Page 73 of Tanner

For the first time in a while, Miles lay there and let himself want more than one night.

Chapter Twenty

Amonth later, and Savannah had settled into preschool better than he’d expected. She still clung some mornings. Some days she went in easy and barely looked back. Others she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered that she didn’t want him to leave. Tanner got through those mornings by prying her fingers loose one at a time and reminding himself she always calmed down ten minutes after he left. The staff had told him that more than once. She was fine once she got started.

The house had started to feel less temporary too. There were groceries in the cupboards before they ran out. He kept milk in the fridge and fruit in a bowl on the counter because Savannah would eat strawberries if she saw them first. The locks had all been checked twice. Then checked again because twice hadn’t felt enough. Her bed was made every morning even if she spent half the night kicking the blanket onto the floor. He’d booked her in with a doctor. The appointment card sat tucked under the sugar jar so he could see it. He had started the paperwork he could manage and stacked the rest in a neat pile he kept pretending he’d get to.

Nothing was finished. Everything still felt one mistake away from falling apart. But there was a routine now.

Miles came over a couple of nights a week and that part had slid into place so easily Tanner still didn’t know when it had stopped feeling strange. Sometimes Miles brought food because he was coming straight from work. Sometimes Tanner cooked and let Miles dry dishes after because it was easier than arguing. Sometimes they ended up in bed with no words between getting Savannah down and shutting Tanner’s bedroom door. Sometimes they didn’t touch much at all and would just lay there with Miles warm behind him, and one of his hands on Tanner’s stomach.

They hadn’t put a name on anything and Tanner didn’t want one. A name felt like something that could be taken away or used against him later. This was easier. Simpler. They were seeing each other. They weren’t seeing anyone else. Miles came over. Tanner let him stay. That was enough…most of the time.

That afternoon Savannah was in the living room drawing on the low table Mrs. Hemsworth had dragged over from her own place because she said children needed somewhere proper to sit and color. The crayons were spread everywhere. So was the paper. Savannah had drawn one lopsided house and a purple cat with six legs and was now deeply focused on whether the sun needed a face.

Tanner stood at the kitchen counter sorting through the pile of post Mrs. Hemsworth had left on the step earlier. She had made some comment about how his box looked like it had survived two wars and a flood and he needed to replace it before winter came around again. He’d said yeah and not committed to anything.

Most of the mail was rubbish. Supermarket flyer. Phone bill. Something about insurance he couldn’t afford. He tossed one envelope aside, opened another, and was halfway through deciding whether he needed to keep it when he saw the logo in the top corner of the next one.

His hand stopped.

He stared at it for a second too long, the rest of the kitchen dropping away while his heartbeat picked up.

“Tanny?”

He looked up too fast. Savannah had twisted around on the rug and was holding up a green crayon. “This broke.”

“Use another one.”

“It’s my green.”

Tanner swallowed. “I’ll fix it in a minute.”

She accepted that and turned back to the paper. Tanner looked down at the envelope again. He knew the logo. He’d seen it before. Once was enough. His fingers had gone cold by the time he slid one under the flap and tore it open.

The first read through didn’t register so he forced himself to go back to the top and read it again, slower this time.

Follow-up home assessment.

Date and time.

Child to be present.

Additional staff member attending.

Part of determining next steps.

It was just a letter. He knew that. He could hear Miles saying exactly that if he were standing there. But all Tanner’s body heard was the threat.

They’re coming to judge the house.

They want Savannah there so they can look at her while they decide.

His grip tightened on the page until it creased.

“Tanny.”

This time Savannah’s voice came from closer. She was standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen with purple on one hand and the broken green crayon still clutched in the other.