Night Six
It had rained the night before. The earth was still soft in the morning, dark and sweet-smelling beneath their feet.
The funeral had been brief.
Haymitch Abernathy wasn’t a man who asked for things.
Not in life, and not in death.
There’d been no Capitol theatrics, like the funerals she had previously attended in her life. No District ceremony, either. Just a pine coffin, a small crowd, and a grave dug beneath the same tree where he used to sit and drink when Callie was still in pigtails.
Effie wore black. Maybe for the first time in her life.
Not because anyone expected her to, but because she didn’t know what else to do. She hadn’t known what to do in days. In weeks, really. Since the coughing started again. Since the doctor had called it liver failure. Since Haymitch, her Haymitch, had looked her in the eye and said, “I’m tired, darling. I think I’ve been tired since I was sixteen.”
Effie had said nothing. She had just pressed his hand against her cheek.
And now...
Now the house was too quiet.
Now the geese wandered through the yard like they were looking for someone.
Now Calliope Charm didn’t come home after the funeral.
She didn’t storm out, didn’t make a scene. She just slipped away sometime after sunset, silent as breath.
Effie waited.
She sat on the old armchair in the living room, the one Haymitch always said he was going to fix but never did. A cup of untouched tea sat cooling in her hands. She didn’t drink it. She didn’t even cry.
She just waited.
Calliope had inherited her father’s silences. His fierce love, buried deep. His refusal to say goodbye unless it was already too late.
Effie had seen her in the morning, stiff-backed at the burial, jaw clenched like a fist. She hadn’t spoken a word until the final shovel of dirt hit the coffin.
Then, through gritted teeth: “I thought I’d have longer.”
Effie hadn’t known how to answer that.
She didn’t know how to answer anything anymore.
She only knew that grief was heavier than anything she had ever worn, even in the Capitol. Heavier than sequins, than silk, than blood. She had been many things in her life —escort, prisoner, survivor—but now she was something new.
A widow.
And worse, she was alone.
Because Callie, her wild and sharp and stubborn daughter, had vanished into the night. Just like Haymitch always used to, when the pain got too much.
Effie didn’t light a lamp. She just let the dark wrap around her like wool. Somewhere outside, the wind moved through the tall grass. A goose honked low and mournful.
Then, footsteps.
Not loud, not urgent. Just the sound of someone walking barefoot through the meadow. Effie sat up. Her heart stuttered.
The door opened.
Calliope stood there, curls damp with mist, a smear of dirt across her palm. She looked young again. Not a child, not quite. Just… tired. Raw.
Her mother didn’t move.
Calliope Charm stepped inside, wordless.
Effie opened her mouth, but nothing came.
And then, without a sound, Callie crossed the room and knelt beside her mother’s chair. Rested her head against Effie’s knee. Wrapped her arms around her like she used to do when she was small and tried to imitate the geese.
Effie dropped the tea. It thudded on the rug, spilling everywhere. She didn’t care.
Her hands flew to her daughter’s hair. She curled around her, arms trembling. She didn’t speak. She didn’t ask where she’d gone or why. She didn’t say a word.
Because Calliope Charm was here.
Her daughter was here.
That was all that mattered.
The house stayed silent except for the wind and the geese and the soft, shuddering breaths of two women who had lost the same man.
Eventually, Callie whispered, “I sat by the grave until the stars came out. The geese were all around me.”
Effie ran her fingers down her daughter’s back.
“He’d like that,” she said. Her voice cracked. “You know how he loved those ridiculous birds.”
Callie laughed, just a little. A wet, hoarse sound. “I kept waiting for him to say something. Yell at me for being out too late.”
“He probably wouln’t have, anyway,” Effie murmured.
“I didn’t want to leave him.”
“I know.”
“But then… I thought of you. And I knew you’d be alone in the house.”
Effie closed her eyes. “I was.”
Callie lifted her head, eyes red-rimmed, lashes wet.
“But I’m home now.”
Effie nodded. Her arms wrapped tighter around her daughter, pulling her up into the chair with her like she used to when Callie was tiny and all curls and bruised knees and storybooks. They barely fit anymore. But somehow, they made it work.
Effie tucked her daughter into the curve of her chest.
Outside, the meadow shifted in the dark.
Inside, the grief held steady, but so did the love.
The night was long. But Callie was home.
And it was the one thing Effie needed right now.