Chapter 23 #3
“I want you to take that money, rebuild the farm, finance the seed business, and do whatever you have to do to help Camden and Gee’s Bend grow. Continue to be there for Luke, for Tibb, for everyone else you may encounter. That’s where your focus should be.”
That’s exactly what Jackson did. He used the reward money to save the farm.
After the tornado, three landowners, inspired by Jackson’s work, took a leap of faith and joined the cooperative.
A year later, another seven followed, transforming what had once been a quiet county into the flower farm capital of Alabama.
Fields once left barren now burst with color, luring thousands of tourists to the area.
The seed business quickly took root, evolving into a multimillion-dollar business, employing hundreds of Camden, Gee’s Bend, and Wilcox County residents.
And Tibb and Luke were with him, every step of the way.
“What about you?”
“You let me go. And you let me let you go. You get up and you walk out that door and you don’t look back.
In another life, maybe it was you and me.
Maybe there, we loved each other and were happy together.
Maybe we’re living together on the farm with those two kids, a boy and a girl.
Maybe we’re happy. But we got this one instead. ”
“All of this was for nothing?”
“No, what we had was everything, even if it didn’t last long.
And now I’m letting you off the hook. I love you, Jack, and I will love you for the rest of my life.
But you don’t owe me anything. What we shared was enough for me.
What we had was real. And it will get me through today, tomorrow, and every other day.
Love me from there, and I will love you from here. ”
The prison gave way to nothingness, swallowed by the darkness as we kissed and held each other as rain splashed off the window.
We held each other long enough for me to capture every detail about this, our last kiss.
And it was everything. Jackson tasted like fire and smoke, like the warmth of the sun and the cool of the moon, like rain on dry earth, and like snowflakes on the tongue.
When I could stand it no longer, I numbed my body, released my arms, and tried to step back.
At first, he refused to let me go, his lips finding mine again, urgent and raw, each kiss more desperate than that last, until he, too, knew it was over.
Jackson released me and slowly crossed the room.
My heart ached with each stride. He paused before the door, his hand hovering over the handle for a moment, and looked to the ceiling.
He wrapped his fingers around the knob, yanked the door open wide, and stepped through, a soft creak echoing between us as the door swung but did not close.
I cried myself to sleep that night, tears streaking down my cheeks until they dried on my pillow.
When I woke, my eyes resisted opening. Light filtered in from the window above my cell.
Morning had come too soon. The guards came early too, their keys rattling in the distance, growing closer, a reminder of the long drive to South Carolina.
My transport differed this time. Not a bus but a van with no windows, only a narrow strip of light coming from the front windshield. Cold steel bit into my wrists, shackled tight, while my feet lay bound to a ring welded into the van’s floor. There would be no comfort this time.
Despite the gravity of the day, my limbs found their rhythm, my feet shifted, and my arms swung.
I wasn’t the same person I was when the bus crashed, and that had to account for something.
I took a deep breath, knowing that whatever awaited, I could not just survive, but live through.
I had been blessed with a rare opportunity—a second chance—and I would always be grateful for this second life, what I’d learned and what I’d gained.
Nine months ago, the Flower Farm became my home, and there I met the love of my life, one I never expected to find.
But sometimes the love of your life makes up a part, not the whole, of your life story.
That was what Jackson was for me, a tiny part of what made up the sum of me.
He cut through the tangled garden of my heart and met my trauma with empathy.
He came right on time. He didn’t need me to be anything but what I was, even when I couldn’t see the beauty in my own heart.
He saw me whole and was everything I needed him to be and, in many ways, everything I didn’t know I needed.
I know now that even great love doesn’t last. Something from before it is planted or something from after it blooms will change it.
Like the seasons—even the earth, shifting beneath our feet—love, I have come to understand, is hard to hold on to.
And you shouldn’t expect to. Like a flower, it arrives, it blooms, and it fades, reaching its peak and then curling at the edges.
Trying to hold on to it too tight only distorts its shape.
The gift of Jackson’s presence was an important chapter in my life, but not the entirety of it.
I fell in love twice on the Flower Farm.
While I was falling in love with Jackson, I was also falling in love with myself, with the person I was becoming.
His love made it possible for me to love myself with the same depth of feeling and compassion that he offered so freely.
The loss of him marked not just an ending, but another new beginning for me.
And while I faced the bittersweet reality of losing him, I would celebrate my own rebirth and love myself, fully and completely.
I deserved that. And with an open heart, I would look to the future, which was as wide as the eye could see. I was finally ready.
The van slowed to a stop, but the engine kept humming. The driver’s hand rested on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as he squinted against the morning light through the windshield.
“What in God’s name is that?”
The other officer leaned forward, his gaze narrowing too, as he tried to make sense of the strange sight before them. I could not yet see what they saw. “I’m not sure. It looks like…scraps of paper.”
“I don’t think that’s paper,” the driver said, shaking his head. “It looks like…flowers.”
“Those are rose petals,” the second officer said with awe in his voice.
The truck moved again, and I craned my neck, finally able to see what they had, and my breath caught in my throat.
Thousands of white petals danced in the wind, brushing against the windshield.
Courtesy of Jackson. Tears spilled out, and their warm trails ran down my cheeks, unannounced and proud.
A happy laugh escaped next, its sound mingling with the soft rustle of the petals against the van.
“No,” I said softly. “Not roses. Lilies.”