Chapter 37
Oil on troubled waters
A warm summer breeze brushed through the apple garden. The grass rippled like waves in the sea, shimmering in shades of green. The rabbit stood alert, nose twitching as it sniffed the air.
Its mate followed close behind, ears and eyes attuned to any sound or movement. Their chestnut-brown fur was sleek and shiny, the sunlight reflecting off of it in a warm glow.
"Do you see that?" Effie whispered and nuzzled Ian's strawberry hair that peeked from under the sun hat, breathing in that sweet baby smell. His pacifier bobbed up and down as he leaned forward, trying to get a better look at them.
Amy, sitting on her other arm, pointed her little index finger and looked to her mother for confirmation. "Yes, the bunnies," Effie smiled. "Let's be real quiet now so we don't scare them."
Rabbits were a common sight in these parts. Well-fed and prospering they roamed the buffet that was District 11. At least here they found no traps or dried sulfur sprinkled on the plants. June said they were such frequent guests now they were practically family.
Effie dropped a kiss to Amy's cheek.
"They have a name," she said. "Do you know what they're called? Cottontail. Cottontail."
"Hey."
She turned her head at the sound. In a wash of sunlight, haggard and squinting in a hopelessly wrinkled shirt, stood Haymitch. He'd slowed to a stop several feet away, duffel bag over one shoulder.
Like a stranger in their presence, unsure whether he was welcome or not. Worn out, yes. Exhausted? Without a doubt. But not a drink in him. She could tell just from his eyes. When he wouldn't smile, Effie did it for the both of them.
"That's dada," she told the twins. "Want to say hi to dada?"
"My God," Haymitch said when they joined him. He looked from Amy to Ian and back. "They've grown." His voice was heavy with loss, heavy with regret.
Effie gave a little shrug.
"They have far to go yet."
Both children watched Haymitch, quiet and marble-eyed. The saddest of smiles curved his lips.
"Hey, little uns," he murmured and reached a hand out. "I really missed …"
With a whimper the twins recoiled, burrowing into their mother. Haymitch's hand froze mid-air. Dropped to his side. She hadn't seen such raw pain in his eyes since the day he told her about Katniss and Peeta in the burn unit.
"They don't know me no more."
She held the children close in her arms. Felt the tension within their small frames, like a knot tied tightly just underneath their skin. She rocked them softly from side to side.
"It's OK," she told them. "It's OK. It's just your daddy with a beard. They know you, Haymitch", she said. "Small children don't like change that's all and it's been a while since you last saw each other. But don't worry. You're quite unforgettable." He shot her a look, unconvinced, and she dropped the playful banter. "Come. Let's have a glass of watermelon lemonade. It's homemade."
Together they headed for the picnic blanket, spread out in the shade. Mockingjays were going to town on the left-over crackers she had yet to clean up. They all took wing when the humans approached.
Not far though. Just like the rabbits they'd always be nearby. One landed on the canopy of the double stroller, two retreated to the old bird bath and a whole score of them found refuge on top of the sunshine yellow house.
"That's Annabel's", Effie smiled when she saw him looking at the trumpet, glowing on the garden table. "She plays them sad trumpet sounds and 'Baby Elephant Walk.' They laugh so hard at that."
"Where's she now?"
"By the lake. Out for a swim."
She settled the twins on the blanket. Ian immediately plucked a wooden block with the letter "S" on it. The space was littered with them along with picture books, packets of rice rusks, a half-eaten banana and abandoned sippy cups.
"What happened to the tidy, well-organized Effs Trinket?"
The words made her chuckle.
"You try and be tidy and well-organized with two one year olds to look after." She joined the twins on the blanket. "Just leave it," she said with a wave of her hand when he picked some of the books up, stacking them on the garden table. "Join us."
Ian was too busy with the blocks but Amy watched Haymitch's every move under the brim of her sun hat with that scowl on her face that made her look so much like him. When he crossed his legs, bag by his side, and it was a fact he'd be staying the girl threw herself against her mother lap, hiding her face with pitiful whimpers.
"Oh, baby," Effie said and caressed her back. "It's alright. Come, sit with me." With a little hug, she settled a very flushed Amy on her lap. The girl's eyes were dangerously shiny. She glowered at the unwanted company with her lips pointing downward. "Why don't you try and read to them?" Effie suggested. "They'll recognize your voice."
Haymitch nodded, grief still etched into every line of his face. A look all too familiar to her. The bear book lay open on the blanket, pages down, but he didn't touch it. Instead he reached inside the duffel bag.
Effie smiled at the sight of the hardcover.
That's a beauty.
A collection of folktales by the look of it. Fully bounded in genuine leather with deeply inlaid gold accents. Gilded edges on the pages. Father would have called it a collectible. The kind of book that came with its own clothbound slipcase and would last you generations.
She couldn't recall ever seeing it before. She would have remembered. Precious few beauties in Haymitch Abernathy's life. Maybe it belonged to his parents. A family heirloom?
He opened it against his lap. Turned a few pages with great care, eyes impossible to read.
"'The North Wi …'" His voice caught at the end. He cleared his throat and when he continued, the words were steady. "'The North Wind and the Sun.'"
Music was Haymitch's forte but he'd read quite a few bedtime stories as well during their children's young life. It was yet another one of his unexpected gifts. One of many.
Maybe they read a lot in his family. She could just picture them, by the fire. Or when he met up with his girl – maybe they read to each other?
Ever since the birth of their children she'd gotten even more curious about Haymitch's past life. The life she was no part of. To this day, she knew next to nothing. Didn't want to pry. Never even saw their faces on television. The final eight interviews didn't become a thing until the year after Haymitch's Games.
What were they like? Amy and Ian's grandparents and uncle. She'd really like to know. No, she really liked for the children to know. So much of their family history, so much of what made them who they were, was shrouded in darkness, silence, secrecy.
Ian sat with one block in each hand. His eyes were on Haymitch with an attentiveness unusual for both him and his sister. Soon, the little boy abandoned the game and made his way across the blanket. Slowly but single-mindedly, one sock half-off.
Climbing was harder. His tiny fingers gripped at his father's knees, face contorted with intense concentration. Putting the book aside Haymitch extended a helping hand and lifted his son up the final inches onto his lap.
Nestled safely in his father's embrace, Ian took the pacifier out of his own mouth and held it out to him. The ghost of a smile curved Haymitch's lips. So brief it would've been lost on anyone but not Effie.
"No, you hold on to that, sweetheart," he said and put the pacifier back in his son's mouth. "Now, where were we?" And he reopened the book against both their laps.
Seeing her brother all comfy and relaxed, snuggled up against Haymitch, it didn't take long for Amy to leave her mother's safe embrace. Haymitch made room for her on his other knee, keeping one arm around each of them.
Lips pursed, so much like her mother, his little girl looked him dead in the eye. Gray meeting gray. An intimidating stare so beyond her years. Or year, really. Her hand came up, fingers sprawled out, exploring the odd new beard. Then, before he knew it, she gave it a forceful yank.
"Ow!"
Effie burst out laughing. Haymitch nodded.
"I deserved that." Gentle-handed he untangled his daughter's fingers from his beard and dropped a kiss to her knuckles, like the princess she was.
"So," Effie said, an hour later when the children napped in their stroller. She handed him a glass of watermelon lemonade, as promised. "How was the ride over with June?"
"Wonderful." He took a sip of the orange-red drink and, after a brief second, emptied almost half of it. "The silence was so thick I could cut it with my knife and make a brick wall. Something to hide behind."
Effie smiled.
"Maybe you can make it up to them by chopping some wood for the winter? That bores the two of them to tears."
"Thanks for the advice."
The last of the lemonade went down in just a couple of gulps. Lost in thought, his eyes roamed over the landscape. The clear blue sky, the swaying apple trees that flanked the house, branches heavy with fruit showing the first blush of color, the meadows and fields beyond all the way down to the lake, stretching out for miles and miles. The vastness of water glittered like jewels on a bed of emerald green.
"Place is gorgeous," he mumbled. "Like something straight out of my Games."
"Except it isn't," said Effie softly.
"No. It isn't."
Without a word, she scooted across the blanket. So close by his side she could see the flakes of dry suds, lingering on his throat. The whites of his eyes were but a web of red blood vessels. His face pale, despite weeks and weeks of brilliant sunshine.
She rested her hand on top of his against his knee. Felt the jitters and small jerks under her palm, like a frightened house mouse. When he didn't pull away, she intertwined their fingers together. Like so many times before.
"I'm glad you're here," she said. "And I'm so sorry about your geese. I really am."
Haymitch nodded.
"Yeah. Me too."
xXx
Oh, man!
Haymitch jammed the axe in the chopping block with finality. Wincing, he gazed at his palms. Groaned at the sight of blisters.
"Bloody hell …"
He closed his hands and opened them, painstakingly slow. Reckoned a good and tight fist would be enough to make them burst like overripe tomatoes.
When'd I become such a weakling?
There'd been a time when he could swing that axe without even breaking a sweat. He was an idiot for being surprised. What did he expect? He hadn't done any manual labor in how many years? You didn't get calluses from drinking.
His shoulders ached too. All hot and tingly. He'd have a killer sunburn before the day was out. Should've kept that shirt on. Fuck! He retrieved it from the nearby branch and limped in the direction of the house.
"OK," he said when he poked his head in the kitchen. Amy and Ian hardly even looked up from the rug rag. News got old fast, even in baby world. "There's wood in the shed now to last you til rapture."
"Great." Finishing the last sentence, Annabel looked up from her letter. Her eyebrows shot to her forehead at the sight of him. "My stars," she chuckled as her eyes traveled from his flushed face, his dark blonde hair clinging to him with sweat to those broad shoulders and dripping chest all the way down his weathered old pants and the fossils he called shoes. "You look like something out of a Harriet Hopeshaw novel. Too bad I don't have a single straight bone in my body."
"Thanks." He wiped his face with the shirt. "Want me to take 'em?" He nodded to the twins. "Give you some peace and quiet in here?"
"No. It's OK. They're no trouble."
"Not yet anyway." He rubbed his nose. "Any news from the post office?"
"Afraid not."
"Where's Eff?"
"In her room. Trying out some dresses for tomorrow."
The stairs creaked almost as badly as they did back home. Beads of sweat rolled down his back like rain. No wonder Annabel loved swimming. No other way to keep cool around here. He thought Twelve was bad. Eleven was ten times worse!
A chink of light shone from under Effie's door. He reached the top, hand soon on the handle, when he hesitated. Frowning he rested his ear against the smooth wood. A smile crept onto his face.
Holy shit.
That woman never failed to chide him for his language, especially since the arrival of their children, but hell, the words the prim and proper Ms. Trinket kept in her vocabulary for moments such as this they could kill a man!
Course, she wouldn't be caught dead swearing out loud. Not even when alone. Her calling Mrs. Bitch a cunt was as awesome as it was rare.
But obscenities muttered under one's breath – those were fair game. Those didn't count. If he said "Language!" to her for a change she'd only gaze at him with those innocent looking eyes like, "What? I didn't say anything."
"Eff?" He gave the door a soft knock. "You OK in there? Sweetheart?"
"Yes!" She huffed out the word. "Do come in!"
He pushed inside.
Effie stood in front of the full-length mirror. Barelegged, barefoot, hair falling in sandy waves down her shoulders. Her eyes shot daggers but not at him. They were squarely focused on her own reflection, her own outfit.
He tossed the soggy shirt on the foot of the bed.
For a dedicated boozer he had a surprisingly keen memory when it came to Effie's dresses. Bizarre as they were it was hard not to.
There was her pink bath sponge dress, the purple poppy flower dress, her orange one with the butterflies and that ridiculous red get-up made from like a hundred paper fans.
This one was white. Strapless. Emblazoned with a vibrant pattern of strawberries and green leaves. And just like the other ones, he could've sworn he'd seen it somewhere before.
Then it clicked.
The "hot damn" dress! Yeah, that's right. She wore it to Octavia's birthday party when the She-Devil Gloria showed up.
Course, back then the outfit hugged her perfectly. Now on the other hand …
"What?" she said, hands on her hips.
"Nothing." He bit his lip. "It's just … ain't it a little tight 'round the ladies, sweetheart?" His eyes dropped to the zipper. It didn't even reach halfway up her back.
Effie snorted.
"It's supposed to be tight." She tugged at the flowing skirt, examining herself from every angle. "And I love this dress. I'm wearing it."
"Fine. You're the boss, princess. I hear breathing's out of style anyway."
"Haha. Now zip me up."
"'Zip me up, please'. Where are your manners, Eff?"
But he grasped the zipper, just to humor her, and gave it a tug. Didn't budge an inch, just like he knew it wouldn't.
"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart." He let go. "You're too big."
"I am not! Don't be rude!"
"OK, you're not too big. The dress is too small."
"It can't be! Look, sometimes the zipper snags on the fabric. Just make sure it doesn't. Problem solved."
"I don't think …"
"Just do it!"
He heaved a sigh and grabbed hold of the zipper.
"And pull!"
"I am."
"Well it's not working, is it?"
"How's that my fault?"
"It's not rocket science. You've done this a dozen times before. At least a dozen!"
"Well, don't piss and moan when I bleed all over your dress," he said and with one hand on her shoulder he pulled, pulled, pulled!
"Come on!" Effie exclaimed. "Put some District 12 muscle into this!"
"Bloody … fucking … hell!"
And it snapped. Snapped so fast and unexpected the zipper flew from his hand, clinked against the ceiling lamp and landed on the carpet.
Effie threw her hands out.
"Unbelievable! It fit two years ago." She glared at Haymitch through the mirror. "And it's all your fault! You just had to get me pregnant, didn't you? Now, what will I wear?"
"How about your birthday suit?" Haymitch said, sucking on his throbbing fingertips. "That's your most striking look."
Effie frowned.
"Birthday suit? I don't own any particular birthday clothes." Her eyes went back to her reflection, one hand against her tummy. "I cannot believe I am still holding on to all that baby weight."
Haymitch rolled his eyes.
"Watcha mean 'all that'? Ever got a load of this?" He clapped his own exposed belly. "So you're not bony anymore. Big deal!"
"I was never bony!" Effie protested. "Slender, maybe."
"Well, either way, you've got nothing to worry about so stop bitching about it, why don't ya?"
"I bitch if I want to, mind you. And it's easy for you to be all mighty and confident when you look like that."
"Like what, sweetheart? Foul? Repulsive? Offensive to the senses?"
"Naturally good-looking."
He burst out laughing.
"Well, princess, you're the only one who thinks so."
"I am not. You're quite handsome … when you're sober. You're just too stupid to see it."
Grinning he rested his hands on her hips, chin against the top of her head. Without her killer heels on she really was quite petite. Effie taught him that word. The last time he called her "short" she didn't sleep with him for a good three hours.
"Seriously, Eff. Cut yourself some slack, OK? You gave birth a year ago for fuck's sake and who cares what you look like, anyway? It's what's inside the bottle that counts. And if anyone's ready for the trash bin it's me, not you."
"Stop!" The word burst from Effie's lips. "That's absurd! And cruel!"
"Well, Eff …"
"Don't 'well, Eff' me, you big old brute! If Gloria said that to me I'd just … so don't you do it! And by the way! While we're on the subject: That kind of thinking reflects badly on both of us. Not just you! It insinuates I have a bad taste which I do not! I know a good thing when I see it and if you keep saying you're just some piece of garbage I will wring your neck! No!" she snapped when he opened his mouth. "No."
Haymitch smiled. He wouldn't fight her on this one. Knew he couldn't win. He gave her hips a soft caress. Odd he never noticed the changes in her body post-birth. At least not the way he did when she was still pregnant. She wasn't fat by any means just … softer.
He moved his sore palm across her side until it rested flat against her tummy. Seemed only a heartbeat ago that two babies had been in there. Amy and Ian, dreaming their dreams. Unaware of the world.
Effie looked gorgeous no matter her size but it was something about her now that sent tingles down his body. For all the old reasons, yeah but there was something else there too that felt brand new to him. Those extra curves. They were there because she got pregnant. Because she was pregnant. With his children.
Effie watched through the mirror. A rosy shade colored her cheeks.
"Taking a walk down memory lane?"
"Mm," he nodded. "You were so beautiful."
Effie tsked.
"Thank you."
"The last time we had sex, I mean."
"I was huge."
"Yeah. That too."
He dropped a kiss to her hair. Didn't really think about it. Didn't think it through. He waited for the "stop", the "no". The slightest stir of her body and he would pull away.
It didn't come. He kissed her again, a different spot, and her eyes fluttered close. The room was so quiet he heard each and every one of her soft breaths. Felt them against himself when his arms encircled her, hugging her from behind.
"I don't get it," he murmured. "I really don't."
"What?" The word was hardly more than a whisper.
"Why you slept with me all those times." His bare chest pressed into her back. He was growing harder, fuller by the second. He couldn't help it. "It makes no sense at all. You and me."
"Don't start that again. I hate false modesty."
"'cept I'm not, sweetheart. You're this … drop-dead gorgeous … one in a million beauty and I'm just …"
Before he could finish the sentence, Effie turned in the cocoon of his embrace. He got but a glimpse of the fury in her blue eyes – like she'd really wring his neck – before her lips were fully on his.
Author's Note: OK, this note got long-long and I best put a TRIGGER WARNING on it for mentions of mental illness and such.
I'm a little scared to write this - afraid I'll tick some readers off by being too personal or over sharing - but yeah, here goes. You can just skip past it if you want to.
There's been a flurry of activity surrounding ToS lately - a response that has been absolutely amazing - and I want to thank you for it!
I've done that before. Tried to express my immense gratitude many many times and each time I think it feels meh and flat because when I write back to you guys - in the notes or personally - my inner censor goes: "No, you cannot say 'OMFG, thank you SO much! I LOVE you!' Let them at least hold on to the hope that you're semi-normal."
But either way, that's exactly what it's like. I get so freakin' happy, you don't even know! And I've learnt - especially since last May - to never take anything for granted so I treasure every single like, every single reblog, follow, favorite, kudos, bookmark, comment so so dear to my heart.
As those of you know if you read these Author's Notes: I had a mental breakdown in the Spring last year. I'm not gonna go into a lot of details but it was bad. Really bad and it included a month long stay in a psychiatric care unit, oh yes. Maybe one day I'll be ready to tell you the whole story but not today I think. Unless me telling can help someone else, if that's the case then my inbox is always open.
May-October was an excruciating 6 months walk through misery before my family, my doctors and I all together managed to perform the Expecto Patronum charm and send my Dementors flying the fucking hell out of here.
Life got a 100 % better one tiny step at a time and back in November I was writing again. I am in tears just remembering because I love writing more than anything in the world, it's my one true joy, and when I'm ill, I can't. I just can't.
In December 2022 I published the first chapter post-breakdown and I didn't really expect anyone to care, thinking most of you had probably abandoned the story long ago in the 8 months of complete silence with no explanation.
But instead, it slowly but surely went and became the most popular ToS chapter to date! You were AMAZINGLY sweet in the comments and showed your support in so many ways and it was like getting an ice cold drink on a sweltering hot day.
It really soothed my fried, patched up, still recovering mind that you still CARED for this story that I've poured my heart into and is so near and dear to me and it helped me to keep going, keep writing and sharing ToS with you.
If the chapter back in December had been met with complete silence at that stage in my life I would have had to take an even longer break from it cause posting stuff online stresses the hell out of me even at the best of times.
But because of your steadfast support I managed to post 1 or more chapters each month between December-March which is CRAZY fast for me!
And, since I believe in inclusion, let me just add here that if you're one of those who don't wanna make yourself known when reading something (whether because you're too shy or don't feel like you have anything to contribute or simply don't have the time or energy to engage) and instead flies silently like a butterfly from chapter to chapter: I'm grateful for you too. I am.
If you're reading this Author's Note right now and you enjoy ToS in the peacefulness of your own quietude and in not having to be visible: I'm really glad that you're here and I hope you will enjoy all of the rest of the chapters too!
All of you help me keep going and now - in the middle of The Hunger Games Renaissance when we're all eagerly awaiting the new movie - it is SUCH a joy to see the awakened interest both in my story and in the fandom(s) as a whole.
Whether you're just starting out on your THG journey or are an oldie like me: Your passionate love for Suzanne Collins's universe, its characters and for ToS is a thrill to watch and it breathes life and joy into my tender, worrisome hayffie heart, again and again. It's such a gift and I'm so grateful to see it!
All in all, it's made me feel like I didn't really lose anything getting sick - not in my personal life, not in my work life and not in my writing. Instead I came out stronger and more balanced, on the other side.
I lost some time, yes but I have plenty of time left and someday I will infuse that painful experience, the learnt knowledge and those felt feelings into my writing somehow. Cause that's what I've always done. Tried to take my loss and pain and struggle and use it for good, in life and in my writing.
ToS is about hope, first and foremost. The dandelion in the spring. When I struggled or felt really low and downhearted but still well enough to be able to take anything in I often went back to that speech Sam does in "The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers":
"Sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened. But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer."
And that's the words I try to live by and believe in. That's why I want to spend the rest of my life writing stories about hope and acceptance and peace of mind. I do believe in the healing power words can have and it's something I hope that I give or will be able to give to my readers one day. Hope and the simple, heart-felt joy of reading something you love. If I can make even one reader feel better then I'm happy and content.
Lastly, I just want to add that you don't have to worry about me. I feel much much better, my life is back on track, I would never, not ever try and end things, I have a super strong safety net now with lots of IRL Katnisses and Peetas and Finnicks and Mags and Greasy Saes and Hazelles and (sober) Haymitchs and Effies and of course my very own Dr. Aurelius - only mine is a lady and she doesn't fall asleep in her chair.
All my love to you, take care of yourselves out there and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Author's note 2: This chapter took on a life of its own. 6000 words in I simply had to cut it in two since long chapters break my back! So, chapter 38 is pretty much finished (just another round or two of editing needed) and should be up before the end of May.
Also, as some of you "Eat, Pray, Love" fans probably noticed: Yeah, I totally stole "Put some District 12/Swedish muscle into this" from the awesome Elizabeth Gilbert movie. I just couldn't resist!
