"Do you need anything, Madge?" Peeta asks for the fiftieth time this morning and I stiffen in an attempt to not fly apart with tremors while Madge pats my hand.
"Not at the moment," she says and he nods brusquely before heading back around to the yard.
"I'm fine, too, thanks for asking," I grumble once he's out of earshot.
Shortly after discovering Brigham's dead body in the backyard, Peeta had left Deputy Buckley outside to corral the nosy neighbors in a section of Eustice Ripper's yard where they'd be out of the way and unable to see what was going on, since the gossip mills of Twelve Willows would no doubt quickly turn rumors of a dead human body in Madge's backyard into a complete circus. Meanwhile, Peeta had come inside the house to tell Madge what we already knew, that her husband was dead. He held her while she cried, and while she put on quite the show of grief, I think most of it was probably shock. Since then, he's paused frequently in his work to ask how she's doing, give her a hug, help her sit in the porch swing so we could get some fresh air and he could help keep an eye on her. Giving her hands a reassuring squeeze before he went to greet the coroner.
Maybe we should be more worried. You know, the two girls who baked a poisonous pie they can't find and have a dead body in their backyard. But Wendell Reed isn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box. I have no idea how he managed to get a law degree and get himself appointed as the town's coroner, but it's a position he's held for decades by now. In addition to his jobs bussing tables at Sae's Soul Food, as the town's one and only lawyer, and also the proprietor of what he claims is a mining equipment store but is really just a giant garage where he collects junk. Junk that he decorates with spray painted phallic shapes and brings to the annual art festival. So all in all, I feel much better about our odds of never wearing prison orange since he's the one responsible for determining the cause of death.
What worries me more is the pile of stupid decisions I've made in the past twenty-four hours. Each time Peeta has checked on Madge, his eyes would skim over me, lingering for just a few seconds on my neck. Although he hasn't said a word to me since the body was discovered, I feel his accusations in each glance. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Katniss. Alcohol and arrogance led me to face Brigham alone on the porch, and while it's his body in the yard right now, the crisp spring morning air has sobered me to the reality of what I did last night. If Peeta hadn't showed up when he did, it might've been my body Wendell Reed was examining right now. Or Madge's. Or both.
I get that he's angry with me for not recognizing him and probably for stupidly putting Madge in danger last night, but all of this is traumatic for me, too, and I certainly wouldn't turn down a hug or a simple "how're ya doing, Katniss." At any given moment this morning, I've been torn between throwing something, screaming, crying uncontrollably, or jumping in my car to drive away. I am so far out of my element here and don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. I've always just approached any problem I faced head on, but this is something different. And while I'm supposed to be the strong one right now, Madge is the one serenely pushing off with her foot every few minutes to keep the porch swing in motion while I'm about ready to yell at Peeta for something petty.
"You shouldn't have put my name on that form," I whisper to her. "Then none of this would have happened."
When Madge doesn't answer, I turn to look at her and am smashed into another wall of guilt. She's still frighteningly pale, her eyes red and puffy from actually crying.
"You've just lost your husband, and I've put you in more danger, and all I want to do right now is claw out the eyes of someone I haven't seen in ten years and who maybe once had a crush on me. Someone I couldn't give two shits about," I murmur and add my other hand to the pile so hers is held in between mine.
"You certainly don't give two shits about him," she says with a slight upturn of her lips. "I think you're up to about twenty-five shits by now."
"Please keep your voice down or Eustice will tell everyone that I take twenty-five shits per day. It'll be all over town by night fall."
I glance towards Ripper's yard where a small crowd has gathered, chatting and gesticulating towards the spectacle currently on display in Madge's yard.
"But I've been sitting here assuming that you're fine because Brigham was an abusive asshole and I haven't thought to ask if you're okay. I mean, you were married to him for six years, together for ten, right? You must have loved him at least a little, and I'm sorry I've been so selfish and insensitive," I say quietly, swallowing back tears and guilt for what my friend must be feeling right now.
"You have no reason to apologize, Katniss," she says quietly, but her eyes meet mine and don't waver. "I don't quite know what I'm feeling exactly. I mean there's a little bit of fear and maybe some regret, but it's strange. I saw his body. I know he's gone. I keep saying it over and over in my head and every time I say it, I feel...lighter. I'll never have to worry about the smallest things setting him off again. Or about listening to the sounds of his footsteps in the house to gauge his mood. Or lying to everybody. Mostly, I guess I just feel...relieved."
With each word, she seems to sit straighter, the reemerging pillar of the girl I once knew. The girl who fabricated an insane story to explain the black bear chasing us down the main street of town. The girl who sweetly convinced the previous sheriff that Haymitch was seeing things under the influence of his famously strong moonshine, and that there was no way two girls had actually streaked through his pasture. Then she drops her eyes and folds back in on herself.
"There's a part of me that's wished he was dead every day for the past six years. Maybe even longer. And I married him and stayed with him anyways. Does that make me a terrible person?" she whispers.
I lean my head forward to press mine to hers, the way we used to do when we shared our deepest secrets and dreams. Our greatest fears. I wait for her gaze to flicker up to mine and am overcome with affection for her, my brave friend, so much braver than I'd thought, even as of yesterday.
"Ding dong, Brigham's dead, honey. Wishing for it didn't kill him, so no. You're not a bad person. I think any of us would've wished him dead for what he did to you." She smiles a little. "Baking poison into his favorite pie, however…"
Madge laughs and squeezes her eyes shut while I feel only slightly more confident about my ability to help her.
"What are we going to do if they test the contents of his stomach, Katniss? My kitchen is a mess of poison strawberry pie."
"Don't worry about the kitchen," I tell her as I sit back up to watch Wendell Reed and Peeta talking in the yard. Wendell is motioning with his hands, as if explaining something, and Peeta nods solemnly.
By the time Peeta made it into the house to break the news to us, I'd already puked up the contents of my stomach and cleaned up the kitchen as best I could while Madge paced the laundry room and generally lost her shit. Maybe I should've been trying to calm her down, but I've already screwed up enough. I'll be damned if my friend goes to jail for baking that slime bucket exactly the poison he deserved.
"I cleaned up the mess after I puked," I tell her and she looks worried again. "Everything's in a garbage bag in the hall closet. I'll burn it or something when we're alone later."
"Katniss, that's illegal, isn't it?"
"Did you forget who you're speaking to?" If they take her for murder, guess they'll just have to take me for conspiracy or aiding and abetting or whatever the hell it's called.
Madge chuckles nervously, stopping herself as Wendell approaches us.
"Hey, Madge, do you happen to have one of those thingamabobs that you use when someone's got a fever?"
"You mean a thermometer?" Madge asks and I try not to snort and dance in glee. Our odds are looking better by the second.
"Yeah, that's the word! I just looked it up on Google and I guess I gotta take the temperature to figure out when Brigham died. But, uh, my thermometer thing's not working. Keeps saying he died at 89.8 degrees."
It takes a monumental effort to keep from laughing hysterically, and I can tell from Madge's face that she's fighting back her own mirth as well. She stands and nods, sedately walking back into the house with Wendell in trail, attempting to sound intelligent about his job. Ineptitude will save Madge, and I couldn't be more relieved.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, however, a squeal of brakes draws my attention back to the street in front of the house and I suppress a groan as the beat up green pickup truck my mother's owned since before I was born halts in a puff of dust and she gets out, slamming the door behind her. She stomps up the walkway and isn't even on the porch before she gets started.
"Katniss Maureen Everdeen! What have you done this time?"
Unfortunately, my mother is just as beautiful and ethereal as always, her honey blonde hair expertly twisted into a French knot and pearls hanging around her throat. She's never worn a stitch of makeup as far as I can remember. Her creamy skin lightly dotted with freckles on her cheeks, perfect pink lips, and envy inducing lashes all made it superfluous. A two time winner of the Twelve Willows beauty pageant, my mother has always been the toast of this town, and literally dozens of hearts were shattered when she married my father. Sometimes I think the real scandal was the dozens of men she turned down rather than the one that she accepted.
"My phone has been ringing off the hook all morning! First Eustice calls to tell me you've assaulted Whiskers, then she calls to say you've killed a deer in Madge's back yard. Oh and then Starla Summers calls to say you've been corrupting Eddy again, and now it's some nonsense about the sheriff crawling all over this house and Rupert Bristel claiming it's because you've knocked over another gas station. Twenty hours of labor with you and you're still making me suffer!"
She finally halts in front of me as I rub my temples and stand to face my mother. "Why is it that every time you think I'm in trouble, the amount of time you spent in labor with me goes up? If I hadn't left for ten years and restarted your count, we'd be up to six weeks of labor by now."
"Don't sass me, young lady. You might be a fancy, successful, city business woman, but I'll still ground you."
Despite her harsh tone, she wraps her arms around me and runs her hand over my messy braid. She sways a little, rocking me as though I'm still eight and just scraped a knee climbing Daniel McPherson's apple trees for a haul of freshly pilfered fruits. I melt a little in her embrace and find myself returning it, somehow knowing that despite our differences, she still loves me unconditionally. I rest my cheek on her shoulder and inhale the fresh scent of her lavender soap, and I suddenly wonder why I stayed away for so long. Phone calls and visits from her once every year just don't seem like enough anymore in this moment when I realize just how much I've been needing a hug from my mother.
"Lilly! Did you ask her if she came back to steal Sheriff Mellark away from Delly?" Pamela Cartwright shouts from Eustice Ripper's yard.
"They were looking mighty cozy on the porch this morning!" Ripper joins the conversation, first shouting then muttering loudly. "I hope he doesn't fall for her tricks. You should've seen the way she yelled at Whiskers last night. Can you imagine how she'd treat a husband? And with her always breaking the law...land sakes, the poor man would never get a rest."
I stiffen in my mother's arms as low, muffled laughter reaches my ears right before the clomping of boots on the porch. She releases me and I glare at Peeta, but my mother smiles happily at him.
"Morning, Lilly. You look lovely as always," he greets her and my mother blushes, patting her hair as I gawk at her. I've only ever seen her blush when my father talks to her.
"Morning, Peeta," she says warmly. "I hope my daughter's not causing you too much trouble so soon after she got back in town. What on earth is going on here?"
Peeta's eyes flash up to mine, down to my neck, and then back to my mother before I can figure out what the hell the quick look in his eyes means. I immediately bring my hand up to my neck and tug the collar of my shirt higher to hide the marks Brigham left there. My mother probably didn't notice them, too intent on hugging and scolding me and then too focused on the annoyingly flirtatious sheriff. Otherwise, she'd be raising hell about it and giving the neighbors more fodder for their gossip.
But this glance from Peeta is just like all the other ones he's given me all morning, the same indecipherable expression on his face, right before he ignores me in favor of asking Madge how she's doing. The selfish part of me that's screaming at me to run takes over and I scowl. Is it really so much to ask for some compassion? The guy I threatened to choke with his own balls and who choked me almost to death last night is now dead in the back yard.
"Katniss has been causing trouble for me a lot longer than just the past day," he says and my mother giggles. Actually giggles.
"Don't you have something better to do than flirt with my mother?" I ask him irritably before I remember that the something better he needs to be doing is examining the dead body in the back yard. The possibly poisoned by strawberry and disinfectant pie dead body.
Peeta smiles at me and leans closer to me. Close enough for me to feel the warm puff of his breaths on my cheek and for the hairs on my neck to stand alert at his proximity. I even catch a whiff of his soap. Something faintly spicy like cinnamon or nutmeg and sweet heaven, he smells good enough to eat. I have to remind myself that my mother is three feet away or I might throw my arms around him and kiss him, ecstatic and starving for even the slightest sign of compassion from him. And then I can punch him for fraternizing with Brigham last night.
"Don't tell your mother anything just yet," he whispers. "At least not until Wendell's finished and I have a little more information. Oh and don't leave town either. I'll need you to come down to the station later to answer a few questions."
My stomach drops to my toes as he pulls away, and without even so much as a backwards look at me, nods to my mother, repeating her name as a farewell, and heads back into the backyard.
"He is such a nice young man," my mother says.
I glare at her as she watches him walk away and reassure the gawking neighbors that everything is just fine and he'll come back to talk to them as soon as possible.
"Stop scowling, Katniss. You look like you want to choke someone. Have you had coffee yet this morning?" she says when she finally manages to stop ogling Peeta's ass. "Come on, Flower, let's go find Madge and I'll take you girls to Sae's. Then you can tell me what's going on in your yard and why I'm the last one to know you've got the hots for Peeta Mellark. Not that I can blame you. He grew up so well and always was kinda sweet on you."
She takes my hand in hers and I fume over yet another person suggesting that Peeta had a crush on me when we were kids. Does everyone believe this farce? And can't anyone see it's a stupid thing to be concerned with when there is a dead body in the backyard?! She drags me towards the door, waving to the gathered crowd across the yard and cupping her other hand over her mouth to yell.
"Don't worry! I'll find out all the juicy details and get back to ya! This girl needs her coffee first or she's liable to murder everyone!"
And there's the reason I haven't been home in ten years right there. My face flames as I hope my mother doesn't mind visiting me in prison rather than Philly. Between her announcement that I'd murder over a cup of coffee, and my ball choking threat last night, and Brigham's dead body in the back yard...maybe the odds aren't so great for me.
