Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
So, how does it all end? The way all things do: with an easy decision.
The rain began gently but continued through the night and into the next day.
It started slowly, a steady patter against the tin roof of my cabin.
But as the day wore on, the rain grew louder and more insistent.
What had been a trickle turned into a series of continuous claps against the weathered metal.
The old roof began to leak. Small rivulets appeared, dripping down in a constant stream from the seams of the ceiling.
A brown puddle blossomed and expanded outward in a web of moisture that betrayed the roof’s condition.
The hurricane was still in the Caribbean with a track that charted it up the Alabama coast. The weatherman had forecasted rain for the remainder of the week.
As much as we joked about his accuracy, his prediction proved to be a certainty this time.
The storm showed no signs of passing through quickly, clinging and hovering over the region and leaving its mark.
A handful of customers with umbrellas braved the weather and stopped by, but most stayed away as the wind picked up and the flowers wilted under the heavy curtain of rain.
“We’re going to be okay, right?” I asked on the second day while we ate breakfast.
“We’re about several hundred miles from the coast, but it’s not unheard of for hurricanes to make their way up here,” Jackson said, his brow furrowed with concern.
“But hopefully it would just be a tropical storm then,” Tibb said.
“Has a hurricane ever hit here?” I asked.
Jackson nodded. “Hurricane Dennis, about twenty years ago. It dumped about thirteen inches of rain in Camden and flooded the rivers. Made the roads impassable.”
“It’ll turn,” Tibb said with confidence. His voice, though strong, did little to ease the tension that hung heavy in the air.
We all wanted to believe it and tried not to let our unease show.
I didn’t want to keep asking questions, didn’t want to allow my concern to spread.
We kept busy with our usual tasks, but the rain made it hard; there was only so much we could do.
Jackson tried to put on a brave face, masking his worries with weak smiles and forced conversation, but the truth never left his eyes.
He had been a rock against many storms, but this real one was wearing him thin.
Neither the camaraderie of the guys nor my cooking could lift his mood.
It was as though he knew something big was coming, had braced himself for it and grieved in advance.
He was right.
The hurricane turned from its projected path, but a new threat of tornados took its place.
That was when we knew we wouldn’t get out of this unaffected.
Hurricane-force winds were expected. All work stopped, and we huddled around the television, watching and waiting, though none of us needed to.
We knew from the shape of the clouds, the howl of the wind, the color of the sky.
We knew because we had all been through them before.
The following day, Jackson and I moved into the main house.
The cabin, too old and fragile with its compromised roof, could not withstand strong winds.
That same day, Jackson made the difficult decision to dismantle the two greenhouses.
Doing so would mean the loss of at least some of the flowers.
But Jackson didn’t want the metal frames of the greenhouse to become dangerous projectiles.
We carefully moved many of the plants inside the new building, boarded up the windows, and anchored anything that could be lost during the high winds.
That night, the storm intensified. Rain pounded the roof, and wind shrieked through the crevices of the house.
We stayed hunkered down in the dimly lit living room, but Jackson, restless, paced back and forth, his face a mask of worry.
Then, just before the electricity flickered and we lost power, swallowing the room with darkness, a tornado warning sounded on the television.
A tornado had been spotted in our vicinity, and we were advised to take immediate shelter.
My heart pounded in my chest, a wild rhythm as we retreated to the bathroom.
I had been afraid before, but this was different.
It was a fear of so many things that gnawed at me: I feared for our safety.
I feared for the farm. I feared what this tornado would mean for Jackson.
What if this storm wiped away everything we’d worked so hard for? Everything Jackson had worked for?
I squeezed my eyes and held on to Jackson as tight as I could.
The house groaned and trembled under the assault and the high-pitched whines that shook and pressed down on us from every direction.
We braced ourselves. It wasn’t until Jackson’s arms encircled me, pulling me close, that I realized I was shaking.
He pulled back, and his eyes met mine. In them, I saw the strength that had always drawn me to him, a promise that no matter what the outcome of this storm, we would weather it together.
And then it was over, like most things, as quickly as it began.
The tornado had touched ground for less than a minute, but that was all it needed.
The farm was completely destroyed, except, by some miracle, the house.
In the reawakening after the storm, we moved around like ghosts, silently surveying the damage.
The fields once teeming with colors and fresh blooms were now unrecognizable.
Petals that had swayed in the wind days ago were now ripped from their stems and scattered like confetti across the ground.
Trees stood like shattered skeletons, stripped of their leaves and branches.
The fragrance of the air was replaced by the sharp, bitter scent of broken wood and crushed metal.
The renovated barn sagged inward, its roof crumpled and the walls splintered.
A massive tree lay sprawled across the cabin’s roof, crushing it into pieces.
Tears streamed down my face. My home had been destroyed—a bitter omen.
And yet, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving now.
Not when everything we had worked for—everything Jackson’s uncle had worked for—was gone.
But we were not alone. Word spread fast, as it always did in Camden and Gee’s Bend, and soon, residents, loyal customers of the Flower Farm, and members of the nearby communities arrived to help us.
Faces I recognized from the town meeting months ago now stood beside us, offering their support in whatever form they could.
Some brought their wallets; others brought strong backs and supplies.
Some brought promises for later. But they came, their presence a lifeline thrown to us in the midst of the storm’s aftermath.
It was an overwhelming task. Yet, somehow, we managed to make progress.
Once again, we worked long hours, side by side, cleaning up and piecing together what we could.
A week later, the farm had begun to take shape again, though a far cry from what it had been.
Even with all of the support around us, I still felt helpless.
I didn’t know what to say to Jackson, how to comfort him, how to ease the pain I knew he felt.
He had always been there for me, for all of us, with unwavering strength and steady hands.
Now, it was my turn, and I wasn’t sure how to be there for him.
As usual, he threw himself into the work with determination, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused, and ended each day in exhaustion.
He would collapse into bed, his body heavy with fatigue.
But even as he lay there, I knew he wasn’t truly at rest and that his mind was still racing, still trying to make sense of it all.
He would fall asleep in my arms, unmoving, until the morning light came to pull him from his dreams and back into the chaos of our new reality.
“What can I do?” I asked him.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said. “I’m waiting to hear about the insurance.”
The insurance company was slow to respond to Jackson’s claims. It took them a full week to send an insurance adjuster to even look at the damage.
In the meantime, the farm was empty of flowers and customers.
Without the revenue from the farm, Jackson was unable to pay on the loans.
The bills had started to pile up, and every day felt like another step toward losing everything.
Days stretched into weeks, and the silence from the insurance company continued.
Finally, news arrived a few weeks after the tornado: Insurance would cover some of his losses but not all, less than half of what Jackson needed to cover the damage.
“That’s bullshit,” Luke said at dinner when Jackson told us.
“How could it cover some things but not everything?” I asked.
Jackson shrugged. “That’s the way insurance works.”
“That’s not fair,” I said.
“They take your money, and when you need them, they are nowhere to be found,” Luke said.
“So…what do we do?” I asked.
Jackson shrugged again, his eyes never leaving his plate.
Later that night, while in the bathroom brushing my teeth, I caught a glimpse of him through the open door.
He stood at the threshold of the closet, his fingers trailing over his grandmother’s quilts.
He moved slowly, silent, admiring, as if caught in a memory before closing the door.
Jackson didn’t hear me as I approached.
“What are you doing?” I asked.