Author's Note: Chapter seventeen is here! And we are a mere four chapters away from this beautiful ride being over. Sad, I know, but I already have several story ideas to follow this fun little adventure. The Hunger Games fanficition base as been so welcoming and warm to my first attempt into your world, so I just want to take a special moment to thank all of you. For those who reviewed last chapter I am planning to go through and respond to each personally. I apologize it is so late, but apparently GMail and Fanfiction aren't on the same page when it comes to their notifications because I am getting nothing. At first I really though everyone had just given up, but I realized I now have to come to ff's actual website to read any reviews you post. But thank you for all of them, they keep me going!
As always, this chapter would be nothing with out Court81981, so thank you so much darling! I hope you all have had a wonderful Thanksgiving(for those who are in the United States) and are all geared up for Christmas!
Summary: There are also three types of people in Dawson, Texas: those who are trying to flee, those who embrace their small town fate, and the Mellarks. Mellark Ranch; largest cattle ranch South of Dallas, employer of ranch hand, Katniss Everdeen, and home of Ohio State Buckeye running back, Peeta Mellark. And Peeta Mellark is coming home today.
Lone Star State of Mine
Chapter Seventeen: I Drive Your Truck
"89 cents in the ashtray, half-empty bottle Gatorade rolling in the floorboard."
Family.
The term takes all shapes and meanings. For most, family is what the word was intended to be for: the bloodline they were born into. For some, their actual family isn't the most appealing, so they find their comfort and safe haven in the arms of friends and other loved ones. For others, family is simply a fleeting concept that they've never really had the joy and heartache of grasping. And then there are the rare few that find family in all sorts of places.
I don't always consider myself one of the fortunate roaming the earth, but there is one aspect I feel entirely rich in and that's my family.
When I was young my parents and sister were my whole world. Weekends held their reverence in my life. Friday nights were made for my dad and I to sit on the porch and listen to the bug zapper and watch Prim chase after fireflies. I lived for Saturday mornings with Prim and my dad. We would always help him make the worst tasting pancakes on the planet and then watch as my mother choked them down with a smile. And I thought there was no better Sunday tradition than grocery shopping with my mother. Begging her for sugar-filled thing and watching as Prim would quietly grab a box off shelf and open it before my mother could even notice. We brought home a lot of cereals and cookies that way.
That was my family.
And then one day it wasn't. At least, not all of it, not completely. The loss of my father created a ripple effect that lasted years and the damage was never really repaired. Friday nights I sat alone on the porch, staring into the dark distance trying to remember every piece of my father. Saturday mornings were then spent entertaining Prim with cartoons and a bowl of off-brand cereal while my mother stayed under the covers for as long as possible. And Sunday's grocery trips happened whenever I had an extra couple of dollars in my pocket. The way he used to cock his right eyebrow at me when I was a little slow at getting one of his outdated jokes. The way he'd pick at his teeth after a meal with his old pocketknife.
Or his laugh. I strain the most to hear his laugh in my memory. The rumble that seemed to come from his toes, the way his chest heaved against the worn flannel of his shirts, the way his head fell back to allow for maximum volume. It all used to sem so mundane, but it's the one thing I wish for the most. And it was the first thing to fade almost entirely. Soon all I can do is see the moments that sparked the laughter in my mind, but the sounds of his voice, his laugh, they're gone. Along with my perspective of family.
Soon after, family started to take different shapes. First came within my friendship with Gale. We understood each other before the loss of our fathers, but after they were both gone it became even more so. And then he got me the job at Mellark Ranch, and those who I considered to be family nearly doubled. Mr. Mellark never leaves anyone out and those that work for him feel a family-like loyalty to the man who does so much for them.
And without me even knowing, Peeta had become a staple in my makeshift family as well. Several weeks after Haymitch's cryptic story, I am still left trying to figure out where it all leaves me. A part of me thought the longing I felt for him days after I returned home would fade with time, but the only thing that has faded is the excuses I once feed myself to keep from calling him. And that's been replaced with a nagging regret that only time can fester. But fear still grips me in the idea of needing someone so completely for survival.
My mother used to always tell my father how she just couldn't live without him. It was meant as a term of endearment, I know, but after his passing I saw how true that was. Years later she still has days she can't get out of bed because of her grief. Why would someone sign up to go through that? Life is too uncertain; it's better to keep everyone at an arm's length.
Or so I led myself to believe. Peeta had long since ruined all that, and if I ever get the courage to call him I'd tell him so.
Because he's already broken the barrier I had so strategically placed. I see him in everything still and how he has punctured my very existence so thoroughly sends a thrill through me.
Time hasn't made it better, but it's caused those around me to be set on getting me out of my known slump. And that's what brings me out to Greasy Sae's on this Friday night. I had originally planned to do exactly what I do every other night: finish work, go home, take a shower, scrounge up something to eat, and then become a useless lump in front of the television. It probably isn't what therapists would suggest, but it was getting me through the days. But Beetee had suggested everyone come out for dinner, and Seeder wasn't about to let me stay away.
"Katniss Everdeen, how the hell have you been?"
My stomach drops as I set down the empty beer bottle against the bar. I'd know that confident, feminine drawl anywhere. And normally my emotions toward it are of mild annoyance for its owner, but after how we left things, I'm more concerned that she'll throw a punch in my direction. And I'm not sure I'd blame her.
I slowly turn around on my stool and see Johanna Mason making her way toward me with a slight smirk. I was hoping I'd see Gale following close behind, but someone has stopped him right by the entrance, and I'm left to my own defenses.
"Johanna," I say in a form of greeting, unsure of how I should respond. With the truth? The truth is I'm miserable, but I'm not about to give her the satisfaction of that knowledge. And since she's about as stable as a water balloon, I'm not about to make some off hand comment.
She easily slides onto the empty stool next to mine and orders herself a drink from the bartender before looking back over at me. And then it hits me. What is she doing here? Gale hadn't mentioned her coming to visit, so she'd obviously surprised him. My eyes glance back toward Gale, trying to force the end of his impromptu conversation with a table of locals.
"He already told me to play nice," Johanna laughs, her eyes following mine across the bar. "And don't worry, he's not the first one. I was all but threatened by Peeta to do so when I told him I planned to come down for Fall Break."
My stomach drops at the mention of his name, and my eyes shoot toward her. My heart is racing, and it feels like all the moisture has suddenly left my mouth. Fall Break. The campus was closed for classes. Did that mean Peeta was home as well? Was he going to walk through that door next? I suddenly wanted him here more than anything. This was going to be my chance to come clean. And in a rare expression of weakness that's exactly what I planned to do.
"Where—" I clear my throat trying to regain my composure after my silent meltdown. "Where is Peeta?"
Johanna thanks the bartender before looking down at the label on her bottle, "Chicago, I think. He mentioned going home with Thresh for break."
And just like that, my heart comes up into my throat as I try to will my mind not to over think it all. He hadn't come home. He hadn't tried to call even once since the first week I returned. Maybe I wasn't the only one stopping our reconciliation. Maybe reconciliation wasn't even possible. It all made sense really. I had been rather selfish and irrational with my decision to walk away. That sort of behavior didn't work well in my favor. Plus Peeta certainly had options. An absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder.
There is a short silence between the two of us before Johanna turns on her stool to face me. I am staring down at the old wood of the bar, but out of the corner of my eye, I can tell she's studying me. And as much as I want to hide my disappointment, my features are tired of acting and I stilling frown.
"You're miserable." She comments like she's talking about the weather. And I give a humorless laugh in return, never bothering to look over at her. "Which you kind of deserve to be, if I'm honest. You—"
"Please Johanna, go give your pep talk to someone else," I snap, glaring over at her. "I don't need your sarcastic comments, your smug smirks, and certainly not your honesty. I've got enough of my own. Thank you. If I wanted your advice, I'd ask for it."
"Yeah, see that's the thing; I don't really care what you want — in fact, my advice would be to write you off completely, but Peeta sees it differently," Johanna continues, her voice still strangely calm. "He's miserable. And he's my best friend. He's the first person in years to actually give a damn about me. And for that I am fiercely loyal to him."
My eyes start to soften as I see how passionate she gets about Peeta. I can appreciate that passion, and I like her for it. Peeta deserves a person like Johanna in his life because with all of her stability and rage issues, the girl is a strong ally that most wouldn't dare to cross. And one that stays loyal until the very end.
"So you're going to just listen to what I have to say, and if you love Peeta half as much as I think you do you'll make it a point to get your shit together." She leans forward slightly. "He's miserable. Fucking miserable. He covers it up well for everyone else, but I see it. He's confused and angry — you did that. You walked away. So the fact that you think he's just going to show up here and try to fix all of this just shows how completely self-involved you can be. You have to fix this. You have to make the fucking effort."
"I – I want to," I feel my throat start to tighten as I speak, but I swallow it down the best I can. "You don't understand how hard it all is to—"
"Need someone so much you can't breathe without them around? And how terrifying that idea is?" Johanna asks, and I see her glance toward where Gale is standing before looking back at me. "Yeah, I understand that. I also understand that life is hard and throws terrible curve balls at people. Peeta and Gale are the only family I have — you don't think I understand heartache from the loss of a loved one? I've had the feeling in spades, trust me."
Johanna is softer now. Her voice is no longer threatening and one of a defender, but instead one of someone who understands. I saw the hardened look in her eye the first time I met her. One that I know she got from the loss of a loved one. I know, because I wear the same expression.
"Katniss, you're a real pain in the ass," she smirks, and I can't help but give a small laugh. "But take my advice: life throws enough punishments at you. You don't need to punish yourself because you're afraid of getting to close to someone and losing them again. That's no way to live your life."
She's right. Haymitch is right. These are things I've known, but that doesn't make it any easier to come to terms with. Fear doesn't settle well after it has been the lead director of your life for so long. Making decisions without fear playing a factor isn't familiar to me anymore. All my decisions stem from some form of fear or another. Fear that Prim and my mother won't have enough money. Fear that those I care about will be in some sort of unforeseen danger. Fear that those I love will leave me in some form or fashion.
Johanna smiles at me, "And please do not feed me that 'easier said than done' bullshit. I let you say it once. That's all you get."
The atmosphere of our conversation—and all-around presence around each other has changed—and just in time too because Gale has finally finished his conversation across the bar and is now heading in our direction. We both glance over in his direction when he appears next to Johanna.
"You guys are still alive." Gale glances down at Johanna who simply gives him her most innocent smile, which still has a hint of malice laced in it. "Are we alright, or are we just taking a time out to lick our wounds?"
We both look back at each other for a long moment before I smile, "We're fine, but Johanna is a real pain in the ass."
The sound of the gravel beneath my feet as I make my way toward the stalls is all I hear on this quiet Monday morning. My mind is still slightly fogged from the weekend. It was the most fun I'd have since I'd come home from Ohio, but Peeta was still never far from my mind. I contemplated calling him on several occasions, even got as close as dialing his number once, but then uncertainty would settle in and I'd quickly find something else to busy myself with. Johanna was right, fear wasn't an excuse, but it was certainly a crimpling setback. I made it a goal to call him before Johanna left on Tuesday.
That left me today. Today I would call him. Of course, what I would say was still completely up in the air. Part of me wanted to remain a closed book and simply ask him how he was doing. Another part wanted nothing more than to tell him how much I missed him and dumb I had been. My mind grew dizzy just thinking about the latter option. There were so many things that could go wrong with that scenario. Even with Johanna's input on just how Peeta is taking all this my mind still goes to the worst possible scenario. He could tell me he didn't miss me. He could tell me he'd moved on. And I would be left out in the cold.
Hurt like that was something I wasn't ready to feel, but I knew with each passing day I was ready to take the chance. I needed to, if not for my own feelings, but for Peeta. He deserved an explanation.
My thoughts remained on Peeta as I silently grabbed the tools I would need for the morning's task of cleaning the stalls. I just get all that I need and turn on my heels when I hear footsteps against the gravel outside. Soon I am face to face with the sour expression of Mrs. Mellark standing in front of me. She is never a truly welcome sight, but I haven't really even spoken to her since I returned from Ohio. Not that I really spoke to her before, but at least then, I was on good terms with her youngest son.
"Katniss," She states. It's not a greeting but identification. "Have you seen Hershel?"
"No, ma'am. I haven't," I respond, still frozen in my place by the tool closet.
There is a loaded silence that passes between us when she turns and starts to leave again. I barely get a small sigh out before she's turning back around and gesturing toward me. I give her a confused expression as I watch as she opens her mouth to say something. But nothing comes out. Not at first. Instead she walks back toward me and I'm frozen again.
"I — um — well, Hershel seems to think I haven't been the most welcoming toward you. But his bleeding heart always thinks I'm not welcoming enough," Her words sound more like a ramble than the coherent start to a two-person conversation. "But you do understand why, don't you?"
"Well, I—" I start, but then realize I don't know, and I really have no response to her question. So instead I just shut mouth again, hoping maybe she'll finish this strange interaction quickly.
"Peeta is going places, whether he knows it or not," she continues, not even registering my stuttered attempt at a response. "He's getting out of Dawson. And well, I just thought — you know, you're the help. You're here in Dawson and this was just some kind of...way to pass the time."
Her words are accompanied by elaborate hand gestures, and I realize it's probably a good thing Deborah Mellark isn't a big talker. Someone would have been accidentally slugged by her directing traffic-like motions. Plus, her lack of tact is even obvious to me. The way she just flippantly said 'the help' was evidence enough that her lack of manners made me look like royalty.
"But Hershel swears that Peeta has made it perfectly clear — because you know that boy never talks to his mama — that you're what he wants." She shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. But the relaxation for her arms is short-lived because she starts talking again. "So, well, I suppose I owe you an apology. So there it is."
I think Prim apologized better than that when she was too young to even know what she was doing. If I wasn't so stunned by the fact that I am actually having a conversation with Peeta's mother — a woman no one ever talks to — I might have time to be offended by her obviously rude comments. But since we're more likely to see her throwing one of her tantrums outside the main house than we are to actually speak with her, all I can do is simply stare at her.
And instead of my own anger toward her for the things she's just said, all I can think about is how terribly she has treated Peeta — and her other kids — for as long as I've been around here. Her abuse toward them is silently known throughout the ranch and probably most of Dawson, but it's never truly been seen. Sure, she's come running out of the main house yelling at one of them from time to time. I even remember her throwing a glass of tea at Reese's truck as he drove away one time. The glass had shattered, causing tea to blast all over the hood of his new pickup. Mr. Mellark wasn't far behind her, trying to act calm as he pulled her back into the house. But the anger was etched so plainly in his eyes. Deborah Mellark was an unpredictable tornado that no one even bothered to cross—no one except Mr. Mellark.
"Peeta is just—" She pauses to look down at the ground. Her expression is unreadable, as she seems deep in thought before she looks back up. "Peeta is just one of the good ones. He deserves…well, he deserves everything he wants."
My anger slowly boils in me, but I do my best to remain calm as I glare at her, "Why don't you tell him that instead of constantly treating him like he's some sort of castoff?"
As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them. Not that I said it per se, since I know it's the truth, but because this is Mrs. Mellark I'm talking to. She's unstable as it is; I really don't need to be poking the bear. Especially when I don't have any witnesses around.
The loaded silence returns as we simply stare at each other. I tighten my grip on the pitchfork in my hand subconsciously. Her expression is calmer than I expected it to be, and she looks almost like one of those forlorn pictures from TIME Magazine to be used to explain the hard times of our country. With the sun coming up over the pastures behind her, the worn denim jacket that hangs loosely on her frame, her dyed hair blowing in the breeze, and her tired expression, one would almost feel sorry for her until she opened her mouth.
Another word is not shared between us as she turns on her heels once more, and this time does not turn back as she leaves me standing in the stables, seemingly alone. I wait a little longer to release my sigh of relief and turn away from her to head farther into the stables. Most of the horses have their heads sticking out to look at me, and I wish several of them a good morning, still only slightly shaken from my unplanned interaction.
"Duke's acting a bit off." Another voice fills the air just ahead of me, but this voice is one I welcome. The deep drawl startles me since I thought I was alone, but when I peek inside the stall, he's hiding I smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Mellark." I say, leaning against the door.
He gives me a tired smile that tells me he's probably been here long before the sun started to come up over the ranch. His hand runs over Duke's back. The older horse seems to like the constant attention and just watches me from where he stands at the back of the stall.
"Good morning, Katniss," he responds, pulling away from Duke and grabbing his jacket that's been tossed in the hay.
I back away from the door to allow him to exit the stall and glance back toward Duke, who now walks forward to stick his head out. I'm probably imagining it, but I swear the horse glares at me for taking away the attention that was once all his.
"We'll probably need to call the vet this afternoon, see if she can come out on such short notice," he says, brushing off at his jacket to knock extra pieces of hay as he walks back toward the tool closet.
I nod, still slightly unsure of how to act around Mr. Mellark. I have guilt for what I did to Peeta and it never seems to magnify itself more than when I'm around he's caring father. The man knows about Peeta and I, even though he's never really mentioned it outright to me. And yet he still acts so sweet and caring toward me. But then again, I'm not sure Mr. Mellark has any other setting. Gale has mentioned on several occasions that Mr. Mellark has asked him about how I was doing with the break up. Gale doesn't go into details, and I'm slightly thankful, about what they say about Peeta's end, but he does mention that they talk about it.
"Mrs. Mellark is looking for you," I say, watching him put away the electric lantern he'd been using earlier this morning with Duke.
He gives a soft laugh. "I heard."
He'd heard. I stand in place, not really sure where else to go with this conversation. I kick at the ground beneath my feet, watching a small rock bounce several times before settling again. I'm not sure why I'm suddenly nervous. It's not like he's unaware of his wife's inability to have a humane conversation with anyone. He's married to her after all. And that's a connection I have still yet to understand at all.
"She really does have her moments of decency," Mr. Mellark starts, closing the door to the tools and looking back at me. "But I apologize for her outright, insensitive comments. Believe it or not, I think she was trying to compliment you."
I grin and roll my eyes, "Hopefully she doesn't make that a habit. I don't think my ego can take the beating."
His laughter fills the quiet stalls, and I'm suddenly reminded of the rumble of my own father's laugh. My heart tightens as I watch Mr. Mellark's features wrinkle with his laugh, the lines on his forehead becoming more defined like my father's used to, his chest raising beneath the old bib overalls he wears and the squinting of his eyes. His laughter has the same effect on me, and I'm put at ease again.
"That's why she married me, I suppose." He smiles, "I can usually decode the compliment inside the insult. And she is right: it's always been you for that boy. I'll never forget the first day he saw you at school. He came running into the kitchen, talking a mile a minute about the girl with the pigtails, the girl who sang at the top of her lungs during the start of school assembly. How pretty she was. How smart she was. How perfect she was."
My heart races as I simply stare at him. I knew Peeta had known about me before this summer, but I just assumed it was because we lived in a small town and I was a friend of one of his best friends and teammates. I had no idea he'd actually noticed me.
"Mind you the boy had only ever heard you sing," Mr. Mellark grins, "but as far as he was concerned, the world was created just for you."
"I — I had no idea," I state lamely.
"Neither did your mother." He looks down at the old rag in his hand that he's pulled from one of his pockets to whip the invisible dirt off. "But I suppose Peeta was always a bit more daring than his old man."
The confusion is written all over my face. What is he talking about? My mother? What did Mr. Mellark have to do with my mother? I know they were never an item; my mother would have certainly mentioned that. But does that mean Mr. Mellark had wished them to be? I want to ask, but before I can Mr. Mellark is looking back up at me and continuing with his thought.
"This is just a bump in the road, I know it." His confidence gives me a strange sense of comfort. "I knew you were it for Peeta a long time ago, but when I saw the way you looked at him this summer, I was convinced that he was it for you too. Whether you're ready for that or not is up to you, but wait don't until it's too late."
I finally find my voice and smile, "I don't plan to."
"Good."
That's all that's say before he turns to start to head of the stalls. I look away with a renewed outlook on my day, almost excited to get to tonight when I'll have some time to call him. The whole town of Dawson seems to be in on the mission of getting us back together, even calling in reinforcements from outsiders when Johanna came to town. And I'm grateful, even if stubbornly so, because sometimes I do need a push in the right direction.
I've only been turned around for what seems like the blink of an eye when I hear a thud up against one of the stalls behind me. I turn around quickly on instinct and see Mr. Mellark now on the ground, leaning against a stall door for support. He's only about fifteen feet from me, and I can tell he's clutching his chest and his eyes are squeezed shut. I drop my pitchfork and gloves and run the short distance toward him.
"Mr. Mellark, are you alright?" I'm panicked as I squat down next to him. He already has sweat collecting on his brow and his face is an uncomfortable shade of red. His breathing is coming out in ragged puffs and my own heart begins to race.
I glance around me and all I see are about a dozen horses watching us from their stalls. It's still earlier, and some of the work hasn't begun yet. I've left my own phone at home for the morning, and I soon realize we're going to need help. My panic continues as I stand up quickly and run toward the nearby door. Fortunately, I see Beetee strolling toward the hay barn not too far away.
"Beetee!" I cry, the panic causing me to nearly scream. His attention is instantly drawn toward me, and he starts in my direction. "Call 911! It's Mr. Mellark!"
Author's Note pt. 2: Never fear, I already have chapter 18 written..so I'll try not to keep you in suspense for too long. ;)