I've always loved summer in District 12. The cool, misty mornings that lead into hot, sultry days, the daylight that lasts long into the evenings.
Peeta and I have fallen into a comfortable routine together. We are up before the dawn, taking advantage of the cooler air before the sun fully rises. I hunt and he bakes, bringing breads and treats to the men and women working in town cleaning up and rebuilding our district. He says it's the least he can do, but I think he's amazing. Even after everything he's been through he's still the most selfless person I've ever met.
We work in the garden together most mornings too, weeding and watering and picking the foods that are ripe. Despite knowing almost nothing about gardening before he started, Peeta's little plot of land has produced an incredible crop. Greasy Sae has been teaching me how to preserve a lot of what we've grown, and with electricity getting more and more reliable we are putting vegetables in the freezer too, so we can enjoy them when the winter comes. It feels decadent putting away food for the winter, I always tried to when I was younger but it was hard when so often I was barely catching and gathering enough to meet my family's immediate needs. Having a freezer and pantry full of food makes me feel far richer than the money the Capitol still sends ever has.
We have lunch together every day too, and then in the heat of the afternoon we hide out in Peeta's house, out of the sun, lest we damage the delicate still-healing skin grafts we both have. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we nap, and sometimes we work on the memory book. It's been slow going, I knew it would be, but it's been even harder than I'd imagined. We started with the entries that were a little easier; Jackson, Castor, the Leegs, even some of the people from our first Games. People we missed, people whose deaths were heartbreaking but people who were unlikely to trigger a flashback for Peeta or a depressive episode for me.
Last Monday though we began a page for Peeta's eldest brother and less than an hour in Peeta was huddled in the corner, rocking and pulling his hair, trying desperately to fight off the shiny memories.
I put the book away after that. When Peeta feels up to working on it again he'll tell me.
Today he's painting in his sun-filled studio while I sort through another stack of mail from the weekly Capitol delivery train. I'm getting better at keeping on top of it, I'm less afraid of what I'll find inside the envelopes.
At the bottom of the pile is an envelope addressed to both Peeta and me, which makes me smile. Only Annie does that, she figured out a while ago that she was more likely to get a response if Peeta's name was on the letter too. He's far better than I am about writing back, but he always acts like we're writing together, even if he's just reading to me what he has written before sending it.
I slide my finger under the envelope's flap and pull out a letter with a small photograph tucked in the fold. A chubby-cheeked infant with a shock of dark hair stares back at me with his father's penetrating gaze.
Finnick Odair Jr. is pencilled on the back in Annie's graceful hand.
Tears fill my eyes. I knew, of course, that Annie was pregnant; she's mentioned it in her letters, kept us up to date on how she was faring. But Finnick never knew. My heart breaks for this fatherless child. I know what it's like growing up without a father. At least Annie has managed, mostly, to pull herself together, unlike my own mother. I feel a kinship with this tiny tot who I might never meet. 'Finnick would have been so happy,' I think. His time with Annie was so short, there was scarcely a month between his wedding and when the Star Squad shipped out, with Finnick never to return, but he was a completely different man in those weeks. At least he had that taste of real happiness. The pain of his loss rears in my heart, like a fist clenching.
I'm still sitting hunched over this tiny representation of all that remains of Finnick Odair when Peeta comes into the room, wiping his hands on a paint-stained rag. His face twists with concern as soon as he notices my expression, but I merely hand him the photograph wordlessly.
He doesn't make a sound as he examines the picture; it's so quiet in the house that I can hear Buttercup snuffling where he sleeps on the windowsill. But Peeta doesn't seem upset. His expression is one of shock, yes, but also of wonder. He cups the slip of paper in his hand so tenderly as he studies it; against my will an image of him gazing at a real baby that way leaps into my head. I can envision those large hands cradling the bald head of an infant as he smiles reverently. I'm shocked and a little frightened by just how compelling that mental picture is.
"He looks so much like Finnick," I murmur and Peeta nods, sitting down beside me and holding the picture so we can both look at it. I rest my head against his shoulder.
"He'll have Annie's hair I think," he notes, his finger ghosting over the picture. After a long pause he admits, "I'm so happy for her. Finnick is gone, but now she has a little piece of him to hold forever. A little piece of them, together. Of their love." His voice trails off in a whisper and my heart hurts. Before I can fall further down that line of thought Peeta stands and grabs my hand, pulling me up too.
"We have to show Haymitch," he says firmly. "He needs a little cheering up. He's been having a rough few days." I scowl; I haven't been to see Haymitch in a week at least but Peeta is over there nearly every day. He tries so hard to engage Haymitch, to bring him into the life that we're rebuilding, but Haymitch wants none of it. Oh he eats the food we prepare for him, and he picks up his deliveries once a week, or at least the weeks that they contain liquor, but otherwise he interacts with the district only minimally. We hired a young woman to help look after Haymitch's house and keep him from drowning in his own filth but she didn't work out. A nice young Seam man, Addam, is doing the job now and it seems to be working out better. I guess because Haymitch can't intimidate him. Much.
Haymitch's life now mostly consists of drinking too much and feeding his geese, which have long since grown to a harvestable size but which he shows no inclination to actually eat or sell. I guess I can't blame him for wanting to block out the rest of the world, we all have our demons, but it frustrates me endlessly. After all, it wasn't so long ago that he was lecturing me about moving on. I wish he'd follow his own advice.
Honestly, I don't know what to think about Haymitch most of the time. I know he chose to come back to 12 with me when I was released from the Capitol, no one forced him. He came back to take care of me, but since then he's mostly ignored my existence. It's not like I expect him to be a father figure to me and Peeta, not really, and even if I thought there was a possibility… well no one could ever replace my father in my heart. Not that Haymitch has ever tried. But he's one of the few grown-ups in my life, one of the few in the district really, apart from Sae. Even Thom, who is leading the reconstruction of the entire district for heaven's sake, is only 22. And there's Dalton, but it's hard to think of him as much older than we are.
But Haymitch is a drunk, and he's damaged in ways I can barely fathom, and mentoring kids who you know will be dead in days probably isn't the best training for acting fatherly. And yet there are times, just moments maybe, when I wonder if Haymitch himself wants to assume that role...
Then I remember who I'm thinking about. My scowl deepens and Peeta looks disappointed. I don't understand how he can be so forgiving of the man who abandoned him not once, but twice in an arena. I guess if Peeta can be compassionate I can at least be supportive. Of him. Not of Haymitch.
"Okay," I agree, and Peeta's face lights up. He's so easy to please. "We can make him some dinner while we're there," I suggest. "I bet he hasn't eaten since this morning." Peeta brings Haymitch baked goods virtually every morning, before he sets out to deliver food to the others in the community. He smiles and squeezes my hand in wordless agreement.
Peeta half drags me across the green; not because I'm reluctant to see Haymitch but because Peeta is just so anxious to share Annie's good news that I can scarcely keep up with him. It's sweet, really, how happy he is. He and Annie share a different bond, forged in their experiences in the Capitol dungeons and deepened by the support they give each other in healing. He's been very protective of her in the few interactions between them that I've overheard.
We walk into Haymitch's kitchen with no more than a perfunctory rap on the door to announce our arrival. Waiting for him to answer is senseless because he never answers the door, no matter how much someone pounds on it.
It's a bit shocking to see how clean everything is inside his house, even the floor. There are no liquor bottles or trash piled up, and no stench. Makes for a nice change.
The man himself wanders back from the front room looking reasonably sober, surprising for the time of day, and reasonably clean, surprising for any time of day. When he notices Peeta is holding my hand his eyebrows raise and he smirks at me in that infuriating way of his. I can feel the fire climbing up my neck and into my cheeks, and I snatch my hand away from Peeta's, embarrassed. Peeta glances at me, confused, but I turn on my heel and stomp into the pantry to check if there is anything to make supper with.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" I hear Haymitch drawl after a pause. I busy myself gathering ingredients and making a mental note of what he's low on. Haymitch generally doesn't order food from the Capitol, but between me and Peeta and Sae we make sure he doesn't starve to death. Thankfully he's not picky.
When I emerge a few minutes later with rice, garlic and oil I find the two men sitting at the table, heads bowed, the tiny picture between them. Haymitch glances up at me and his eyes shine with unshed tears. Annie didn't mentor much after winning her games, she was simply too damaged, but I imagine Haymitch saw enough of her when the victors were paraded around the Capitol to have developed a fondness for her. It's hard not to love Annie, she's so gentle and ethereal.
Peeta joins me at the stove and together we cook up rice and vegetables, enough for all three of us to share. I'm tense the entire time, feeling Haymitch's eyes on my back, but none of us talk.
It's only after we've eaten and Peeta and I are washing the dishes that Haymitch finally speaks up.
"You need to put that picture someplace safe, like in that book of yours." I turn to him, shocked, but Peeta smiles broadly, excitement in his eyes.
"That's a great idea Haymitch, we can do that now. I'll grab the book from my house and bring it here." Peeta is out the door before I can even process what's happened. Haymitch chuckles.
"Damned boy has been trying to get me to look at your book for a month."
I snicker, Peeta's enthusiasm for running home to get the book right away makes sense now. Best to strike while there's any possibility of it actually happening, Haymitch's moods change on a dime. "I hadn't realized he'd told you about it," I admit as I put the last of the dishes away. "But if there's someone you want to add..." I trail off. Haymitch just shrugs and pours another drink from the bottle on the table. That he's using a glass is a good sign at least.
Peeta returns with the book and the small wooden box he keeps his pencils and inks in. He's flushed and smiling, but I can see the apprehension in his eyes. We haven't touched the book in nearly a week. He sets everything up on Haymitch's table and I subtly shift my chair to sit beside Peeta instead of across from him.
Haymitch reads through the pages we've already completed and the gruff, disinterested facade disappears. By the time he reaches the page we've made for Wiress he's shaking.
He shoves the book roughly in front of me and reaches for his liquor bottle. I figure this is when he'll throw us out and drink himself into a stupor to escape but instead he takes a long pull from the bottle, drops his head into his hands and barks "Maysilee Donner." Peeta gasps beside me but I grab a piece of scrap paper and a pencil.
Over the next two hours Haymitch tells us everything he remembers about the tributes from his games, as well as tributes from the first few years of his mentoring. For being so drunk and damaged his memory is remarkable. My free hand is tightly clutching Peeta's, Haymitch's opinion of that be damned.
When Haymitch falls silent I close the book. I know there are more additions to be made but my hand is cramping and we are all mentally exhausted. Haymitch leaves his kitchen without sparing us a word; I can hear his footfalls on the stairs.
I want nothing more than to run home and climb into bed, I know the nightmares will come tonight. Peeta is sitting so stiffly, working so hard to keep it together, I'm not sure he's even capable of making the walk yet. So instead I stand and wrap my arms around him where he sits, cradling his head against my chest like I do when he has a flashback. He sighs as I rock us just slightly, nuzzling the curls at the crown of his head.
After awhile he tilts his head up to lock eyes with me and I press my forehead to his, cupping his cheek as I do. It just feels right to lean in and kiss him, so I do. I can't honestly tell which of of us sighs as our lips meet, maybe we both do. Peeta's hands slide up to cradle my head, tilting it just enough to more fully claim my lips. My pulse is pounding in my ears as I wrap my fingers around his.
"Take that shit out of here, do that at your own place!" We both jump as Haymitch barks at us from the entryway. I hadn't heard him come back. I'm sure my face is scarlet and I want to crawl into a hole. I open my mouth to say something scathing back to him but Peeta beats me to it, leaping to his feet and banging his hands roughly on the table as he leans across it.
"Shut up, Haymitch! Don't you dare talk to us that way, and don't you dare try to make us feel bad for moving forward and living." My jaw drops. In all of our time back in District 12, I've never heard him be anything less than completely gentle with Haymitch.
Haymitch stands silently for a beat or two, then he starts to laugh. "Finally grew a pair, did you boy? About time." He grabs the liquor bottle he'd left on the table and leaves again, laughing the whole way.
Peeta is staring after him, jaw tensed in a way that makes me irrationally want to run my tongue over it, but I can sense his discomfort so instead I reach for his hand. "Come on, Peeta. Let's go home."