I don't go out much unless it's necessary. Clinton, Indiana, is thriving like no other like I've ever seen before, and it happens to be the day I had to pick up some new supplies for the new season alongside some groceries for tomorrow. My parents, Nathan and Gloria, and my younger brother, Andy Miles, are visiting for the weekend from their new home up in Chicago. They moved out of the house I'm currently living in a few years ago, and they try to visit every month, but they come three times a year.
I don't blame them. They all have busy lives. Andy's Preparing for football, and Dad's a mechanic, the whole reason they left and I stayed behind. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and would do anything to see them again more often. I just don't see a life for me in Chicago. I belong here in Clinton, Indiana, where God blessed me with a quiet life on the farm that I enjoy.
Now, with all these people walking around like they are getting ready for Christmas on Christmas Eve in April, I'm ready to get out of this crowd and head home. And if you haven't caught on yet, I'll make it loud and clear: I do not like people unless they're in my family tree. I'm a man of few words; I don't speak unless I'm spoken to, which may come off rude to some, but I can't help it; I can't get my thoughts in order to form a conversation that will stick.
So, with that said, I ride home on my Harley Davidson, blasting good old hymnal music from my Spotify playlist with all the things I need for tomorrow in my backpack. And once I park my bike in the barn, I kick the stand down with the toe of my boot and head into the house for the kitchen to stock up in the fridge. My parents and Andy won't arrive tomorrow until noon, so that gives me a few hours to work on my truck and get it running again. It needs a new spark plug, an oil change, and new tires. The wires are currently popping out of the old ones, and it was not safe to drive a few months ago during the harsh winter, but I had no other choice, and if I can't get it done, Dad can help. Two pairs of hands are better than one, after all.
I toss the empty grocery bags in the recycling bin and head upstairs to prepare for a shower. Pushing the door open with my foot to my bedroom, I slip inside and sit on the edge of the bed. And with a sigh, I slip off my boots and set them aside under the single hat rack, where I put my Cowboy hat next and head to the bathroom to start the shower. Without waiting for the water to heat up, I slip my belt off, undress, and step under the head, letting the water drench my hair and skin.
Whipping my head back, I run my fingers through my hair to slick it back and move out of my eyes, giving me time to squeeze shampoo into my palm and lather it through my brown waves before rinsing, then follow with conditioner. After my shower and I'm all dressed in fresh, clean, blue plaid cotton pants and a white T-shirt, I return downstairs to the kitchen to make supper.
A quick and easy supper that only requires a can of vegetable soup, a can opener, and a single pan over the stovetop. Cracking it open and pulling the tab open wider, I pour it into the pan and turn the nob on the stove to heat it up. Giving it a nice stir, I set the spoon aside and let it come to a boil.
Sitting at the table with a hot bowl of soup in front of me, I fold my hands and bow my head to say a prayer to thank the good Lord for the food on the table.
○○○
A sudden bang scares me out of sleep, and I jump out of bed, tossing the blanket to the side. Before I exit my bedroom, I peek over my shoulder and notice it's raining and the wind is fiercely hitting the house outside the window. The banging doesn't stop when I walk downstairs.
It's just the wind knocking the siding loose on the house again.
Once downstairs, I open the storage cabinet where I put all my extra tools. Finding my hammer, I grab it and shove my feet into mud boots sitting inside the tiny closet by the front door. Speaking of a door, the noise is much louder standing next to it than it was upstairs, even with the wind whistling and knocking everything in its way.
It's almost like someone's banging on the door with full force with their knuckles.
I push the thought from my mind. No one ever comes to this house, especially at this time of night. But just in case, I look out the front window, angling my head to see on the porch. Nothing. The sound suddenly gets louder but no one is there.
Pulling back from the window, I return to the front door, holding onto the hammer with a tight grip, ready to face the rain.
I am going to put an end to this banging once and for all.
With my fingers wrapped around the door nob, I twist it and pull it open with way too much force, losing my hold of the door completely when the wind found its way in. The gust of wind pushes me back a step, and I block my eyes from any fliers in the air with the hand holding the hammer tightly with my fingers.
That's when I heard the bloodiest scream coming from a girl standing five feet from me on my front porch, holding her arms over her face in defense. I dropped the hammer on the floor next to my right foot.
What the heck?
I take a better look at this girl and notice some things that could be concerning. She's drenched from the rain storm. Her clothes, which look like pajamas, are torn or ripped in some way and are filthy with mud and dirt that goes from head to toe. She isn't wearing shoes.
Why isn't she wearing shoes?
I have so many questions for this girl, but I can't seem to spit them out, so when I open my mouth to speak, I also take a step closer. She takes one back. "I'm not going to hurt you," I tell her in a calm and collected tone, and I mean it too. I just want to know why she's here on my front porch at this hour, looking like she hasn't bathed in days. "Where did you come from? Are you hurt?" I now ask, hoping to push some answers out of her. But when she starts shaking her head side to side at an unusual speed, she starts crying. Understandable. "Are you lost?" I continue.
"I have nowhere to go, Mr. I'm all alone and have nowhere to go." She chokes out in a sob, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "Can I please stay just for tonight until the rain stops? I promise I'll leave the second it does and won't bother you again."
My jaw almost dropped to the floor at her confidence to ask me a stranger if she could stay in my house, but I pressed my molars tightly together so I didn't embarrass myself in front of this child. So, instead, I straighten my posture and look her straight in the eyes, which happens to be very uncomfortable as I ask her. "Why should I let you in? You might be a teenage girl, but I don't know how or why I should trust you."
"Please, Mr. One night is all I ask." She begs, holding her hands out in front of her. I exhale a sigh, feeling exhausted from all this social talk. It's too much. "At least let me clean up. I haven't showered in a week."
God, what do You want me to do? She's a child with a story I no nothing about.
Feeling a sense of peace over my soul, I nod more to myself, knowing I got my answer. I look up at the dark sky in the distance past the girl's shoulder. "I trust you, Lord," I say in a whisper. Then, lowering my gaze back to her, I realize she's been watching me the entire time, waiting for an answer while it looked like I was just talking to myself. Feeling suddenly awkward, I scratch the back of my neck and give her a nod before saying. "Get in here before you catch a cold from standing out in the rain for too long."
She sniffles and gives me a smile that hardly curls her lips upward. One anyone would have missed if they weren't paying close attention. I move out of the way to let her through, standing next to the door. She stops when she's inside and turns her whole body toward me to stretch her right arm out. "Thank you, my name is Sophie...Anderson."
I fold my hand over her small, delicate one, afraid to squeeze too hard and break her bones-she's so skinny it's frightening. With a slight nod of my head, I tell her. "Davis Miles."
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Davis, and I'm sorry for waking you up so late at night. If you show me where I'll sleep and be able to bathe, I'll be fine on my own so you can go back to sleep."
I couldn't agree more.
With a yawn, I nod my head. "Follow me. I'll show you where you'll sleep first, then I'll find you a change of clothes for your shower." Showing her my old bedroom upstairs across from mine that I have now I show her around; even though it's not much anymore, but it still has a lot of stuff from my teen years, like posters of antique trucks, some photos of my horse Belle and me, and bible verses that I made sure to memorize and study for Bible study for every Sunday. Like I said, it's not much, but it's comfortable.
Going through my old dresser drawers I hand Sophie a few things to wear temporarily until I can get her something new to wear since the clothes she's wearing now are unsalvageable. And leading her to the guest bathroom down the hall just two doors down I stop and lean against the door frame to allow her to go in.
She turns to face me after she set the spare clothes on the counter almost looking nervous. "Does this door lock?" She asks and the tone in her voice proves me right. She's nervous or scared of something and it has to do with locks.
Maybe her parents were abusive and that's why she's here.
I nod my head honestly. "All doors in this house have a lock only from the inside except for the main front door, side kitchen door, and back door. I have a key, including two spares for each that I and my parents keep."
"Thank you I'll find the rest on my own have a good night Mr. Davis." She tells me. I give her a nod straightening my posture to leave her to freshen up for the night. The bathroom door clicked shut and I sigh in relief.