Page 81 of The Rules We Broke
I swallowed. “Aunt Lu . . . what happened between you two?”
She sighed. “It’s neither here nor there.”
“Please,” I pressed gently. “I need to know. I need to understand why the Jacksons hate me so much.”
“I’m tired, Ella Lu.”
I knew better than to push—especially while she was recovering. So, I kissed her forehead. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll curl your hair while you rest.”
She closed her eyes.
I plugged in the curlers Doris had brought and began brushing out her long hair. It was still dyed auburn, though the gray roots were beginning to whisper through. I didn’t say a word. With one comment, she’d be calling her stylist to the hospital. And let’s be real—she wouldn’t care how many rules that broke.
I began sectioning off her hair, rolling and pinning each piece with practiced ease. She was quiet—but not asleep. I could tell by the way she breathed and sighed intermittently.
“Feel like sitting up some?” I asked gently. “I need to roll the back.”
She shifted slowly, then reached for my arm.
“Ella Lu . . . ”
Her grip startled me. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, but her eyes had gone somewhere deeper. “I’ve known Isaac Jackson my whole life. We were neighbors—I was literally the girl next door. Our families lived on Elm Street back then.”
I kept working, letting the rhythm of my hands keep her steady. I’d been waiting for this story. Waiting years.
“Isaac was two years older—friends with my big brother, your uncle Zack. ”She paused. “Zack, who died in Vietnam.”
Her voice held that soft reverence reserved for memories too heavy to touch too often.
“I was the annoying kid sister—until my freshman year. I don’t know what changed. Maybe the crown and sash.” She chuckled. “I won my first pageant that year. And the high school talent show. I sang ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline.”
She smiled at the memory, and I couldn’t help but smile, too.
“The night of the talent show, Isaac sat in the front row. I remember thinking I looked ridiculous in my blue taffeta dress. But afterward . . . he came up to me, leaned in, and whispered that I looked beautiful.”
That sounded so much like Brady it hurt.
She kept going, her voice soft and rich with memory. “He asked me to junior prom that year. But Daddy said I was too young to date—so Isaac didn’t go. Instead, we sat on my back porch, sipping sweet tea and playing checkers.”
I could picture it perfectly. It was so sweet, it felt like fiction.
Her lips curled slightly as she added, “That night, he gave me my first kiss.”
I could see the pain on her face as she spoke. Her eyes remained closed, but her expression gave her away.
“My daddy let me go the next year,” she began softly. “It was Isaac’s senior prom. He was crowned prom king, and we danced all night.”
She paused, lost in the memory.
“He left that fall for the University of Alabama. He loved that damn school.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
“He drove home on weekends just to watch me compete in my pageants. He never missed a single one. Then, on the day I graduated from high school . . . he asked me to marry him.”
I glanced up from her hair. “What did you say?”
