Page 18 of The Rules We Broke
At the hospital, I walked into my aunt’s new room—no longer ICU. She was perched like royalty in her bed, giving beauty and fashion advice to a nurse who was taking it like an absolute champ.
As soon as she saw me, her face lit up.
“Now, look at my beautiful Ella Lu,” she announced. “This is how a proper Southern lady dresses and puts herself together. You’d do well to follow her example.”
I shook my head and smiled, directing my comment to the sweet nurse.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow I’ll be here in jeans and a t-shirt.”
“You will do no such thing, Ella Lu Eaton,” she shot back, regal as ever.
I winked at the nurse.
She smiled and exited, clearly entertained.
I walked over to Aunt Lu’s bed and kissed her on the cheek.
“How’d you sleep last night?”
She gestured at her wires and tubes with dramatic disdain. “How can anyone sleep with these on? I told them they were unnecessary, but they refused to remove them.”
I didn’t even try to argue.
As soon as I sat down, she handed me a folded sheet of paper. I took it and began to read.
It was a list. Of course.
Everything from gifts to buy to decorating her Christmas trees. Even what ribbons went on which mantel garland.
I stared at it, confused. “Can’t all of this wait? We still have three weeks until Christmas, and you’ll be home well before then.”
“No, Ella Lu, I’m already behind. And you know what is expected.”
“What about Doris? Can’t she handle some of this? I want to spend my timewithyou, not running errands.”
“Ella Lu, you know I love Doris, but this isnother forte. I will not trust this to anyone else. Do you understand?”
I gave her a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do not sass andma’amme, Ella Lu.”
“I love you, Aunt Lu.”
“I love you more than air, Ella Lu.”
We spent the rest of the morning enduring her horrible soap operas. I rarely watched TV, so I was stunned to see these shows were still alive and unraveling—bad plotlines and all.
Early in the afternoon, salvation arrived in the form of Mr. Howard, her lawyer. He came bearing enough paperwork to wallpaper a modest home. Page after page, signature aftersignature. By the time my hand gave out, I had become a very wealthy woman.
I had never truly understood how wealthy Aunt Lu was. She used to say people were kind to her because she had more money than the Queen of England.
Turns out . . . she wasn’t joking.
After what felt like a marathon of signatures and initials, Mr. Howard clapped his hands like we’d just finished a wedding rehearsal.
“All that’s left,” he said cheerfully, “is to take you over to Kaysville First National to sign their paperwork—adding you as a cosigner to your aunt’s accounts. And we’ll file the power of attorney there as well.”
My eyes shot to Aunt Lu. Kaysville First National. The bank Brady Jackson’s father owned—that wasn’t part of the deal.
