Haymitch's moods swung more than my own. It was nearly impossible to predict anymore how he would be when I showed up at his door. I did my best to arrive bearing gifts, but they were not always well received. Instead of being disappointed, I took it as a good sign. Maybe he wouldn't stay hidden under the bottom of a bottle forever. Maybe having two tributes survive not just the Games but the War as well would be enough to make him see the point in living his life again.
More than once, I reminded him that our efforts were a packaged deal. If he gave up, I had no reason to keep on trying to pass the days. And when he tried to use Peeta as my excuse, I reminded him that Peeta needed him just as much as he needed me. After all, on the rare occurrences when Peeta did backslide, it wasn't Haymitch he hated, it was me.
Though Peeta and I had become somewhat of an inseparable pair as of late, I was on my own with Haymitch that particular evening. The bakery was thriving, as always, and while Peeta felt bad that he wasn't going to make it to our weekly scheduled dinner, he couldn't tear himself away from the business. "Your shadow is missing," Haymitch commented immediately as he opened the front door and eyed me.
Dutifully, I handed over the bottle of wine I was carrying. A dry, red wine, it was not the hard alcohol he preferred. I certainly didn't want to feed his habit if he was trying to cut back, but I wasn't going to show up empty handed either, in case the train hadn't brought as much as he wished. In the balancing act that was Haymitch, it was better to err on the side of caution. "Some of us have work to do," I replied, easing past him into the dark, dank house.
"Not us."
"Not us," I agreed.
Hazelle wasn't the cook that Greasy Sae was, but she took care of Haymitch alright. A simple meal of potatoes and greens sat on the table, already served out on plates and bowls. I was thankful she had already left. I'd seen her in passing, but I hadn't talked to her since my impromptu trip to Two. I wasn't sure what, if anything, Gale had told her, so I wasn't sure where we stood. She was sweet, too sweet sometimes, and though I knew she was disappointed Gale and I didn't end up together, she had never held it against me. I wondered if that would still be the case, now that we'd shattered the broken bridge between us.
Dinner was a quiet affair. When we retired to the living room, silence still lapsed over us. It was only as I studied the sad, dusty piano wedged in the corner of the room that Haymitch paid me any notice.
"You don't have nearly the posh to play an instrument of that caliber," he told me. His tumbler sat on the coffee table but from what I could gather, it only contained water. If I hadn't known any better, I would have guessed he was sober.
With nothing better to do and no amount of dignity left to my name to speak of, I took his challenge in stride. Easing myself out of the oversized chair, I moved to the wooden bench in front of the piano. It groaned as I slid it out, its wooden legs scrapping against the floor. As I pushed back the fallboard, I coughed from the dust kicked up. Who knew the last time the piano had been played, if ever. Haymitch certainly didn't have hands steady enough to strike out a tune.
It had been a long time since I'd played. What little Madge had taught me sat in the back of my mind, neglected over the years. As I raised the hem of my shirt to dust off the dust settled on the keys, I racked my brain. By the time I finished, I could only recall a few simple beats I'd learned.
The keys felt foreign and unfamiliar under my touch as my fingers flexed and gently lowered onto them. I started with a key under the middle finger of my right hand. The note was loud in the otherwise empty room. But even that one touch felt oddly familiar, and the next note followed suit much easier than the first.
As if by muscle memory, my hands moved across the keys. It was nothing fancy, and I wasn't even sure it sounded good. I could barely hear the notes myself, instead paying attention to the movement of my fingers. I finished a simple melody and then sat there, my hands resting in my lap, staring at the piano. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the piano I'd learned to play on. Had it survived the bomb and the fire to the mansion? I doubted it. If the fire hadn't destroyed it, I was sure the crumbling structure had done a number on it.
"Have to admit, Sweetheart, I'm impressed. Who knew there was a single talent you possessed that didn't involve maiming someone or something?"
His remark pulled me back to the present, away from the memory and thoughts that led down a dark path. I slid the fallboard back down and pushed away from the piano. "I'm rather impressed myself," I admitted, surprised I had remembered as much. As I eased back into my chair, I tried to push thoughts of Madge out of my mind. But like the sweet tune that lingered in the room from the simple melody, the memory wouldn't seem to fade.
