It was her default setting.
The town appeared slowly. First a gas station, then a row of old storefronts, then a main street that looked like it had been painted from memory. It was quaint without trying too hard, the kind of place where people still waved at passing cars.
Bella perked up, ears twitching. She could sense something. Or she could smell pastries. With Bella, it was a toss up.
Edie turned onto a quiet residential street, and the house came into view. Old and sturdy, with a little wildness around the edges.
And on the porch, sitting like a carved guardian, was a cat.
A very large, very still cat.
Bella made a tiny, strangled squeak.
A silver SUV was already parked at the curb. A woman in a blazer waved at Edie with the distracted energy of someone who had three more things to do today and was already late for all of them.
“Edith. Wonderful, you made it.” She was already walking toward Edie, already talking. “I am so sorry, I am in a rush. School board meeting tonight and they start on time whether I am there or not.”
She handed Edie a heavy ring of keys.
“Here you go. House keys, shed key, mailbox key, and one we couldn’t find a use for.”
Edie nodded, trying to look like she understood any of this.
“If you have questions, stop by the coffee shop tomorrow morning. I am there every day at seven. They know me by name and by caffeine requirement. They have a delicious cinnamon roll.”
She was halfway back to her car when Edie glanced toward the porch again.
The cat had not moved. Still sitting, still watching.
“Um,” Edie said, “do you know who that cat belongs to?”
The agent followed her gaze and smiled like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh, that one. Well, you of course.”
Edie blinked. “Me?”
“Aunt Edith’s cats always stayed with the house. Everyone knows that.”
Before Edie could ask what that meant, the agent was in her car, waving, pulling away.
Bella refused to get out of the car.
Edie unbuckled her, but Bella planted all four paws and shook her head so hard her ears flapped. Edie carried her to the porch.
“It is just a cat,” Edie murmured.
The cat on the porch stood. Stretched. Walked toward her with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone who had never once doubted his place in the world.
Up close, he was even larger. Broad faced. Regal. Judging her with golden eyes.
“Hi there,” Edie said softly. “What is your name?”
And then, a sudden, inexplicable certainty.
“Sir Reginald,” she said aloud. “Wow. That is formal.”
The cat blinked once, as if confirming.
Edie laughed nervously. “No, that is too much. I think I will call you Reggie.”
Reggie’s ears twitched. Just slightly. As if offended.
Bella whimpered again.
Edie turned the key, and the door creaked open like it had been waiting.
The air smelled like lavender and old wood and something warm she could not place.
Bella tiptoed inside, nose twitching.
Edie stepped over the threshold.
Behind her, Reggie slipped in silently, like he owned the place.
Maybe he did.
Somewhere deeper in the house, unseen for now, Dame Guinevere watched from the shadows.