Page 31 of The Rules We Broke
“Ella Lu, the Good Lord expects you in church.”
“I didn’t bring church clothes,” I said, thinking that would settle it.
“Well, then I suggest you pick some up while you shop today. But go to the bank first.”
“You do realize I’m an adult, right?”
She gave me the most patronizing smile I’d ever seen.
I snatched the dang check from her hand and kissed her cheek goodbye.
Had I mentioned how much I hated being in Alabama? Two days in a row at that dang bank.
When I walked in, all eyes were on me again. A parade of polite judgment and unspoken gossip.
I headed straight for the youngest teller—hoping she had no idea who I was. From the frosty looks the older women gave me, I could practically hear their thoughts.
Don’t worry—I’m not in here to touch your precious Brady.
The young teller smiled warmly. A small victory.
“I need to make a deposit,” I said, sliding the check forward. “But I don’t have the account number.”
“No problem,” she replied, cheerful and efficient. “All I need is your ID to look it up.”
I handed over my driver’s license gladly, hoping this would be a quick in-and-out.
The teller began typing, but after a moment, her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, Ms. Eaton, I don’t see any record of you having an account here.”
“I was placed on Luanne Eaton’s accounts yesterday. Could you try looking it up under her name?”
She gave me a wary glance, then nodded. A pause. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re not listed as a signer on her account.”
I inhaled slowly. This wasn’t the teller’s fault. It was my aunt—being her usual pain in the lower extremities.
“Is there a manager I could speak to?” I asked, keeping my voice as sweet as honey.
She looked slightly annoyed, but disappeared behind a side door.
Moments later, out marched one of the old-timers, and of course—she recognized me instantly.
“Well, Ella Lu Eaton,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “I didn’t know you banked here.”
Her tone made me want to set something on fire.
I kept my voice even and half polite. “As of yesterday, I do. I signed all the necessary paperwork. Is there any way you could look that up so I can transact my business?”
She tilted her head and sneered. “And with whom exactly did you sign thisso-calledpaperwork with?”
“Brady Jackson.”
That got her attention.
Her eyes went wide. And I felt my patience officially evaporate.
I hated this town.
“Well, Mr. Jackson isn’t in on Saturdays. You’ll have to come back Monday.”
