Chapter 9
Nine
True to his word, Jackson gave me space.
No more knocks at my door, even though I continued to avoid group meals.
I hung out with Luke the most in the field and with Tibb when transporting flowers to the bouquet hall.
I rarely saw Jackson, just in snatches, when he came to inspect our work or when he passed through.
A week after the town hall, no one had come forward to sign over their land.
That didn’t stop Jackson. He continued to pitch his idea to anyone who would listen, inviting interested landowners to the farm and taking meetings in town.
From the field, Luke and I would watch the truck pull out of the driveway and watch it return a few hours later, Jackson’s head bowed a little closer to the ground.
I didn’t understand the landowners’ reservations. Jackson’s expansion and seed project made sense to me. Even more when Luke had explained it to me in more detail one day while we worked.
“Do you see all this land?” he said, gesturing around us. “It belongs to someone, and they’re doing nothing with it. It’s just sitting here.”
“Who does it belong to? Do they live around here?”
“Some, and the ones who do were at the town hall. But some don’t. It’s what Jack said. People move away and don’t look back.”
“Why?”
“You’ve seen Camden—there’s not much to it. Kids nowadays want more.”
I smiled. “You sound like an old man.”
“Nah. Just old-fashioned. If someone in my family left me land, I’d never leave it. They act like you can make more land.”
“Why don’t they do something with it?”
“They don’t know what or just don’t care or don’t have the money.”
“But Jackson’s plan will make them money, right?”
“Yup. Jack wants to use this land and create small flower farms, growing and specializing in different types of flowers. Then form those farms into LLCs and a co-op. After that, a business producing seeds from the flowers that we would sell all over the world. He wants to create a flower industry in Wilcox County, to be the Flower Capital of Alabama. People from all over the South could come and look at the beautiful flowers of Wilcox County.”
“Is his plan to farm all of the land himself?”
Luke beamed. “Excuse me. What am I?”
I kicked a pile of dirt at him. “You know what I mean.”
“In the beginning, yes. Just to get it started. But over time, the landowners can take over themselves or hire someone to do it for them. Jack’s plan will create jobs where there are none. And that’s not including the jobs from the seed business.”
“And the land stays in the name of the owner, and they make money?”
“Yup.”
“Why on earth would anyone be against that? Risks?”
Luke laughed. “Not to them. To Jack. He’s taking all the risks. He stands to lose more than they do. If this fails, they still have their land. If this fails, Jack could lose his farm. He’s putting everything he has into this.”
No wonder Jackson carried a certain seriousness out here, one that he dropped while not on the farm. But here, he operated differently, with more intensity, scrutinizing everything around him with a much shorter fuse.
In that first week, when not working, I wasn’t sure where I should be.
I fell into a routine anyway. After I finished for the day, I’d say goodbye to Luke and head to my cabin.
Luke never tried to get me to come to dinner, though I know he wanted to.
I imagined that Luke was also instructed to give me space.
I washed the dirt off my broken body in the outdoor shower, made some noodles on the stove, barricaded the door, and slept.
At least, I tried to. Sleep never came easy.
I found myself falling into it but not staying there, my eyes popping open only a handful of hours after I closed them.
Staring at the ceiling, I thought of Lila; it was impossible not to.
She should have been here. She would have loved it.
Since it had happened, I had tucked her away, holding her a prisoner in my mind.
It felt easier that way. When Jackson had asked me what I saw when I looked at the flowers, Lila surfaced, and that cracked something within me.
Now I couldn’t put her back in. Maybe here, among the flowers, things she loved the most, the memory of her would be safe.
I closed my eyes and, for the first time in a long time, reached for a memory, a happy one.
She eluded me at first, hidden in the recesses of my mind for so long.
But then she appeared, her small hand outstretched, graceful neck tilted to the side.
A tiny smile lit up her face; then, as quickly as she had appeared, she vanished.
After several restless nights, I started exploring the woods behind the farm.
I set out with no destination, just curiosity, following a worn path away from the house.
The moon filtered through the canopy of leaves and branches, casting a pattern of light before me.
At the end of the path, the trees parted and revealed a body of water.
The water’s surface lay still, like a sheet of glass mirroring the starlit sky.
I stood there, captivated, as the ripples barely moved across the water.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I made the decision to leap in, but within mere minutes, I had stripped off my clothes, folding and tucking them behind a tree.
Being in the water echoed the days with Lila.
As I drifted away from the shore, the river seemed to swallow my worries and silence the clamor of my restless mind.
I floated on my back, suspended between the whisper of the breeze and the gentle lap of the water. I started swimming every night.
One evening, on my way back, I noticed the kitchen lights were still on, casting a glow. Then there was a roar of laughter, from Jackson, Tibb, and Luke. A stab of remorse pierced me, and something else: loneliness.
I had fallen into the comfort of surviving, keeping myself busy in the name of it.
But deep down, now, standing outside the kitchen, listening to their laughter pouring out along with the light, I realized I was lonely.
That’s the thing about a life of survival: It masks so many other feelings—grief, loneliness, and anger—because if I were keeping myself alive, I didn’t have time to address them to their fullest. Survival, I knew how to do.
But I couldn’t tackle grief if I couldn’t see it or address my anger if they were no longer alive.
I had grown accustomed to being alone, and when I got the chance not to be, I didn’t know how to take it.
Because to take it meant work, opening up about myself, and I wasn’t ready for that.
Because that had nothing to do with survival.
I was convinced that distancing myself from them was for the best, when in reality I simply didn’t know how to escape my own mind.
Mama knew how. She, too, had tasted the bitterness of loneliness.
She grew tired of her life, the isolation in the woods and Daddy’s abuse.
But when an answer to loneliness knocked, she knew how to open the door and welcome it.
Deacon Ridley became a regular fixture on our land and in our trailer.
She stopped making excuses for Daddy, stopped pretending to be happy, and started putting herself first. Her transformation happened slowly, in the way that water moves—swirling in a circular motion, transferring energy across the surface rather than deeper displacement.
She was still herself and in the same place, but different.
By opening the door, she welcomed her version of happiness.
But when a door swings open wide, unexpected things can come rushing in.
It hit me as I walked back to my cabin: Something had to change, and so did I. I had no idea of the work involved, but I had grown tired of carrying the weight of all the sadness, and I wondered if being happy would be easier to shoulder. Or if I was even capable of it.
At the start of the second week, during the morning meeting, Jackson presented us with a new plan.
“Looks like we’re on our own.”
“What does that mean?” I whispered to Tibb, who was standing next to me.
Before he could answer, Jackson said, “There will be no additional land to plant this year. We’ll expand the farm to the Sutterfield land and that’s it.”
“Screw them!” Luke yelled. Tibb shot him a look, and Luke said, “What?”
To my surprise, Jackson said, “Yeah…we’ll do it ourselves. We’ll go with what we have.”
Tibb raised his hand. “What about the buildings, Jack? I need a new bouquet hall. What about the new greenhouse and hoop houses? Where are we going to put those?”
Jackson pointed to the ground. “Right here. We’ll make it work. But I do have a meeting with Mr. Tidwell in a few days. He owns that land.” Jackson pointed and we all looked. “He seemed eager to talk, so we’ll see.”
“That’s a lot of land,” I said. “Plus the farm and the Sutterfield lot.”
“It’s a shit ton. Expanding the farm that much in one year is a lot of work. Jack is crazy, and I love it,” Luke said, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Hell yeah, he is,” Tibb said, overhearing. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“So what’s the plan?” Luke said.
Jackson held up his hand. “Prep work on the Sutterfield land, install the new underground irrigation system…”
I leaned in toward Tibb. “Irrigation?”
“We gotta get water out here to water the flowers, or you and Luke will be hauling hoses,” Tibb whispered.
“Hell no, I ain’t!” Luke said.
“…build the greenhouse,” Jackson continued, “and hoop houses and the new barn. All this in addition to the regular work on the farm.”
The meeting ended, and the group started dispersing. “Y’all ready?” Jackson asked, clapping hands with Luke and Tibb, who agreed.
Then Jackson looked at me. “What about you?” It was the first direct look from him in over a week.
I met his gaze. “I am.”