The Multigenre Mashup Smackdown (2023)

Adelaide

Witchy parks his butt on the grass and gives me the look, the ones cats give 'stoopid hoomans'. Guess he's calling bullshit on how I could think he'd be both outside and in the kitchen knocking things over at the same time.

Whatever. I must've bumped into the box with my elbow earlier and hadn't noticed it was off kilter and about to tip over.

Same thing with my hairbrush last week after I spent several minutes pulling out the curls I despise only to hear it fall off the dresser when I turned away. Or how my asthma puffer–which I'm always misplacing–keeps turning up in whatever pocket of what I'm wearing that day.

Or finding my favourite books and magazines open on my bookmarked pages when I know I'd put them away. Or the happy humming I hear from the other side of the door whenever I'm in the bath. Or the way my place at the table sets itself the times I do bother to cook a meal. Or...

I shake my head when the gentle tug on the back of my sweater comes, urging me back inside and away from the chill. I force myself to ignore how Witchy meows and hops onto the porch, his stare fixed not on me but on something behind me.

Maybe I'm just overly tired. Not getting enough hours of sleep as I keep waking from those dreams. The ones that leave me desirous, yet warm and cherished.

Leave me feeling buoyant, yet spent... sated.

Leave me wanting more.

The scent of bergamot and lemon has me closing my eyes. The gentle tug comes again. But it's the phone ringing inside that has me going in.

"Hello? Oh, hi mom. Huh? The pharmacy delivery guy just delivered my asthma meds since my car's in the shop. Yeah, uh-huh. What? No, mom. I'm not interested in looking for a new place closer to the city. The firm has no problem with my working remotely. Besides, the fresh air here is good for my lungs and it's peaceful...when things stay where they are. Uh-huh. Yeah. Wait, when's the party again? Hmm, yeah. I should make it. But tell Aunty Mavis not to get her panties in a wad if I'm not interested in meeting eligible bachelors. Yes, I know she thinks I'm going to be a spinster if I don't hook up with a man. She doesn't get it. Luckily you're my mom, not her. Uh-huh, yeah. Look mom, I need to get supper started. What am I eating? Uh... corn chowder. Look, let me call you this weekend? Right, ok. What? No, mom. I'm not going to bring a girlfriend to the party. I haven't dated anyone since Judith and I broke up last year. I'm not interested in Aunt Mavis throwing an aneurysm either and us having to call 911 for an emergency. What? God no! I'm not lonely all by myself out here...because I'm not alone."

After saying goodbye I find myself walking through the hallway to the living room. I stop before the fireplace and look up.

I had come looking for a place in the countryside for a fresh start and had fallen in love at first sight with the lake cottage for sale, a heritage listing on the edge of an old farmhouse property. The real estate agent couldn't stop going on about the condition of most of the antiques inside, original pieces from when the place was built in 1911. But it was the painting I'm staring at now that had captured my attention. I'd found myself unable to tear my gaze away from the pair of green eyes set in a delicate feminine face of the woman in a black, lace-collared dress that looked to be my age.

"Quite a history behind that portrait." The agent, who'd taken note of my fixation, clasped her hands. "Adelaide Harris. Young widow. Never remarried. Suitors galore but she turned them all down. There were rumours at the time."

"Rumours?"

"Mmm, that Adelaide was "one of those women." The agent had actually wagged her eyebrows.

"Born in 1892. Died in 1927. She married Thomas Harris in 1913 and the cottage was a gift from her wealthy father to the newlyweds. Thomas Harris was a hard man. And Adelaide a free spirit who liked to dress in men's breeches and hunt using his rifle. She was quite the marksman supposedly."