At first it was just him out in the garden. He cleared the tangle of decaying plants and weeds and started fresh and new. He planted flowers and a few vegetables. I don't know what went on in the privacy of that big white house, but I imagine what he did outdoors was a mirror of what he did indoors. Katniss rarely ventured out of the house. When she did she was a shadow of who she used to be. The strength I remembered seemed to be sapped out of her. The scars she had always carried were finally visible on her skin.
I don't think Peeta knows I watch him, though he has paused from time to time to look in my direction. I don't think he's ever taken any notice of me. If he did, he never gave any sign of it. When Katniss finally joined him in that garden his attention was completely occupied.
Today seems different, somehow. Katniss steps out of the house and stops to stand on the back steps, watching Peeta where he sits in the garden, with his hands covered in dirt and his face turned toward the sun. Her smile is soft and genuine and full of love; a kind I didn't think I would see from her again once I realized Prim would never return. I love the look on her face when she knows he can't see her.
She crosses the yard as silent as ever, startling him when she finally rustles in the greens behind him. Peeta jumps, nearly falling to the side when he places too much weight on his false leg, and she is at his side in an instant, steadying him and laughing along with him. I never thought I'd hear that sound again. Her laughter. It reminds me so much of Prim that I have a hard time staying put.
I watch them work side by side in the dirt. The vegetables they planted earlier this year are ready to harvest. I've been watching and hoping for a chance to sneak something for myself. There's plenty, and they certainly wouldn't miss a carrot or two, but the evidence of my presence wouldn't be appreciated.
Their affection is easy and comfortable. A far cry from what it used to be. A world away from what it was before they left and the bombs came. I remember the awkward, stilted greetings they shared after the first Games, and how much more painful it was to see after their Tour. I used to hear her at night. I still do sometimes when I'm close enough for the sound to carry through their open window. I don't think her nightmares will ever end. I've wondered more than once what they are about.
Their conversation is too quiet for me to make out. Katniss stops abruptly and turns to look at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. He's hiding a grin from her but I can see it from where I stand. She shoves his shoulder and the two of them collapse into each other, laughing. He captures her mouth in a kiss that makes me feel as though I should not be here watching. Even I can recognize passion when I see it. My heart catches in my throat.
When they pull away from each other her skin is flushed. He turns back to their work with that grin still on his lip, while she takes a moment to compose herself. In the way she watches him, and the mirth in her expression that's fading into contentment, I can see true happiness. It's foreign on her features and softens her in a way nothing else ever did. The gentleness I know she has in her, which is something she's shown to me more than once in my life, shines through. Katniss tucks her hair behind her ear, smearing dirt across her cheek in the process, and leans forward to resume her work.
I have been checking on them nearly every day. It keeps me close and ties me to what used to be my home. I have been wondering, lately, if that is such a good thing. She doesn't know that I'm here. She doesn't need me. I've been living without her for so long that it's become clear I no longer need her, either. It's hard to let go. Maybe that's why it was months before she even saw sunlight when she first returned. Maybe that's why she drew the shades and hid herself away from the world.
I wish I could speak to her. I wish I could thank her for all she's done for me. I wish I could thank her for bringing me kindness and giving me a tenacious will to survive. I can't, though. And I wouldn't even if it were possible. Instead I watch them. I watch them sneak glances when the other isn't looking. I watch the happiness in their faces and the love in their touch. I watch all these things and I know that they will be okay.
The sun has nearly set when they go back into the house. I watch them climb the back steps and close the door behind them. I can see them in silhouette against the curtains when the lights are turned on. They kiss. The lights go out. I wait until dusk, watching the house and making certain they are in for the night. I listen to their neighbor, who long ago abandoned that horrible drink, shuffle into his own yard to feed the geese. When he returns inside, I step into the yard.
It's time to say goodbye. I don't have the words for it, but I know how to do it. I carefully pick my way through the yard to the fence by the garden. Katniss needs to know I never stopped caring. That I never stopped being grateful.
It takes a few minutes to get it off. I don't know how I've even carried it this long. When it hits the grass by my feet I lift it with my teeth and drape it over a fence post. I hope she will see this for what it is. I hope she will see a thank you, and that it won't disturb what she and Peeta have so carefully built for themselves. I hope she remembers the life she saved, and I hope it helps her move on. I hope it helps her let go.
I walk away and turn back to get one last glimpse of the ribbon she tied around my neck so long ago. It hasn't been pink in a very long time. Yes. It's time for me to let go, too.