Page 98 of The Rules We Broke
“Really?” I had no idea.
“Yes.”
All I could think was, had he ever played for my Aunt Lu? If he had, I knew she would have loved it. And the thought broke my heart.
When we stepped into the Jacksons’ formal dining room—and I did meanformal—it felt like I’d wandered onto the set of a Regency drama. High ceilings crowned with ornate plaster molding, a gleaming chandelier dripping in crystal, and a polished mahogany table that could comfortably seat twelve. The walls were covered in rich ivory paneling with subtle gold leaf accents, and the china cabinet seem to sparkle.
Suddenly, I felt underdressed.
Mr. Jackson sat at the grand piano, tinkling the keys. The melody was unfamiliar but lovely. Brady and I walked toward the instrument, and his daddy looked our way. He didn’t look well at all. His skin was swallowed, and he was using oxygen.
But I was caught off guard when I noticed his eyes. They were Brady’s eyes. Blue and beautiful.
Why had I never seen that before? Maybe because I’d always been too afraid to really look at the man. The man who had caused my aunt and me so much pain.
For a moment, I realized he was a person, not just someone to hate. And from the way he studied me—curious, not angry—I wondered if he saw the same.
I traced the edge of the piano, needing something to touch. “It’s a beautiful instrument, Mr. Jackson. You play well.”
I didn’t know what else to say. The only reason I said anything was for Brady’s benefit. And I knew that if we wantedto change this town and even our families, we were going to have to take the first step. And honestly, hate had never gotten us anywhere.
Mr. Jackson tilted his head, silent and watchful. It was unnerving, to say the least, especially when he didn’t respond.
“You know, Ellie plays, too, and she has a beautiful voice,” Brady said.
Whether it was his health or old grudges, the reply took effort. “I think I remember you mentioning that,” he rasped.
Already, this was kinder than his wife. Which was surprising. The last contact I had with them was in Pastor Norton’s office, where his momma came off as weak and his daddy came off as bold and overbearing. Thinking back now, I think his momma was putting on an act.
“Ellie, you should play and sing something for us,” Brady said, shocking the heck out of me. I knew he was trying to break the ice, but I was just hoping for some small talk about the weather or the holidays
I gave him a strained,please let’s not make this any more uncomfortablesmile. “Um, I don’t know . . . I haven’t really practiced in quite a while.” And I was sure it was the last thing his daddy wanted.
But before I knew it, the unexpected happened. Mr. Jackson slid over on the piano bench as if asking me to join him.
What in the world? Did hell just freeze over?
I stood, frozen, unsure of what to do.
Meanwhile, Brady’s eyes lit up like I’d just told him I’d marry him at the courthouse Monday morning. He placed his hand on my lower back and guided me to the bench.
I knew what this meant to him. To us. But I wasn’t expecting a literal front-row seat to Mr. Jackson or to put on a show. However, I didn’t want to disappoint Brady.
I lowered myself onto the bench and smiled warily at Mr. Jackson. “Uh. Any requests?” I said half-jokingly.
Mr. Jackson put some sheet music up in front of me, like he’d been waiting for this moment. Not just any piece of music. I had to stop myself from gasping. It was “Crazy” by Patsy Cline. The same song my aunt had sung in the talent show she told me about, the one where Mr. Jackson noticed her.
Why would he choose that song? Did he still think about my aunt? About their time together?
I wanted to ask him, but as that would be in poor taste, I went with it. I decided to focus on Brady. “I haven’t performed in a while, so no teasing.”
“You’re going to do great, darlin’. You always do.”
I wasn’t so sure, given my nerves and how closely I sat next to the man I assumed abhorred me. But I carried on doing a couple of scales first to get used to the feel of their piano. It was a little tight, but workable.
With a deep breath ofwhat in the heck was I doing,I began. As I played the piano solo at the beginning, I thought, I was a little crazy. I had to put my ancient sight-reading skills to use to sing and play the correct notes. While I played, I couldn’t help but think about my aunt the entire time. What this song meant to her. To Mr. Jackson.
I dared a peek at him while I sang and played and almost faltered. I swore there was a misty sheen in his eyes. I knew then, even after all this time, my aunt meant something to him.
