Coward
1384 Words
Sierra
Sister Martha, who’s been the heart of this place for as long as I can remember, rushes down the porch steps. She exudes that warm, maternal energy that always makes me feel like a child again.
"Sierra! My goodness, look at you!" she exclaims, enveloping me in a hug so tight I can smell the faint scent of lemon detergent from the children's linens.
"I missed you, Martha," I whisper, pressing my face into her shoulder for a moment longer than I probably should.
I pull back and hand her the cloth-wrapped small box I’ve been cradling in my lap throughout the drive. "A little something extra for you and the other matrons. Please, share it with everyone. There are lemon bars at the bottom, those are for the kids."
"You always think of us, even when your own life is a whirlwind," she beams, giving my cheek a gentle pat.
I turn to introduce Adonis, now expecting him to be leaning against the car with that look on his face that screams, 'I’m too good for this place.'
But he’s not there.
My heart skips when I finally see him in the yard. He’s ditched his blazer, white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, crouched low as he dodges a not-so-graceful tackle from Larry.
Larry, the birthday boy, who’s usually the quietest kid here, is roaring with laughter. Adonis has found a stray hockey stick and is showing a group of boys how to handle it, moving with surprising fluidity and patience.
"Check the perimeter, Larry! Don’t let me break your defense!" Adonis calls out, a genuine, boyish grin lighting up his face.
I stand there, frozen. My breath catches in my throat. I never knew Adonis could play like this. I always thought he was all arrogant, but here he is, allowing a six-year-old to climb on his back while he howls like a wolf.
It’s an unexpectedly human side of him.
Once the chaos settles, I head over to the long wooden tables under the pavilion to kick off the afternoon painting lesson.
I want these kids to have a way to express what they can’t say, but Adonis won’t just sit on the sidelines. He pulls up a tiny plastic chair that looks ridiculous beneath his frame and joins us.
"You’re mixing the colors too fast, Sierra," he murmurs, leaning over my shoulder, his voice vibrating near my ear. "If you don’t clean the brush between the blue and the yellow, it’s going to look like mud. Not grass."
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from him. "It’s grass, Adonis. It’s meant to be wild and imperfect. That’s art."
"Precision matters in everything," he counters, his fingers brushing against mine as he grabs the palette.
With a single swift stroke, he adds a touch of white to the edge of a painted blade, and suddenly, it looks like the whole image is catching the light.
"Stop being such an overachiever," I retort, though I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.
We bicker for the next couple of hours, about shading, perspective, and whether a house should have a chimney or a skylight.
The kids are doubled over, giggling at how "the tall man" keeps correcting "Miss Sierra." They seem to now think he's actually my boyfriend.
I guess even our acting works on the kids.
When lunch finally arrives, I hand out a container of spicy chicken pasta and roasted veggies that I’ve spent the morning prepping.
Adonis takes a bite, and suddenly he’s quiet. He chews slowly, his eyes locked onto me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
"I didn’t know someone with as much hatred in her soul as you could cook this well," he teases, half-joking but there’s a vulnerability in his tone he’s trying to mask. "It’s... it’s actually good. Like, 'I might ask for seconds' good."
"Don’t push your luck, Adonis," I reply, glancing down at my plate to hide the warmth of pride blossoming in my chest.
Around 4:00 PM, the atmosphere shifts. The joyful chirping of birds fades into a heavy silence. The sky turns a sickly gray.
Then, the heavens open. It’s not just rain, it’s as if the sky has decided to dump all its weight on us.
We’re racing to gather the art supplies when a scream rings out from the main building’s doorway.
"Missy is gone! We can’t find Missy!"
My stomach drops. Missy is seven, scared of loud noises, and tends to hide when she feels overwhelmed.
I glance at the woods behind the property, the ravines are deep and with this much rain, they’ll become rushing rivers in no time.
We begin to search all the building but we couldn't find her.
"I’m going out," I declare, grabbing my jacket and my phone.
Adonis’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm firmly. "Sierra, look at that out there. It’s raining heavily. You can’t see five feet ahead. Stay inside; we’ll call the local authorities and wait."
"Wait? While a seven-year-old girl might be freezing or drowning?" I pull my arm back, disbelief flooding through me. "It’s just rain, Adonis. It’s nothing. But leaving a child to face this alone is worse."
I don’t wait for a response as I move my feet. The cold shocks me, soaking through my clothes instantly. I half-expect him to follow, to realize he can’t let me go alone.
But when I reach the tree line and look back, he’s still standing under the porch light, completely still, his face a mask I can’t read.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t follow.
Coward, I think, the word stinging more than the rain. You can pretend to be a hero when it’s sunny, but when it gets dark, you’re just another selfish man.
For three agonizing hours, I’m shouting Missy’s name until my lungs feel like they’re bleeding. I push through thorns and mud, checking every hollow log, shed and the nearby buildings.
I’m trembling so hard my teeth ache, my mind spiraling into the darkest 'what ifs.'
Then, my phone buzzes in my wet pocket.
"Sierra! Get back here now!" Adonis’s voice pierces through the storm. "We found her. She was hiding in the old storage room by the back gate. She never went into the woods."
Relief washes over me so violently I nearly stumble. I rush back to the main house, my boots heavy with mud.
When I burst through the doors, I find Missy huddled in a pile of blankets by the fireplace.
The fear I’ve been holding onto switches to a sharp, jagged anger. "Missy! Do you have any idea what you did?" I cry, my voice cracking. "We were out there in the dark, scared for you! You caused such chaos!"
Her face crumples, and she breaks into heartbreaking sobs. "I don’t want to leave!" she wails. "The lady said I’m being adopted next week. I don’t want a new house! I want to stay with Martha! I thought if I stayed in the dark, they wouldn’t find me to take me away!"
Instantly, my anger melts away, replaced by a crushing wave of empathy.
I drop to my knees, ignoring the mud I’m bringing onto the floor, and wrap my arms around her small, quaking body. "Oh, Missy... I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby," I whisper, soothing her hair, rocking her gently until her breathing becomes soft and even.
Looking up, I wipe away a stray tear and see Adonis.
He’s leaning against the far wall, away from the fire’s warmth. He looks... wrong. Deathly pale, his knuckles white as he clutches his arms.
His jaw is clenched so tight that I can see the pulse racing in his neck. He isn’t looking at me or Missy. He’s staring out the window, into the dark, with pure terror on his face.
Sister Martha steps in, her expression serious. "I just heard from the sheriff. The main road is washed out near the bridge and a massive tree took down the power lines. No cars are getting through tonight. You two will have to stay here until morning."
I glance back at Adonis. He looks like he’s battling something unseen, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
- Writer
