An avid gardener, Rue’s back yard was filled with sunflowers, dahlias, and mums. Her windowsills were home to succulents, her bedroom to cherry tomatoes. Jack’s entire heart belonged to the ditzy brunette with mud on her overalls. He was there for her when she needed a good argument or a kiss or someone under her sheets. She was there for him when he needed someone to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag. She gave him rose bouquets; he gave her his misplaced anger.
A few too many punches later, Jack finally got Rue flowers. Left on her headstone.