Page 12 of Tanner

The town sign came up out of the dark like it had been waiting for him.

ROBINSON.

Tanner kept his hand on Savannah’s back as the bus slowed. She’d been sleeping against him for most of the ride, with her rabbit tucked under her chin. He hadn’t slept and hadn’t stopped paying attention. That didn’t mean the motion of the bus or the warmth didn’t make him drowsy, but he’d stayed awake.

The bus hissed to a halt at the small stop near the diner. Tanner got up first, then pulled the bags down and shifted Savannah higher on his hip. Getting off the bus, the night air hit his face, cold enough to sting after the warmth inside, and enough to bring him fully awake.

The diner sign was lit, but everything else was quiet. There was no traffic or voices. He stood for a second and looked up and down the street. Robinson hadn’t changed since he’d been gone. It was the same low buildings and the same stretch of sidewalk that always looked too wide for the amount of people it saw. Even the smell seemed the same.

Savannah shifted and made a small sound, causing Tanner to tighten his grip. “Almost there,” he murmured, even though she wasn’t awake enough to understand.

Tanner started walking along the sidewalk. He kept to the side roads, and away from the main street, not because he thought someone would be waiting, but because old habits didn’t die, even here. The bags cut into his fingers, and he swapped hands twice, but still couldn’t get comfortable. Savannah’s weight pulled on his shoulder, and his back ached from sitting awkwardly on the bus and from all the tension he’d been carrying for what felt like years. Maybe it had been years.

As he got closer, he slowed. The house came into view at the end of the street. A dark shape against darker trees with the porch light off. It was strange to notice that. Of course it would be off if the house was empty. The windows were black and it looked empty and unlived in. There was no glow, and no signs of life.

Tanner stopped at the edge of the overgrown yard, and for a minute, he just stood and stared. He remembered his dad on that porch, fixing the step that had always been loose. His mom’s voice calling from inside, telling him not to track mud inside. The sound of the screen door slamming too hard because he’d never learned to close it gently.

He hadn’t let himself think about this part. He’d thought about safety for Savannah. He hadn’t thought about standing in front of the place where everything had ended. With Savannah’s cheek pressed to his neck, Tanner exhaled and walked up the path.

The porch boards creaked under his boots when he stepped on them. He shifted Savannah again, put the bags down, and pulled the key ring out of his pocket. His fingers were stiff from the cold and from holding the bags, and he struggled with it and Savannah.

Pushing the key into the lock, Tanner took a deep breath then turned it. He opened the door and stepped inside, dragging the bags with him and nudging the door shut with his foot.

The house smelled like dust and old wood. It wasn’t rotten. It wasn’t damp the way the apartment had been. It just smelled unused, and maybe stale, too. Like the air had been sitting for far too long.

Tanner stood in the entryway, just breathing, and letting his eyes adjust. The shapes of furniture came back to him in the dark as his eyes moved around the room. A coat rack by the door and the narrow table his mom used to put mail on.

He reached for the light switch, and nothing happened. He tried it again, and there was still nothing. “Of course,” he muttered.

Moving carefully through the house, Tanner took one step at a time, feeling his way with his free hand. The layout was in his bones. He could walk it blind when he was a kid and he knew he would remember again.

He found the kitchen and the back door. He found the drawer where his dad used to keep a small flashlight, opening it and finding it was still there. He clicked it on and aimed it at the counter. A thin layer of dust lay over it, and as he looked around he noticed dust covering more items.

Tanner swallowed and forced himself to focus on the next thing. Savannah. He carried her up the stairs toward the bedroom that had been his. The door stuck when he tried to open it, so he put his shoulder against it and gave it a gentle shove, hearing it give with a soft scrape.

His room was exactly how he’d left it, and Tanner sucked in a breath as memories threatened to overwhelm him. The bed frame was still there. The dresser. The old desk with the chipped corner. A poster he’d never taken down, that now curled at the edges. Dust covered everything.

He gently placed Savannah on the bed and pulled the blanket back. The sheets felt cold and dry and he decided not to think about how long they’d been there. Once they were settled, Tanner would wash everything.

Savannah curled onto her side without fully waking, her rabbit tucked tight to her chest. Tanner pulled the blanket over her and watched her face for a second, checking her breathing, and checking the way her mouth softened when she settled. When she had, he left the bedroom.

Grabbing the bags, Tanner went back to the bedroom. He put the bags by the dresser and opened the one with Savannah’s things. He pulled out her pajamas, changed her quickly with the flashlight tucked under his arm, and didn’t let himself linger on how normal it felt. How he’d been doing this alone for years.

Once she was dressed, he put her back under the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed and held his hands out, noticing how they shook now that he was no longer moving. Or maybe they had been shaking before and he hadn’t noticed because he’d been focused on keeping Savannah safe and coming home.

Swallowing hard, Tanner clenched them, then forced them open again. He stood and went to the window and peered out into the darkness. After a minute or so, Tanner turned back toward the bed and looked at Savannah. “Okay,” he whispered. “We’re here.”

Taking his boots off, Tanner left them by the door and lay down on top of the covers at first. After a minute, he shifted under the blanket and pulled Savannah closer. She sighed and pressed into him like she always had.

He stared at the ceiling, listening to the house. The quiet was different here. It wasn’t the tense quiet of the apartment with footsteps in the hall and voices behind the walls. Here, the quiet felt safe.

Eventually, his body gave up and he fell asleep with his arm around Savannah and his face turned toward her hair.

***

In the morning, Tanner woke to a sound that didn’t belong. A floorboard. A soft creak. At first he thought it was just the house and after being away for three years he’d have to get used to it again, then the murmur of a voice reached him.

Savannah was tucked against him, still sleeping, and Tanner slid his hand over her back and felt her breathe. The voice came again, clearer this time. A woman’s voice. Low, like a whisper.