Page 7 of Tanner

Or so he hoped.

Tanner dragged a hand down his face and looked at the door and the two locks. He’d added the second himself after the first week. The landlord hadn’t liked it, but Tanner hadn’t cared.

Crossing the room, Tanner checked the chain anyway and then he checked the window latch even though the window didn’t properly close. The frame was warped and the lock didn’t sit right. He’d jammed a piece of wood into the track so it couldn’t be pushed up from outside and so far that had worked.

Sighing, Tanner shook his head. He didn’t trust this building. He didn’t trust the people who came and went at all hours of the day and night or the man in the next unit who always looked too long when Savannah toddled past the door. He didn’t trust the woman downstairs who smiled at Savannah and then asked Tanner questions that had felt far too personal.

He went to the tiny kitchen area with its sink that dripped if you turned the tap too hard. A two-ring hot plate that he barely used. Tanner opened the cupboard and stared inside, seeing a handful of items. Half a box of cereal, a can of soup, pasta in a torn bag with a clip he’d stolen from a shop display and a small bottle of dish soap that was mostly water now. He shut it again and exhaled softly.

Tanner had been stretching everything for weeks telling himself things would improve. That he could keep doing short jobs and picking up cash where he could. That he could hold out.

But Savannah was three, almost four now. She wasn’t a baby in his arms anymore. She asked questions and she wanted things. She noticed when the walls were damp and the room smelled wrong. She noticed when he flinched at footsteps in the hall. She noticed when he woke up too fast and checked the door and then checked her.

Worse, she’d started coughing in the mornings. Not every morning but enough that it stayed with him, and he knew things had to change.

There was a small table under the window. Well, Tanner called it a table. It wasn’t really. It was more of a folding thing he’d picked up cheap from a thrift store. The leg didn’t lock properly so he’d shoved cardboard under it to keep it level. On top was a notebook, an old phone charger, and a pile of coins and small bills.

Tanner sat down and pulled the money toward him and counted it. Then he counted it again. Enough for a bus ticket. Enough for food on the way. Enough to get to Robinson and not be completely stranded.

Robinson.

The word hit with a punch of emotions he’d shoved down deep inside. Relief because it was home, but fear too, because of what would be waiting there.

For the three years Tanner had been gone he’d tried to avoid thinking about Robinson or the home they’d fled, or the friends he’d left behind. He’d tried not to say it out loud for three years. He’d tried not to picture the kitchen where his mom used to stand with a tea towel over her shoulder. He’d tried not to remember his dad’s boots by the back door.

He’d tried and failed because it was home and he wanted to go home.

He thought of the house sitting empty. He didn’t know if it was empty, not really. He hadn’t been back and in his head it was still frozen in time, with dust settling in rooms no one used. A place waiting for him to return and make it a home again.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans hanging over the chair, Tanner pulled something out. A simple key on a cheap ring. He turned it between his fingers. He didn’t have much that was his anymore. That key was one of the few things he’d never traded away.

Tanner stood and crossed back to the mattress. Savannah was still asleep. One sock had slid halfway off her foot and her stuffed rabbit was tucked under her chin, the fur worn thin where she held it.

He knelt and pulled the sock back on properly then stood again and looked at the clothes pile. He’d already done the sorting earlier, then second guessed it, and dumped it all back together because he didn’t have the headspace to deal with it. Now he forced himself to focus.

He grabbed two plastic bags and started filling them. Savannah’s clothes first. Always. Shirts, leggings, pajamas, underwear, socks. Her small coat with the broken zipper that he’d fixed with a safety pin, then her spare shoes.

Once her clothes had been packed, Tanner moved on to what clothes he had. A couple of shirts, one hoodie, jeans, underwear, socks.

He paused and looked at the corner where a thin blanket was folded. It was his backup. He’d carried it across half the city more than once when they had to move in a hurry. He shook it out, checked it for damp, and refolded it then put it in the bag.

The silence was broken when Tanner’s phone buzzed on the table. Tanner froze for a second before he moved and went over to pick it up. Unknown number. He didn’t answer unknown numbers.

It buzzed again with the same unknown number and Tanner stared at it, hit end and put it down, ignoring his shaky hand. If it was someone trying to get money, they’d try again later. If it was something worse, he didn’t want to know.

Checking the time on the screen, Tanner saw it was late afternoon. He needed to be moving before it got dark.

Opening the small drawer, Tanner took out the things he couldn’t replace easily. A battered envelope containing a birth certificate he’d managed to keep and a clinic card for Savannah. He tucked the envelope inside his hoodie, against his chest. If someone took the bags, they wouldn’t take that.

A sound came from the mattress as Savannah shifted. Tanner went to her and stroked her cheek as her eyes blinked open. She looked around, then her eyes found him.

“Tanny,” she said, her voice thick with sleep.

He swallowed and gave her a soft smile. “Hey, baby.”

Savannah rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and frowned. “Cold.”

“I know.” He pulled the blanket higher. “Stay under the blanket.”