Page 3 of Shelter for Tanna

Fifteen minutes later she wandered back into the kitchen to food and drinks on the table. “Max! Dinner!”

He tore into the kitchen and looked at the table. “Yuck! This is nasty! I’m not eating it! I hate you, Daniel!”

“That’s okay, buddy. I love you,” the older boy said as he spooned food onto the plates.

“I’m not eating that!” Max yelled, even though he was scooting into a chair at the table.

“Are you hungry?” Tanna asked, her face stern.

“Yes.”

“What do you have to do to be able to eat?”

He was quiet for a full minute before he answered, “I have to be nice at the table.”

“Yes. That’s right. And if you’re nice at the table, what will happen?”

“I’ll get to eat. And I’ll get dessert?”

She smiled and nodded. “That’s right. But before dessert, you have to eat all your food. Right?”

He nodded back. “Yes.” The boy pouted but he settled down almost immediately.

“That’s more like it. If you don’t have something nice to say at the table, don’t talk at all.”

He glared up at his older brother. “Thank you, Daniel.”

The teenager grinned. “You’re welcome.”

“Now eat,” Tanna instructed, trying not to sound completely exasperated. Living with a child with Oppositional Defiant Disorder was hard, but she’d managed. If she didn’t have Daniel to help, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. He’d been such a good child that dealing with Max’s issues had been a huge shock to the system. She loved her younger son but sometimes, after a long, tiring day, it was almost too much to handle. Without Daniel’s help, it would be impossible. It was unfair to make a teenager take that role, but she really had no choice.

She thought back to the days when Michael was still in their lives. It hadn’t been any easier when he’d been deployed, but at least she knew he’d be home eventually. His injuries had been severe and yet they’d had hope he’d be fine, but his death had been the last straw. She’d moved back home to BowlingGreen, Kentucky, only to find her parents in such poor health that they couldn’t help her at all. Her brother couldn’t help?he was busy taking care of their mom and dad. They all wanted to help out, but it just wasn’t possible.

And so she went it alone, knowing what she’d face every night when she came home. Some therapists told her he’d eventually grow out of it. Some therapists warned that he’d be an angry, defiant young man who turned into an angry, defiant adult with a sad, hopeless future. One had even assured her she wouldn’t have to care for him the rest of his life because he’d probably wind up in prison. Hot lot of consolation that had been.

Some days she just wanted to quit, but that wasn’t an option. Instead, she’d just slog through every day, knowing there’d be another just like it, and then another and another. There was nothing to look forward to.

Her future was bleak, and she embraced it. She didn’t see that she had much choice. For a brief second, she thought about the kind firefighter she’d met earlier, but she shut that down immediately. No one would want to be with her, especially when they discovered the hell she lived in. No one would ever choose that for themselves.

No one.

* * *

The screen door on the old farmhouse slammed behind him and Braden smiled. That sound had been a part of his childhood, and he was fortunate he still had it and the big old structure it was attached to when he needed a soft place to land. “Mom?”

“In here, honey!” a bright voice called from somewhere in the depths of the house.

He stepped into the kitchen to another sight from his childhood. “Any of that for me?”

Two women, one older and one younger, stood there, sweat pouring down their faces as a huge cauldron-like pot of something bubbled on the stove. “Of course!” his mother said and hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek at the same time.

“I get first dibs!” the younger of the two women sang out before he hugged her around the waist from behind. He dropped a soft little kiss on her temple and could feel her smile against his cheek. Jessica was his only sibling and his little sister, and her husband, DavidAskew, had been one of his best friends?still was. Their boys were the only nephews he’d ever have, and he doted on them like a good uncle should.

“Of course you do. You’re the one slaving. What is that, strawberry?”

“Yep. Preserves. I know you love them,” MarshaNichols answered, beaming. “I think we’re going to have enough for about three dozen jars this time.”

“You ladies are really outdoing yourselves,” a voice said from somewhere behind Braden, and he turned to find his dad, Jake, standing in the doorway. “Hi, son!”

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