Page 15 of The Rules We Broke
She reached out, her I.V.-hooked hand trembling slightly as it touched my cheek. “Ella Lu, don’t you ever tell anyone I said this . . . but I was wrong. I thought you’d be able to move on and be happy.” Aunt Lu never admitted to being wrong about anything.
“I’m happy, Aunt Lu.”
She gave me a look that saw through everything. “For the most part, you are. But I don’t think you’ll ever betrulyhappy until you move on from that Jackson boy.”
“I’ve moved on, Aunt Lu,” I grumbled out my lie.
She shook her head, slow and certain. “No, sugar. You movedaway.”
I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not here. And I wanted so badly to say,Just like you moved on from his daddy?But I wouldn’t sass my aunt like that. Not when she looked like this.
Besides, it was my own dang fault anyway. If I’d just followed the rules, there wouldn’t be anybody I needed to get over.
“Fine,” I said, not wishing to argue and to prove my point that I’d moved on from Brady Jackson. “I’ll go to the house. Do you want me to bring anything back with me in the morning?”
“No. Just make sure you dress properly for our meeting with Mr. Howard tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, Aunt Lu.”
She had her rules—especially about fashion. Business was business, and business required heels. I knew better than to show up in anything less, so I’d packed accordingly. Suit. Pumps. Lipstick that didn’t smudge. She’d trained me well.
I kissed her goodbye and marched out of the hospital before I could change my mind.
The drive to Kaysville took thirty minutes. With every mile, the discomfort grew. It had been nine and a half years since I’d been back.
It was dark when I reached Main Street, but somehow, it felt the same. Christmas lights twinkled on every storefront. Garland looped across lampposts. And if there had been snow, it would’ve looked like a scene trapped inside a snow globe—quiet, fragile, untouched.
I saw a couple of people I recognized leaving the hardware store. Silently, I prayed I wouldn’t see any Jacksons. I had no idea where Brady lived, now that he was out of the limelight. I just hoped it wasn’t in Kaysville. Odds were, he’d probably married another pageant winner and had two kids and a dog by now.
Aunt Lu and I made it a point never to talk about Kaysville or its residents. It was easier that way—or at least I thought so. Now that I was driving through town, the thought occurred to me thatI should have probably asked her about Brady’s whereabouts, just in case.
Our home sat in the middle of town, proud and sprawling—an antebellum-style manor with sweeping white pillars that reached for the sky. It was ostentatious, sure, but it fit Aunt Lu perfectly. Beautiful. Larger than life. Impossible to ignore.
As I pulled through the iron gate, my throat tightened. It felt silly to cry over coming home. But it had been a long time. Nine and a half years. And this house held as many sweet memories as bitter ones.
I circled the drive, ignoring the impulse to park off to the side like Aunt Lu insisted. She wasn’t home. So, I parked front and center, my rebellion as small as it was personal.
I hadn’t even reached the steps when Doris burst through the front door, tears streaming, hands fluttering in every direction. She honestly looked a lot like a gray-haired Doris Day. Cute and perky.
She was all a dither—sobbing, fussing, hugging me tight and grabbing my suitcase like she hadn’t just seen me a few months ago in Atlanta.
My aunt had told Doris I was coming, so she’d readied my old room.
Walking inside felt like stepping into the past. It looked untouched—preserved like a memory she didn’t dare disturb. The four-poster bed still wore its pink, ruffled comforter. Shelves above the desk displayed trophies and ribbons from piano recitals, debate competitions, and everything in between. My high school diploma sat beside my valedictorian sash, front and center.
The room was a time capsule. Every corner whispered of who I used to be.
“I placed fresh linens on your bed, Miss Ella,” Doris said proudly
“Thank you, Doris.”
She hugged me, warm and trembling. “I’m so happy you’re home.”
I wished I felt the same. But I meant it when I squeezed her back and said, “I’m so happy to see you. Goodnight, Doris.”
As soon as Doris left, I slipped out of my clothes and into my old ensuite bathroom.
It had been the perfect bathroom for a teenage girl—spacious and elegant, with a large, well-lit vanity and stool, a claw-foot tub that gleamed even now, and a separate shower framed in polished brass.
