When I wake up the bed beside me is empty. I roll on my side and notice that Peeta left the window open. The sheets here are crisp and cool and new still. At home, I hardly ever wash my sheets when left to my own volition. I pull the smooth white linen over my nose and close my eyes. I want to sleep more. I want to feel new like these sheets. Instead, I pad downstairs to find Peeta pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven. Effie had the kitchen stocked with supplies before our arrivals.
"Morning," he smiles, a curl falling in front of his eyes.
"Morning," I say back, my voice still gravelly from the cobwebs of sleep.
"Tea?" Peeta asks as he sets a mug in front of me. He's cracked the window in the kitchen, too. The smell of salt and sea slips into the room and reminds me we aren't at home, even if this box we are staying in looks exactly the same as ours. Peeta catches me staring at the window. "I like how it smells here. There's no coal in the air."
He's right. When I think of District 12, I think of pine and decaying leaves and the smell of the forest, but those confined only to the district itself had their life coated in coal. It's not a mystery that many of our men and women suffered from black lung. It's dissipated some since the mines aren't operating. It doesn't hang in the air like it used to. It doesn't cake our dishes, our hair, the street, the snow. The smell of lilac trees and grass have started sneaking into District 12 with a beautiful subtlety. It's coming to life. But the potency of the sea here in 4… there is no escaping the feeling of salt on your lips.
I wrap my hands around the cup and let the hot water warm my fingers. I watch silently as Peeta washes a bowl in the sink. His shoulders flex and I can see the muscles of his back moving through the thin cotton of his tee shirt. My eyes flutter shut and in a flash I see him broken in front of me, lying on the floor of his cell. Leg gone, hair matted in congealed blood, breath shallow. I remember how cold his skin was. It haunted my sleep for weeks. He was supposed to be hot, like a furnace, and feeling him cold under my fingertips make my stomach rot. I saved a corpse. I get up from the stool and wrap my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my chest into his back. I lean my cheek against him and feel him hot on my skin.
"Hey, what's that for?" he asks with a happy hum in his voice. We don't touch much outside of our bedroom. I've never been easy with my affection. I think I've hugged more people in the last week than I've hugged in my entire life. Peeta tries to turn to face me but I squeeze my arms tight and lock him in place. I don't want to lose this moment of him in the kitchen. I want to nurture this image so the next time I close my eyes and see his body burning next to mine, I can find this happy place instead.
"I'm in love with you," I whisper quietly into his shirt. I don't say it enough. Hardly at all. He lets it sit in the air, not wanting the moment to pass.
"I'm in love with you too," he whispers back sincerely, running his hands along my forearms wrapped tightly around his waist.
The moment ends when the Odair family comes bustling through our front door unannounced. I hear Finnick making animal noises and the belly laugh of a baby. Annie is giggling while she juggles the infant and a large bag overflowing with diapers, formula, bottles…
"Everdeen!" Finnick calls out, slapping his bare feet against the wooden floor. When he finds us Finnick's face breaks out into a devilish grin. "Come on, we're going."
"Going where?" I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I'm barely dressed. I'm wearing a thin sleeping shirt that ends halfway down my thighs, a pair of light panties, and nothing else. My cheeks flush I curse my fickle body.
"Not knowing is half the fun," Annie says, sliding Jo into my arms. The baby turns to me with wide eyes. He's a perfect combination of his parents. His hair is strawberry but so light and soft I can barely see it. His eyes are sea green. I'm not uncomfortable around infants. I spent hours with Posy wrapped in my arms every other day. Even though she was only a few years younger than me, I remember when Prim was so small she curled into my lap. I make a face and Jo smiles unabashedly, blissfully unaware the world is cruel.
I catch myself. The world was cruel. But it isn't anymore. This is why we fought the War. Jo will never know hunger. He will never have his name etched onto a slip of paper and tossed in a reaping bowl like he's another meaningless statistic and not a child.
"I can't just take off. I need to go see Ruth. I have obligations," I ramble, but Finnick makes a disapproving hiss.
"I've already been over there. Ruth said she wants a day to settle in. Explore the district with Maya. Find her bearings," Finnick replies.
"Or she said whatever she had to to get you out of her kitchen," I grumble back. I'm sure he's right though. Ruth is measured. She's not going to follow some sun-kissed man on a mysterious adventure. She'll want some direction, some confidence before she explores any further beyond her comfort zone.
"Come on, Katniss. Pretty please?" Finnick asks, his bottom lip pouting.
"Okay," I finally acquiesce and he literally bounces with happiness. "You're pathetic," I add as I head upstairs to change.
Finnick cuts along a rocky path, leading the way. The sea sand is slippery on top of the stone. I keep an eye trained on Peeta, but he seems to manage alright. Annie moves gracefully, as if she could walk this uneven path with her eyes closed and still find her way. Ahead is a large swath of prickly looking bushes, their roots clutching at the stone. This must be where we stop, but Finnick gestures for us to follow him. As we wrap around the bush I see a gaping hole in the back, pressed against a ledge and hidden from sight. He lifts a loose branch with one hand and gestures for us to crawl through. Annie has swathed the baby to her chest and he seems familiar with this trip as she crawls through, one arm around Jo. When we come out the other side, it's as if we are entirely alone. As if there is no District 4. As if it's just us, these rocks, and the sea crashing below.
"This is Annie's hiding spot. It was the only place we could be together before the War," Finnick says. It's beautiful. There are warm tidal pools, entire tiny ecosystems of their own, oblivious to the battles that burned around them. I imagine Finnick and Annie, Finnick returned from some stint at the Capitol where he'd been tossed between aristocrats like a doll. I imagine him hiding here, never wanting to come out. Annie stroking his hair the way she does Jo's now, cooing and comforting but unable to truly fix anything. But here he felt safe. This was his only reverie. It's why he wanted to share it with us.
"I have a place like this. Out in the woods, beyond the fence," I tell him, squeezing his hand.
We spend the afternoon eating cold sandwiches and tackling the waves. Peeta gets knocked over hard and comes up sputtering salt water with a smile on his face.
"This is a lot harder than Thom's pond," he coughs. Annie slips Jo into Finnick's arms and heads down the beach to help him. I plop down beside Finnick, squeezing the sea water from my hair. We watch as Annie glides elegantly on the crest of a wave, and as Peeta tumbles head over foot trying to do the same. They both laugh and the sound carries up the beach.
"You're smiling," Finnick teases, nudging my shoulder with his own.
I know.
At the house we eat a dinner of white fish and greens. Finnick sips a glass of cold water as Annie and Peeta bicker playfully in the kitchen. Annie goes upstairs to put the baby down and comes back with a sheet and some sharp metal scissors.
"Sit," she commands, pointing at a kitchen stool.
"Oo, better do it, Mellark. She's got her mom voice on," Finnick kids.
Peeta sits on the stool and Annie wraps the sheet around his shoulders. She gently runs her fingers through his hair, her eyes closed. She gets to know the feel of it. How it curls, where it ends. After a moment, opens her eyes and begins snipping at his locks with the shears. Flaxen bits of hair fall to the floor or rest on his nose.
She leaves it longer than Portia used to, but he looks less ragged now.
Annie sweeps the floor and curls into Finnick, resting her head on his lap. She's only closed her eyes for a moment before she's asleep. I imagine sleep is precious and not found often enough in a home with a baby. Finnick studies her face, gently knotting and unknotting a lock of her hair.
"This is what Mags wanted for me," he says without looking up. He attempts to clear his throat quietly without disturbing his sleeping wife. "When Mags volunteered, she knew about the rebellion. She was hoping I'd make it out of the Arena. That eventually I'd find my way back to Annie." He sits pensively for a moment, taking Annie in. "I've never loved anything more than I love Jo. I don't know how parents did it. How they didn't just die from grief when their children didn't return from the Games." He lets out a shaky breath. "I think that was part of why Mags did what she did. She couldn't see bearing the grief of losing one of us in the Arena."
I think back to the weeks following Prim's death. A time when I vacillated between unendurable grief and insatiable anger. I willed myself to die. I let my body rot away, my hair knot and mat, my skin turn ashen and gray. I look up at Peeta. His nose is burned from the beach sun. I remember how he pulled me from that grief, even though I was unwilling, just by being present.
We spend the next hour talking about Johanna. We wake Annie up with our laughter, and by the time Peeta and I make our way home the sun is peeking on the horizon.
We drop into bed, but we don't sleep. I kiss his salty skin and tug at his short hair. He presses my back into the mattress and whispers devotions in my ear as we rock together. I finally drift off, my face pressed against this chest, sweaty and exhausted.
I don't hate salt in the air.
