I go inside of the bakery and wrap up the usual loaf to take to Mr. Abernathy's house. He's the only victor of the Hunger Games to come from district 12. Or at least, the only living victor. Grandpa told us that when he first won, he would come into the bakery every week to buy a loaf, but after his victory tour, he suddenly stopped coming into town at all. He stayed in his house all day, and the only time anyone spotted him was if he was buying liquor at the Hob. He started to become known as the town drunk, but Grandpa said that his family died and that's why he acted the way he did, because he must be lonely. So Grandpa made sure that a loaf of bread was still delivered to his house every week, just so he would know that he wasn't forgotten and when Grandpa handed the bakery over to dad, he continued the gesture. At first, Grandpa refused to take Mr. Abernathy's money, saying that he wanted to do it, but eventually, he convinced him to at least take some. A delivery fee, he called it. It was obvious where dad got his kindness from.
As I got older, dad would let me be the one to take the bread to his house. It was kind of scary the first time, with the Victor's Village being so isolated from the rest of the district. I actually thought Mr. Abernathy's house was haunted, with his overgrown yard and the weird stench coming from inside when he would open the door. He was often drunk, swaying in the doorway as he opened it, if he answered. Sometimes he wouldn't and I would leave the loaf on his front step.
The walk to the Victor's Village doesn't take too long, passing the main square and the other shops in town, before circling around the merchant houses. I see some of the kids from school and some wave while others glare, probably because their parents told them that I was part seam and therefore we shouldn't mix. It was stupid and I think they knew it too, but they were too scared to say otherwise. It was obvious that I didn't fit, with my dark seam hair and blue merchant eyes, but dad always told me I was a product of love and that was the most important thing.
There are less and less people around the closer I get to the Victor's Village and I pass the pillars that mark the entrance, turning to the first house on the left and climbing the steps to the front door. The only sounds right now are the quiet honking of his pet geese in the backyard. He mentioned it once when Dani asked him what his favorite animal was. I ring the doorbell and wait. At first, I don't hear anything and I think that he's passed out on his couch, but a few seconds later there's a shuffling sound and bottles hitting the ground. The door swings open, and there he is, Haymitch Abernathy, although he looks a little more sober than normal. He's in his 60s but he seems younger than he is, which is odd for the amount he drinks.
Everyone always dismisses Mr. Abernathy as being completely out of it, but I've always been interested in the way his drunkenness does nothing to hide the pain that never seems to leave his eyes. The only time he seems to light up is when I bring Dani with me when we make our delivery, although my little sister just has that effect on people, and that's how I know that he's actually a good person. A good person who's been through hell and survived.
He squints, as if trying to figure out who's at the door before blinking a few times. "Sweetheart," he nods.
"Mr. Abernathy," I nod back and I think I see his mouth twitch in amusement.
"Where's the little one?" He asks. I smile at his obvious fondness for Dani. While people around town tolerate me, they love her, even if she is half-seam.
"She's at home today. It's going to be her first year and the Quarter Quell announcement scared her," I explain.
He tips his head up in understanding. "It seems to get more cruel every year. The worst part about the games is the spectacle."
"And the whole killing children thing, right?" I ask, confused why that's what he chose to go with.
"Sure, sure," he waves me off. "Bread?" He holds his hands out.
I shake my head, carefully handing him the wrapped loaf and placing another small package on top of that. "That's a cookie. Dani made me promise to give you one if I came here without her to let you know she hasn't forgotten about you," I roll my eyes at my sister's antics. "She made Dad frost a dandelion on it."
He pulls the cookie out of the package and stares at the small yellow flower in the middle. He's silent for so long I think he might have blacked out for a moment.
"That kid sure is something, huh. Why can't you be that likable?" He raises a brow at me.
I scowl, a perfect replica of my mother's. "Maybe I am, just not to rude drunks," I snap. Mom would have my head if she heard me talk to Mr. Abernathy like that, but I've been delivering to him long enough that we both know we can take it.
"Touche, sweetheart. Touche."
Mr. Abernathy reaches into his pocket for a handful of coins and grabs my hand, dumping them into my palm. "There's a little extra in there. Maybe get the little one something from the Hob. They should still be open."
Usually I refuse any extra money he tries to give us. I don't want to be a charity case, especially not when there's much more deserving kids in town. But if I have any weak spot, it's Dani. So instead of arguing with him, I smile, always happy to have a little extra to get something for my little sister. While our family was lucky enough to have never needed for anything, the district is still one of the poorer districts so all of the families, except the most rich, are always wanting for something. If there's one thing Mr. Abernathy and I can agree on, it's our mutual love for Dani.
"Thanks, Mr. Abernathy," I finally give him a real smile, and I think it catches him off guard. "Any suggestions?"
He snorts. "Do I look like a ten year old girl?" I don't correct him on her age.
Instead, I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. "Maybe on a good day."
He chuckles, low and hoarse, like his voice isn't used to doing so. "Get out of here, sweetheart."
Neither of us say goodbye but he watches me from his doorway until I'm completely out of his view.