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When Plutarch first recruited Effie to be the new District Twelve escort, she read the entire escort handbook cover to cover. Twice. Just in case. There were sections she knew she wouldn’t need right away, or ever, but she read them anyway. Instructions on how to handle a bidding war over sponsor gifts (not likely to be a problem for 12) and how to rotate through the pool of potential mentors (even less of a problem).
She also read through the instructions for bringing a victor home, although Effie knew she wouldn’t need them for a while. It was a minor miracle that Haymitch had won, and in a Quarter Quell no less. She knew it was extremely unlikely that Twelve would have two victors back to back, but certainly they would have another eventually. All in due time.
This one, Effie would tell herself during those first few train rides, might be the next victor of District Twelve. The tribute I get to bring home.
Eventually she stopped telling herself that. More than that. The notion ground itself down to ash and blew away. There would be no third victor from District Twelve. There would be no bringing one of these children back alive.
So imagine her surprise when Effie found herself on the train to District Twelve with not one victor, but two.
Effie sat in the dining car starting at the handbook on her tablet. Staring at, but not really reading. She could barely make out the type through the mist in her eyes. Her finger trembled slightly as she scrolled down to the section she hadn’t bothered to read in twenty years. The one that read SECTION 7: VICTORS.
Both of them.
Both of them were going home.
She was so distracted that she barely saw Haymitch plonk down in the chair across from her with a fresh drink in his hand. He’d seemed squirrelly since Katniss and Peeta’s victory interview, though she didn’t know why. He had to be as happy as she was. That facade of apathy only ran so deep.
“Never thought I’d be seeing you here,” he said, nodding towards the front of the train as it sped eastward. “Heading back.”
Effie tucked her ankles and flattened a non-existent wrinkle in her dress so she didn’t sound choked up when she said, “Believe me, neither did I. I’d given up on this a long time ago.”
Escorts only returned to their district after the Games if they had a victor to accompany. Every year before this, she’d watched two Avoxes haul a barely-conscious Haymitch onto the train and sent him home alone. Well, alone with the two pine coffins in the luggage car.
This year there were no coffins, and Effie still couldn’t quite believe it.
“You did an amazing job you know,” she said.
“I don’t know about that.”
“You made history.”
“Trust me, that’s not always a good thing.”
“All the same.”
Apparently this was enough to drink to, because Haymitch raised his glass towards her and echoed back, “All the same.”
With clearer eyes, Effie returned to the escorts handbook and she stopped at the sub-section ACCOMPLISHMENTS.
“You didn’t have one, did you?” she asked Haymitch. “An accomplishment?”
He shook he head. “That wasn’t cooked up until after my time. But believe me, I’m sure there are some people who would have loved to see me try to…fucking, I don’t know, knit or some shit.”
Effie laughed. “I’m sure we could have come up with something better than that.”
“Oh yeah? What would you have made me do?”
She thought about it, but she didn’t have to think long. “Violin. Elegant. Portable. Intellectual. It would have been a good contrast to your image.”
Haymitch had his lips pursed like he was about to say a great deal and trying not to. Or that he had a mouth full of pine needles. Maybe both. Instead he simply said, “That wouldn’t have worked out.”
“Music has a way of expressing things that can’t be spoken of,” she said as gently as she could. “It might have helped.”
“Is that what you have in mind for Peeta?” Haymitch said. He was changing the subject but she decided to let him.
“Not exactly, but along those lines. It’s Katniss I’m worried about. Do you have any ideas for her?”
“Me? I thought this was your department.”
“It is, but you know her better than I do.”
“I’ve known her exactly as long as you have.”
“You understand her. You know what I mean.”
Haymitch shrugged. “She likes to hunt.”
“Which is illegal.”
“She likes the woods.”
“Illegal.”
“She likes to be alone.”
“I can’t sell exactly sell that to the Capitol. We’ll think of something.”
“We’d better.”
Effie quirked an eyebrow. There was something in his tone she didn’t like.
“Katniss deserves an activity that will make her happy is all I mean,” he said carefully. After this many years together she recognized when Haymitch was speaking to the microphones more than to her.
“Of course,” she played along. “I’m sure we will.”
The train arrived in the morning. Effie had only ever seen the District Twelve station desolate, but they arrived to a crowd larger than the single little platform could hold. The mood was more restrained than the raucous masses in the Capitol. Even from the windows Effie could see the people holding their breath—a still, waiting mass of coal-stained ghosts.
“Come, come, come,” she urged the children, doing a final check of their homecoming outfits before the doors opened. Cinna and Portia had made sure that they looked recognizably Twelve, while still remaining polished for the Capitol audience. They looked exquisite, as always.
Haymitch, on the other hand, looked ill. His skin was so pallid she was considering calling for a medic. Effie barely got her wrist to his forehead before he pushed her away. “I’m not sick. I’m just—”
He didn’t supply a word and Effie wouldn’t make him. Distraught. Panicked. Reliving one of the worst days of his life. While Katniss and Peeta were focused on the door, Effie took Haymitch’s hand. “It won’t be like before,” she whispered. “We made sure of that.”
The Everdeens and the Mellarks had undergone multiple interviews, as was the custom once tributes made it to the final eight. Haymitch had stressed, in his own crude way, that the Everdeens especially needed to become Capitol darlings, and Effie had made it happen. They were too well-known and loved by the audience to fall victim to any unfortunate accidents. At least, that was the hope.
Haymitch answered with a quick squeeze of her hand, then dropped it and wiped his clammy palm on his trousers. Effie fought the urge to do the same.
The doors opened and Effie got in a bright, “Hands together, smiles on!” before a voice announced over an unseen speaker system, “Your victors, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!” Effie queued them out, then Haymitch. She followed behind.
Katniss collapsed into the arms of her mother and sister. Peeta’s father could barely restrain his tears. His older brothers patted his back and tousled his hair. His mother, Effie noticed, stood stiffly in the back of the group and offered a wooden hug. Hopefully the cameras were getting the happier elements of the reunion. Grief did strange things to people, but Effie would have to speak to Mrs. Mellark about her stage presence.
Effie hung a few polite feet back, supervising. Haymitch did the same to Katniss. Normally the escort’s duties would conclude here. It was up to the mentor to accompany the new victor to their house in the Victor’s Village. However, there was no provision in the handbook for dual victors, for obvious reasons. So Effie and Haymitch had agreed that she would travel with Peeta while Haymitch went with Katniss.
People pressed in to welcome the children home. When Haymitch was finally able to find space to move Katniss’s family toward the door, Effie was surprised to see her mother’s hand shoot out and grab Haymitch by the arm. An intensity burned in her eyes as she said, “Thank you. Thank you for bringing her home.”
“She did the hard part.”
Then Asterid said, “He would have been proud of you. I hope you know that.”
Effie wasn’t sure what that was about, but Haymitch could only seem to nod. If he looked bad before, now she was worried that he might lose his lunch. Unfortunately they were swept out into separate vehicles before Effie could check on him.
The large, black vehicles caravanned from the station into town, quickly outpacing the crowd. The two carrying Effie and the Mellark family stopped outside of the bakery, while the other continued through the town to the dirt road that led to the more rural section of the district closer to the coal mines.
The ride was quiet. Mr. Mellark sat in front, and Effie and Mrs. Mellark were on either side of Peeta. His brothers had been relegated to the second car, which was unfortunate because Effie had learned while coordinating the family interviews that the middle brother especially was the most likely to get a conversation going. Instead, they road in silence.
As they approached the town, Peeta’s good leg tapped nervously on the mat. Effie patted his knee reassuringly. Was it her imagination or did Peeta’s mother shoot her a dirty look? Maybe that was just what the woman’s face looked like. Effie had yet to see many expressions that didn’t look like they involved biting something sour.
When they arrived, Effie held out her elbow, offering Peeta a place to steady his balance. He was still learning to use his new leg and she didn’t want him slipping on the cobblestones. The cameras had left them at the station—typically the family reunion was the last thing shown—but a small crowd had formed here too. Mr. Mellark took her place and escorted Peeta in as he gave a small, affable wave to the crowd. Effie twirled instructions at the drivers, then followed the family inside.
The bakery smelled wonderfully of fresh bread and sugar. Effie had instructed for balloons and a “Welcome Home Peeta” banner to be hung on the large front window. The family had also prepared a small cake with the same sentiment written in icing. Peeta was clearly fighting tears when he saw it.
“We didn’t do as nice a job as you would have with the decoration,” said his father.
“It’s perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes we did. Your parrot insisted.” Mrs. Mellark said this in a way that make it clear Effie was the parrot. Effie had also paid for the cake, and out of her own pocket no less. Not that it had been a great expense, at least not in Capitol terms, but Effie purposefully hadn’t asked the family to fulfill her request on their own dime, so there was no need for such a remark.
“I simply wanted to make sure Peeta’s homecoming was well-appointed.” Effie said. She urged Peeta to cut the cake, and they enjoyed it on small plates. It was delicious, she would give the Mellarks that. She’d asked them to make Peeta’s favorite flavor, which was apparently lemon with a citrusy custard filling.
When they were done, the oldest brother collected the dishes and forks and Effie signaled for the drivers. They wheeled in a large set of handsome black luggage. Effie had selected it herself.
“What’s this?” asked Mrs. Mellark.
“For your move to Victor’s Village. It doesn’t all have to be done today of course. The cars are at your disposal for as long as you’ll need them.”
Peeta looked at the luggage, and if anything he seemed slightly sad. Had she chosen poorly? She thought the style suited him. “Thank you Effie,” he said rather quietly. “It’s very thoughtful.”
“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do. So, would you like to pack some things now, or would it be helpful to see the house first?”
“He won’t be packing anything,” said Mrs. Mellark. She marched through a set of swinging doors behind the counter saying, “You two, see if there are any paying customers outside. If they’re just here to gawk, shoo them away.”
“Yes Ma’am,” said the older boys. Effie followed the rest of the family into the kitchen.
“Otho, the dough needs turning.” Mr. Mellark nodded and waddled down a narrow set of steps into the basement.
Mrs. Mellark was barely looking at Peeta when she said, “That leg gonna stop you from lifting?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Flour. Four hundred.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Peeta followed his father into the basement and came up a minute later with a large sack thrown over his shoulder. He took careful steps and held the railing the whole way up. When he placed the sack down for his mother, she frowned.
“I thought you said it wouldn’t stop you.”
“It didn’t.”
“Before you left you could do two. And faster.” She turned back to her work at the long counter in the center of the room. It was sweltering back here. A large oven sat in the back of the room. Even from across the kitchen Effie could feel it radiating heat. The August sun was hot enough as it was.
Peeta hurried into the basement again and came up with a flour sack over each shoulder. He tottered dangerously on his prosthetic leg. Effie took a step forward to help, although she knew she was no match for even one of the bags. He set them down in a puff of flour, breathing hard. His face was flushed, but he turned back to the stairs.
“Please, this is hardly necessary,” Effie implored.
“I agree. You said you fixed him. This isn’t fixed.”
“Mrs. Mellark, your son is alive and home, and that is nothing short of a miracle.”
“And I’m supposed to be what, grateful? Grateful that you stole my boy from me and then spit him back out with a phony leg and a troublemaking girlfriend from the Seam?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Peeta mumbled as he deposited the last sack of flour.
“That’s a relief at least,” said Mrs. Mellark. “Pans.”
Apparently this was a cue to wash dishes, because Peeta pumped water into a large basin and began to scrub a pile of metal loaf pans.
“Certainly this can wait until later,” Effie said.
“We already missed half our morning for you people.”
“That may be the case, but Peeta, you must want to see the house.”
“He doesn’t need to see the house.” Mrs. Mellark had her fists in a large wad of dough. She turned it out, hacked it to bits, and was somehow transforming the shards into perfectly uniform spheres.
“Why not?” Effie addressed the question to Peeta, but his mother answered.
“Because he’s not living there.”
“It’s a lovely house. Hot water, electricity, heating and cooling.” Effie could use some of that cooling at this moment, though she didn’t say it. None of these features seemed to sway Mrs. Mellark in the slightest. “More importantly, it’s his. He earned it. Though the whole family is welcome, of course.”
“He didn’t earn shit. The Everdeen girl saved his ass.”
Peeta scrubbed forcefully at the dishes, shoulders hunched, making himself small. Mrs. Mellark continued with her rolls like her youngest son had not just come back from the dead. Effie looked between them and found her cheeks getting hot from more than just the oven.
“He is a victor of the 74th Hunger Games,” Effie pressed. “He’s entitled to a house in the Victor’s Village.”
“He’s entitled to his work, and he better not think he has any right to slack off now.”
Peeta’s ears sunk into his shoulders. Finally Effie couldn’t take it and asked, “What is happening here?”
“What’s happening is we have a business to run, and we’ve been doing it without him for more than a month. The oven is here. The work is here. Nobody is moving to an empty neighborhood a half hour’s walk out of town.”
“Is that what you want, Peeta? We had discussed your accomplishment taking a different tone.”
“Accomplishment? What has he accomplished?”
Effie briefly explained how every victor was expected to develop a skill or recreation. “We were thinking about painting.”
Mrs. Mellark let out a bitter laugh. “And when will he have time for then?”
“Whenever he pleases.”
“So all his chores will do themselves then?” Mrs. Mellark looked up, finally more interested in Effie than whatever was going on with the dough. Effie wasn’t sure this was an improvement.
“He doesn’t have to work for you anymore, if he doesn’t wish to.”
“Like hell he doesn’t. He’s my son. He does what I tell him.”
Effie looked over at Peeta, and she’d never seen him look so small. He glanced up briefly from his scrubbing, only long enough to catch her eye and shake his head, telling her to drop it. This was clearly a fight he was tired of fighting. Effie, however, was just getting started. Dropping it was the last thing she intended to do.
Effie straightened her already meticulous posture and said, “Peeta, go upstairs and pack your things. A few days of clothes to start and anything else you might need.”
“Don’t even think about putting that scrub brush down,” Mrs. Mellark replied firmly. She was talking to Peeta but her eyes were locked on Effie. The threat was meant for both of them. Then to Effie she said, “You’re used to getting your way, I can see that.” Effie could have said the same about her. “But you’re not in the Capitol anymore. You’re not in the Games. You have no authority here.”
“Actually, Mrs. Mellark, that’s not entirely true.”
Peeta turned to watch them then, a pan and brush still in his hands. He was neither scrubbing, nor abandoning the dishes. Soap dripped into the sink as he waited to see which of them would win.
Effie continued, “The moment a tribute is reaped, they come under the custody of the Capitol, care of an official escort. Legally, that is my role, in addition to publicity training and maintaining the schedule.”
“You’re telling me you’re his guardian now?”
“Not exactly. My guardianship lasts until the tributes enter the arena. Then they are become wards of the head Gamemaker. Should a tribute emerge as the victor, their custody transfers to their mentor, another victor over the age of legal majority, or if necessary another emissary of the Capitol, such as the head Peacekeeper stationed in their district, until their eighteenth birthday.”
Mrs. Mellark laughed. “So the town drunk is his father now? Sure why not.”
“You will always be Peeta’s parents. I could never take that from you, nor would I wish to. But legally speaking, Peeta is no longer in your custody.” She looked over to Peeta and instructed him, “Pack your things.”
Mr. Mellark’s low, mellow voice emerged from the cellar stairs. “From what you just explained, he’s not in yours either.”
Effie stepped to the side, closer to Peeta, so Mr. Mellark could properly join the conversation. “That’s correct. I can send for Haymitch if you wish, but I have no doubt he’ll agree with me. Your son has been through an ordeal. He should be somewhere where he can heal, and that is not this house. Not right now. We’re going to leave now. If he decides to come back on his own, then he will. If he doesn’t, then so be it. Peeta, go pack your things.”
This time Peeta let the pan fall back into the water. He wiped his hands on his apron then looked from his mother to Effie to his father and back, deciding.
“You can come back at any time.”
“The hell he can,” said Mrs. Mellark. “If you leave, boy, that’s it. You’re no longer part of this family.”
“Delilah,” said Mr. Mellark, “be reasonable.”
“If this bitch wants him, she can have him.”
His father gave Peeta a pointed, sympathetic look. Peeta nodded and scuttled up a small set of creaky stairs the presumably lead to the apartment over the shop. Effie maintained her position while he was gone, as did the Mellarks. None one spoke. When Peeta crept back down, Effie led him out the front of the store with her chin held as high and sharp as it would go.
They got into the car and shut the doors. Effie asked the driver for a moment, and he raised the privacy screen between the cab and the driver’s seat. Tension hung in the air thicker than flour dust and the scent of yeast had hung in the kitchen.
Peeta was holding a small duffle bag against his stomach and staring straight ahead.
“If you want to go back in, I’ll apologize for everything,” Effie said. “You were only following my instructions.”
Peeta shook his head, almost imperceptibly at first. Effie knocked on the screen and instructed the driver to take them to the Victor’s Village.
As the car made its way back down the road, jostling Effie’s teeth with every pothole, Peeta mumbled, “She isn’t always like that.”
“She isn’t like that, or she isn’t always quite so bad?”
He didn’t reply, and that said everything.
“It isn’t your fault,” Effie said. “Everyone processes grief differently, sometimes in very strange ways.”
“Maybe.”
Effie could tell Peeta had more to say on the subject but she didn’t press him. She hoped he would talk to Katniss about it, although Effie wasn’t entirely sure where the children stood at the moment. She’d detected a certain amount of tension on the train, but perhaps it was the stress of returning home. In any case, he should speak to someone, but Effie wasn’t hubristic enough to think it should be her. Instead she rubbed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
When they arrived, Effie counted out the houses to the one Peeta had been assigned. Directly across from Katniss’s, which would make for some lovely shots come the victory tour. For now, the house had been prepared—cleaned, dusted, had the lights turned on and the pipes checked. Effie led the way up the steps and threw open the door with a dramatic, “Ta-da!”
Peeta left his shoes by the door—how charming—and took a slow, bewildered stroll around the first floor. The decor was a bit dated at this point, given that the house was sixty years old. Still, it was elegant and well-appointed.
“What do you think?”
“It’s…big,” he said. “I’m supposed to live here by myself?”
“Not necessarily. You family can join you whenever they wish. You can have friends over. Katniss is right across the courtyard.”
“Right.”
He seemed sullen, which wasn’t the impression Effie was hoping to make. She peeked into the drawing room to see if certain items had been delivered. “Oh goodie.”
When he heard her clapping, Peeta joined her in front of the large shipping crate that had been set in the center of the room.
“What’s this?”
“I was hoping to have it more set up for you, but there’s no time like the present.” Effie searched around for something to open the crate with. After a fruitless turn around the room, Peeta came from the living room with the fireplace poker and pried the lid open.
Below a layer of packing shreds, she unloaded canvases of all sizes. Small ones, large ones, squares, rectangles, a long thin panel. She stacked them on the nearby chairs as if they were holding court, then dug for the main event: three wooden cases, each holding a set of paints.
“There are three main types,” Effie explained, pointing each kit out in turn, “acrylic, oil, and watercolor. I have a suspicion which you’ll gravitate towards, but I wanted you to be able to try them all. You should have everything you need. I haven’t painted since I was in school, but I consulted the Capitol’s premiere art supply shop to make sure you were well equipped.
“There are also books in here somewhere. A guide for each medium as well as some references of great masterworks.” She didn’t want to bore him by going through every title, but she did search through the crate around until she found a large glossy volume displaying the works of John Singer Sargent. “He’s one of my favorites, and he worked in both oil and watercolor. But oh, there are so many artists to explore.”
Peeta flipped to a few random pages in the book and she watched his eyes glittering, drinking it all in. “This is…this is really incredible Effie. Thank you.”
“It’s what we talked about, isn’t it?”
“I thought you’d get me a little box of six paints and a brush like the sign painter uses when she needs to touch up something in town. I didn’t think…” He seemed overwhelmed.
“Is it too much?”
“No, no it’s…I’ll use them well, I promise.”
Effie placed a gentle hand on Peeta’s shoulder. “I have no doubt about that, but I didn’t get you these so you could make great art, though I’m sure you’re capable of it, if you wish to be.”
“I thought that’s what the accomplishments were for, something to show off, to keep us busy.”
“They are but…listen. It’s easy to look at Haymitch and think that there is nothing else left for you but to waste away until the next Games. That isn’t true. Next year you’ll meet more of the other victors. They’re not all like him. Some are, to be sure. But there are plenty who have made something of themselves. Who are…I won’t promise happy, because I don’t know if that’s true, but more well-adjusted. Content. And the ones who are tend to have something to focus on besides the Games. I’m hoping—forgive me, but I’m hoping that will be you, in time. Katniss too.”
Peeta sucked in a ragged breath. At first Effie worried she’d upset him, got him thinking about the Arena. Maybe she had. But next moment Peeta threw his arms around her in a fierce embrace. Now she understood how those flour sacks felt. Even after his recovery, he was remarkably strong. Effie wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. “You’ll be alright. I know you will.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he said quietly.
“I know.” Effie leaned back and arranged his hair, for old time’s sake. “But I’ll be back for the victory tour before you know it.”
She did have to be getting back to the train, but she couldn’t leave him in this big house all alone. Until the others returned, he would be the only soul in the neighborhood. That just didn’t seem right. Besides, Effie felt guilty leaving him after the scene she’d caused. She still wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing. If anything, she might have made Peeta’s family situation worse. But she couldn’t let the boy go back to hard labor, not while his leg was still healing. Not while he was still healing.
“I’ll wait with you until Haymitch and the Everdeens arrive, how about that?”
“Are you sure?”
“The train won’t leave without me.”
Effie went to the kitchen and found a kettle waiting on the stove. Although she had never been in this one before today, all the houses in the Victor’s Village were the same. She had woken Haymitch up the morning before every reaping in a kitchen just like this one. Forced him to drink black coffee and change for the ceremony. She knew the houses had been stocked for their arrival, and Effie found tea leaves in a large tin on the counter, though Peeta had to help her light the stove.
She poured two cups, and they sat quietly at the kitchen table until Effie thought to go get one of the other art books, a collection of masterpieces throughout time. Peeta began to flip through it, and Effie watched him as he marveled at the pages. His eyes lit up so brightly that she could tell when he liked a work or an artist the moment he turned the page. Effie was so relieved he was still capable of that kind of wonder. She hoped he would remain so. But she was due back in the Capitol tomorrow, and after the victory tour, she would only see him once a year, during the Games. That assumed he would always be coming. Often victors travelled to the Capitol even if they weren’t mentoring, but now that District Twelve had three victors, only one of them would be required to attend. That meant there could be years she wouldn’t see him at all. Or didn’t see Haymitch as all, which brought Effie both relief for Haymitch’s sake, but grief for her own. Not to mention putting Peeta and Katniss through the ordeal of mentoring tributes. There wouldn’t be two winners from District Twelve again. Likely the Gamemakers would ensure there wouldn’t be another victor from 12 for along time.
But that was next summer. For now, she must leave her miracle pearls here under Haymitch’s supervision, which she worried about for all their sakes.
When the cups were drained and the single vehicle containing the Everdeens and their things pulled up across the courtyard, Effie said, “Let’s go see if we can help.” In truth, she didn’t want to leave Peeta by himself. Better to leave him with Katniss and her family. Effie knew they’d take good care of him.
In Katniss’s identical new home, Effie and Peeta stepped aside to let Asterid and Primrose carry a large collection of glass jars into the kitchen. From here, she could see the phone mounted to the wall. An antique by Capitol standards, but perfectly functional. “Peeta, your new house has a phone too you know. Would mind terribly if I called you soon, to check in?”
“I’d really like that. Thank you Effie, for everything.”
“Nonsense. You did all the hard work,” she said. “But truly, if you need anything, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, I’m a phone call away.”
When she left, Effie kissed Peeta on both cheeks, gave Katniss a reassuring pat on the arm, and rolled her eyes at Haymitch because he’d said something stupid, but missed him already all the same. As she road back to the train station, Effie couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the one being left behind.