Chapter 13 #2
Jackson smiled. “Who said I was healed? I still have my good days and bad days, just more good than bad. And I know how to regulate my emotions now, what works for me.” He looked at me.
“You’ve experienced something or lost something; you’re never going to forget that.
But you can hold grief and joy at the same time. You just have to learn how.”
I took another step and allowed myself to sink into the sensation once again. “I used to run barefoot. Out of our trailer and down to the river. I never realized how much I missed it until recently, how disconnected I’ve become.”
“It’s very easy to forget, but we can work on it,” he said. “You already practice a form of grounding.”
“I do?”
“Why do you think you go swimming?”
I shrugged. “I just felt like it.” But even as I said it, I knew he was right.
All those years ago, we took to the water to forget. Floating on our backs, nothing and no one could reach us there. It all made sense now.
“Okay,” I said with a nervous chuckle, “come to think of it, I guess swimming has been my way of reconnecting. I can see that. How did you know?”
“This is not my first rodeo.” He grinned.
“You mentioned a sister. Did you swim with her? Lila, wasn’t it?
” His question was gentle, but Lila’s name on his lips felt like the stab of a thousand needles against my skin.
The blanket came off, ripped away. Everything came charging back.
I no longer felt the grass under my feet or the safety of his proximity.
“How…do you know…her name?” I demanded, the words catching in my throat.
“You told me at the farmers market. Remember?”
“I don’t want to talk about her. Ever.” The finality in my voice was clear.
Jackson held his hands in a low “don’t shoot” pose. “All right.”
“I didn’t mean to…” I faltered, my voice wavering. “I’m not ready.”
“Whenever you’re ready. I told you I would listen.”
My throat tightened as I swallowed hard, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”
Jackson’s gaze bore into me, gentle yet probing. He had a way of doing that, of never accepting the easy answer, forcing me to reach below the surface. “Why? Think about it. What’s stopping you?”
“It’s like… I don’t know.” I stopped and refocused. “I don’t want to open that door. I don’t want to relive it all over again.” That answer tumbled out, a confession laid bare in front of him.
“Sometimes it’s about confronting those fears and working through them. And learning to live with it in a way that doesn’t keep you from moving forward.”
“It’s hard,” I said, my voice cracking like brittle glass. Heat rose up my neck at my vulnerability. I didn’t like the feeling of it. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
“It’s about progress, however small. It’s about being kind to yourself through the process. You’re stronger than you know; I can see it. And each time you confront a piece of your past, it no longer has power over you and you move closer to healing.”
As I looked into his eyes, hope flickered—not at the idea of confronting my pain, but at the fact that I would not be alone while facing it.
And that was enough.
I nodded, and the tightness in my shoulders eased. After taking a deep breath, I offered a sliver of truth: “Yes, my sister’s name was Lila, and we both loved to swim.”
I waited for the discomfort to rise in me, to sting like it always did.
But the moment passed, and it didn’t hurt.
I couldn’t say it felt good either, but I was relieved to have cleared this hurdle.
Jackson didn’t ask any more questions and didn’t press further.
He accepted my offer and my silence that followed. It was enough for now. A start.
In the distance, the rumble of Jackson’s truck sounded, and its headlights sliced through the dark.
His attention shifted to the road, and we approached the fence.
The truck screeched to a shuddering halt, its tires spinning, casting a cloud of dirt and dust in the air.
The truck’s window rolled down with a groan, and Tibb’s face emerged.
Something was wrong; I could feel it in the air, in my spirit, before Tibb began speaking. Jackson opened his mouth, but Tibb’s words came out first, fast and in Creole. The only word that I understood was Luke.
“Leigh, go back to the house and wait for us,” Jackson said, turning back to me before jumping over the fence.
“What about Luke? Is he okay?” I asked.
“He’ll be fine,” Tibb said, his voice calm but firm.
“Please let us handle this. Go back to the house. We’ll be back,” Jackson said, his eyes secretly asking me to understand.
I stepped back from the fence as Jackson sped off, the truck engine’s growl receding into the distance, dust and debris swirling in their wake.
I returned to the main house and, without thinking, started peeling apples for an apple pie.
I needed to stay busy, and to not think or feel, and cooking was the only thing.
A few hours later, as the pie settled into the oven and its sweet aroma rose in the air, I heard the sudden roar of the truck again.
I hurried out of the house and onto the porch, my heart racing, and there they were: Jackson carrying an unconscious Luke draped over his shoulder, Luke’s arms dangling, his blond hair swaying.
My breath caught in my throat as I rushed to meet them.
Jackson didn’t speak when he walked past me up the porch and into the house.
“What happened? Is he okay?” I asked Tibb, my voice trembling.
“He got into a fight,” Tibb said.
“Is he hurt? Why is he unconscious?”
“He’s drunk,” Tibb said with a trace of exasperation.
We followed Jackson into the house and watched as he eased Luke down onto the couch.
Luke’s body sagged heavily, his weight shifting onto his back with a groan that echoed through the room.
It was then that I saw Luke’s face for the first time.
He’d been fine a few hours ago, laughing, devouring the fried chicken piled on his plate.
And now his face was reddened, with one eye swollen shut and knuckles smeared with dried blood.
“I’ll get some alcohol and towels,” I said, starting toward the bathroom.
“Let him sleep it off,” Jackson said, walking past me. The wind of his exit brushed against my face as he stormed out of the house. The screen door slammed with a whack behind him.
Tibb removed Luke’s shoes, and I covered him with a blanket. Luke stirred a little, and the sharp odor of alcohol crashed off him in waves.
Tibb and I left the room and retreated to the porch. Outside, we heard a jarring crack, and then another, the cadence forming in the quiet.
“What’s that noise?”
Tibb deflated, his shoulders collapsing. “Jackie. He’s at the Outlet.”
I nodded. I hadn’t seen or heard anyone there since my arrival.
“What happened?” I asked.
“He got into a fight with his sister’s boyfriend,” Tibb said. His eyes followed the direction of the persistent thuds and cracks in the distance.
“He told me he didn’t like her boyfriend, but…” I trailed off, not really sure what to say.
“Yeah, he’s a real piece of work. Anyway, Heather and her boyfriend had a fight.
He claimed he just pushed her, but the bruises on her face say otherwise.
Soon as Luke saw her, he exploded, but she begged him not to do anything.
Luke went to the bar to have a few drinks, and the boyfriend showed up. ”
I realized I wasn’t quite sure where Jackson’s anger lay. “Jackson’s upset about the boyfriend?”
“Yes…but also, this is not the first time he’s had to drag one of us out of that bar.”
I drew back. “You too?”
Tibb shook his head with a rueful smile. “It seems to be a Flower-Farm-for-broken-toys tradition. Getting drunk and getting into a bar fight is practically a rite of passage. This was Luke’s second time. They just let him back in.”
Tibb stepped down a stair. “I better go check on Jack before he chops down the forest.”
“I’ll stay here with Luke,” I offered. Tibb flashed me a weak smile before vanishing into the darkness.
There was no doubt in my mind about what I would do. Luke had been there for me, sleeping on the floor after I’d fainted, and I would return the favor. I would be there for him when he woke up.
I knelt beside him on the couch. I felt off-balance, and my heart ached.
Like déjà vu but…it couldn’t be. I resisted the urge to brush my fingers across his cheek, smooth his hair back.
My hand hung close to his face, trembling slightly.
All I had ever wanted was a comforting word from Mama, from Daddy, a whisper that everything was going to be okay.
I curled my fingers back, hesitated, released them again.
I could be a comfort for Luke. I wielded the power to give him something I had longed for myself, even if he would never know I’d done it.
I would know, and that would be my comfort too.
Deacon Ridley had grown bored of Mama. Why stay with the old used model when you could have the new better version?
His casual brushes turned into his hands roaming across Lila’s breasts and butt, his fingers slipping between her legs.
He pinned her in a corner, trying to kiss her, his full body pressing against hers.
When I caught him, I pushed him off her, pulling her away, and growled at him.
Deacon Ridley just laughed and adjusted himself.
I wish I could tell you that I stopped him every time.
That she always fought him off. That his brushes and kisses were all he tried and succeeded at doing.
But that wouldn’t be the truth. He knew we were alone in the woods.
That we were nonentities. He liked knowing that secret, liked knowing we had no one to help us.
Not even Mama.
She noticed Deacon Ridley’s advances but ignored my pleas when I begged her to make him stop. “He’s just a man,” she’d say, as if that somehow explained everything. “They do stuff like that. He’s just being nice. Don’t ruin this for us.”
She needed Lila. Deacon Ridley had completely turned his attention away from Mama, and Lila became the main reason Deacon Ridley came around at all.
Lila’s smile tightened whenever Deacon Ridley got too close but Mama couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see it.
She turned a blind eye, let it happen, even pushed Lila to be kinder to him, to play along.
So Lila did. She let him touch her because Mama told her to.
Because Daddy wasn’t there and we needed food to eat.
But that didn’t stop Mama’s jealousy; it slithered in like a snake toward its prey.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Deacon Ridley was supposed to be her ticket out.
And Lila…Lila was standing between her and that dream.
I stayed with Ms. Byrd a lot during that time, her home once again providing the comfort I needed.
I traced my fingers across Luke’s bruised cheek.
But he remained still, lost within the dregs of sleep.
With a soft sigh, I brushed a lock of blond hair away from his eye, careful not to disturb him.
I took his hand in mine and held it as I sat on the floor, my legs stretched out.
The tears came next, dripping down my face, for the pain and the helplessness.
And a few for Lila, too, also caught in the quiet wreckage of it all.
The next morning, a hand shook me awake.
For a moment, I felt out of place. Sleep clung to me. I vaguely remembered my dream; it had involved Luke and his battered face.
“Leigh…wake up,” a voice whispered.
I blinked away the last of my sleep to find my head resting on the couch, my hand still holding Luke’s.
Not a dream, I realized.
“Leigh,” Jackson said. He kneeled next to me, his face inches from mine. He hadn’t slept much. The dark circles under his eyes and the weariness in his face told me so.
I moved to stand, my body stiff from too many hours on the wood floor, and a quilt slipped off my shoulders as I rose. Someone must have placed it on me last night. I didn’t have to think too long to know who’d done it.
I liked Jackson’s understanding of me. That he hadn’t tried to move me or ask me to leave. That he had known this was where I wanted to be.
I looked at Luke again. He had barely moved from where he had been placed last night. “Shouldn’t we wake him?”
“Yeah…that’s what I was coming to do. But I wanted to wake you up first. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just worried about him.”
“Luke is going to be fine. This is not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last, as long as his sister is with that guy.”
There was something about what he said that bothered me. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Because it’s okay not to be. I don’t know if anyone ever told you that.”
Jackson looked down and then back up at me. “Yeah…” he said with a smile. “Thanks for asking.”
About twenty minutes later, Jackson, Tibb, and I were in the kitchen.
No one spoke, but when we all saw the apple pie sitting in the middle of the table, we just started cutting into it.
A few minutes later, Luke, fresh out of the shower, padded into the kitchen, his bare feet scooting against the linoleum floor.
He stopped for a moment, running his hand through his still-damp hair, then sat at the table.
He looked better, considering his black eye and busted lip.
I cut him a slice of pie and placed the plate in front of him.
He picked up a fork and started eating without looking up.
Luke leaned over the plate, his arms a solid barrier, as if someone might snatch it away. Then the words arrived in typical Luke fashion.
“I guess I need to get in a fight more often if we get to have apple pie for breakfast.”
Just like that, the tension was snuffed out.
A joke was all it took, and they were back to normal.
Tibb leaned over and ruffled Luke’s hair as Jackson grabbed him by the neck, pulled him closer, and tapped his forehead against his.
I watched as Luke raised his elbows off the table and reached his fork over into Tibb’s slice, stealing a bite.
He had come back to life, back into himself.
I realized this was their way—their way of talking about it without words.
Their way of telling him that they understood, that they loved him.
My heart warmed at the display until Luke looked up at me. “When we get married, I vote we have apple pie for breakfast at least once a week.”
I smiled, and the tears I had been holding escaped down my cheek. “Whatever you want,” I said, smiling through my tears.