Hersh takes his stride to the right of me, playing with his phone checking the score on the playoff game.
"So Seahawks and Broncos. Who are we rooting for?" I ask. I haven't been following the season as much as the last. But my Uncle lives in Washington State and he started the bakery business, so I am giving my loyalty to Seattle.
"Broncos." I have always loved Texans. The cheerleaders? Have you seen that show about the cheerleaders?" I shake my head, my mouth in the shape of an upside down U. "You are missing out."
I enjoy the playful banter between us. It's comfortable. We both have worked a lot lately, so I relish the little time we have together.
I really want to ask him about Katniss. I don't think he knows anything about what happened.
It's some time past noon, the sky is erupting in a yellow glow, and the trees slowly rustling in the frosty wind. We ask Bill, the owner of the store if we could borrow the cart to take back the food we bought to the bakery because we didn't bring the car. He reluctantly agrees. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck as Hersh starts down the street, kicking with one foot and standing on the lower bar underneath the cart and starts to zoom down the street. I try to keep up and Bill shakes his head. I just shrug.
I am still debating between keeping my morning to myself and telling him what has been going on.
We get out of earshot from the storeowner when Hersh asks the question I have waited for: "Why are you doing this?"
I don't give him an audible answer. He can read me like a book.
"Sure Peet." I switch him, so now I am pushing the cart in the cold. I adjust my scarf. "Do I have to help you make dinner?" He asks.
"February 15th, who ran around town for hours trying to find pink tulips that you thought you desperately needed for date, even though you knew that right after Valentine's Day every freaking flower would be sold out?" I argue.
"You use that against me every time! Fine. But this is the last time you can guilt me into doing your silly chores with that."
We walk through the people sitting against the bakery. I almost feel bad because they have nothing to eat, and we are pushing a cart full of food. But I just smile knowingly. They will like what is coming this evening. Their wide eyes will be looking down at the food on their plates in just a couple of hours.
I unlock the door and start taking the food out of the grocery bags and placing it along the counters, when I jolt my neck to the table Katniss and I sat at only hours ago. It's completely clean with our dishes in the sink, stacked nicely, and it's obviously been wiped down.
I'm not surprised when the closet that we slept in looks exactly like it should when we have the restaurant inspection. No girls hiding in the closets and completely spotless.
For this dinner, it's going to be simple and more for quantity than quality.
Hersh looks up a spaghetti sauce recipe on his phone, and then begins to pull tomatoes and spices and beef and a large pot off the counter.
I start with the noodles, boiling the water and taking noodles out of the multiple boxes. Then, I start with the garlic bread that, I know, will taste great if I can make it like my Dad does.
I had thought of using what we have in the kitchen, but instead opted to buying my own ingredients. That is one less thing that my mom can yell at me about when she gets back from pinochle tomorrow morning.
While the noodles are cooking, the sun is setting and the French bread loaves are almost done.
"I have made you into a nice homemaker." I explain sarcastically to Hersh who looks at me with a scowl. He already spilled tomato sauce over the burner and set off the fire alarm. He owes me once again because I stopped the commercial sprinklers from soaking us.
My dad comes downstairs later. After I explain what we are doing, he likes my idea. He helps by setting up extra tables in the front of the bakery and directing a confused group of homeless people through the back door to wash their hands.
At about 5' o'clock, we are inviting men and women and children to take their seat. There are about twenty people seated, but we are missing two.
"Hey! Where's Katniss and Prim?" My dad asks as he scans the small crowd of people eagerly waiting for a hot dinner on a cold December evening.
"I was too generous." I grumble.
We are walking around putting plastic forks and spoons at each place setting. He stops. "She is going to be a treacherous hike my son, but I am not saying that you won't enjoy the view at the end. It is going to be worth it."
I nod at his words and start to head back to the kitchen for more silverware when he stops me. "I can hold down the fort. Go find her. Crazy Cliff said that he saw the girls at Sae's." He directs and I am out the door by the time I can get my coat and scarf adjusted.
I take the back door and buzz past where they usually sit. It's vacant.
My feet hardly grip the sidewalk with the glossy black ice covering the paths. The streetlights illuminate the block in a festive way, the light reflecting off each mirrored surface. The snow is starting to flurry once again, making me more and more worried that Katniss might be stubbornly waiting in the cold.
With careful steps, I get to Sae's and the bell on the door rings. I walk into the dinnertime rush of about eight people, three of them completely hammered already, their beards collecting the clam chowder Sae must have made tonight.
With a quick sweep of the place, I know Katniss isn't here- but Prim is. Her forehead rests against the tabletop, her bowl of chowder untouched.
I can't tell if she is asleep or not.
Slowly, I walk up to her and rub her back to wake her up.
"I'm up, I'm up!" She flails her arms like the drunks, knocking her bowl of soup down the table, clinging with the bowl of a grouchy old woman.
"Hey. What are you doing here?" I ask. "I never got to thank you for helping me with your sister last night."
She wipes the sleep out of her eyes. "Wait, you want to thank me? Peeta, I think you have this backwards."
I pull out the chair next to her. "Hey, you know how I feel about her. It means the world to me."
"Whatever." She shrugs.
"So," I drag, "On the subject, where is she?" Her fingers begin to toy with the trim on the table, her lip pulling between her teeth- a nervous habit she obviously picked up from her sister. "I don't want to know?"
"She is just so stubborn." She says, like she has been waiting to tell someone. "She doesn't want to listen to my suggestions. Last night when I said we should ask to go inside the bakery, she refuses it, but almost dies trying to prove her point that she doesn't need help. And guess where she is?" She pauses. "Outside. She is going to get so sick, and I don't even know where to look for her. I don't think she wanted to be followed."
"You sound just like me with my brothers. Being the youngest sucks."
"Seriously."
"So, if you were your stubborn sister, where would you be in a wonderful winter blizzard day like today?"
"Probably down by the lake, right where the rocks come together. She says that she likes to watch the water lap over the rocks and see that they can survive the beating water." She explains, and with the reminder that it is freezing outside, I hurry to leave my seat.
"Peeta wait! Be careful. I know how to handle her when she's angry, but she's not angry. She just seems sad." Depressed? Is she going to do something she is going to regret? She has her sister. She is stubborn but not selfish.
"Thank you so much. And," I lower my voice, "if you want something to eat that tastes better than this, I have dinner on the table. The rest of the family is there."
She copies my whisper, "I hate seafood anyway." She grins and starts to pick up her bowl. As I leave, she gives me one more piece of advice. "Let her think she is making the decisions. Try that."
Once again I am following my love guru's advice, contemplating how to get to Katniss without being overbearing and pushing her over the edge.
