5. Chapter Four #2
I held up my hand, silencing him.
He turned toward Caroline, dejected, and began to pull back the blanket.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I don’t want her to get cold.”
He cradled her gently. I rested her shoes on top of the blanket with quiet precision.
“Please tell Caroline when she wakes how much I loved meeting her,” I whispered. “I hope she has a Merry Christmas.”
“I will,” he said softly.
“I hope you have a Merry Christmas too, Brady.”
“Merry Christmas, Ellie,” he said, downcast.
I watched him walk out the door, gently place Caroline in his truck, and buckle her in. She didn’t stir—not even a flutter.
I remembered the nights we used to daydream about our future together. About the kids we’d raise. We even named them.
It felt ridiculous now.
Brady turned and waved. I hesitated, then waved back before slowly closing the door. I leaned against it, slid down to the floor, and let the tears come. Silent. Unrelenting. I hadn’t laughed that much in years. I hadn’t felt this hollow in even longer.
I needed to leave Kaysville. Soon.
Aunt Lu needed to have her angioplasty and recover—quickly.
Because if she didn’t . . . I was in real danger of never recovering from Brady Jackson.
***
The next morning, I dressed carefully. Too carefully. Another reminder of why I needed to get out of this place.
I loved Aunt Lu, truly. But I would’ve preferred sweatpants and a hoodie on a Saturday. Instead, I pulled on a cashmere sweater, fitted jeans, and heeled boots. She wouldn’t love the jeans—I was counting on it. She deserved at least that much for not warning me about Brady.
When I walked into her room, she was propped up like the Queen of Sheba, complete with her regal smile and a stack of silk pillows. She smiled at me, then immediately glanced down.
“Jeans, Ella Lu?”
“Good morning to you, too,” I said as I kissed her cheek.
“Did you get the Christmas trees decorated?”
“Yes, Aunt Lu. And I signed everything at the bank. They have the power of attorney.”
I squeezed her hand. “So, will you please schedule your procedure now?”
She gave my hand a squeeze back. “What about the gifts and Christmas cards?”
“I’ll take care of it. But you’re a ticking time bomb, and you know it. Please. Do this for me.”
She smiled catlike, eyes crinkling. “All in good time, Ella Lu.”
What did that even mean? This was serious.
“How did it go at the bank yesterday?” The subject change was swift, almost evasive.
I didn’t press it. No use.
“Why didn’t you tell me Brady was the vice president there?”
Her eyes gleamed, a flicker of mischief peeking through the concern. “Did you see him?” She sounded almost excited. That was . . . concerning.
“Of course I saw him.”
“What happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened ?” I arched a brow. “I signed the paperwork like you asked. What was supposed to happen?”
“Well . . . it’s been a long time since you’ve seen each other.”
I hesitated, debating whether to tell her. But let’s be honest—Kaysville had eyes and ears everywhere. She’d hear about it eventually.
I sighed. “Honestly, he brought his niece over last night, unannounced. We had dinner. They helped me decorate the trees.”
I glanced over to gauge her reaction—expecting disapproval or even disgust, but neither ever came.
Before she could say anything, I threw in the disclaimer: “But don’t worry. I know the rules. We won’t be seeing each other again.”
She looked at me without saying a word, but I could practically hear the gears turning behind that polished stare.
She was definitely behaving oddly this morning.
“Did you know about Benjamin and his wife?”
Aunt Lu grinned—wickedly. That was confirmation enough.
“You know you should’ve warned me.”
“I recall someone once saying she never wanted to talk about Kaysville,” she said gently, with just enough Southern scolding to sting.
I shrugged. She wasn’t wrong.
“What are your plans for the day?” she asked too casually.
“My plan is to stay here. With you.” Why was that even up for discussion?
“Nonsense, child. It’s Christmas time, and things need doing. Your sitting here won’t help me one bit.”
That landed harder than expected. “You don’t want me here?”
“Ella Lu, I love you more than air,” she declared, as if issuing a royal decree, “but there are gifts to buy and preparations to be done. Oh—and I need you to go to the bank today and make a deposit for me.”
I stared at her dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you give this to me yesterday?”
“It slipped my mind,” she said breezily, reaching into her purse and pulling out a check that could probably cover a semester of college.
“Aunt Lu,” I muttered.
Who carries that kind of money around in a handbag? And who writes checks anymore?
She just smiled—something dangerously close to gleeful. “You better hurry. The bank closes at one on Saturdays. And make sure to ask for twenty fresh hundred-dollar bills. For the Christmas cards.”
“Anything else?” I asked, unable to scrub the sass from my voice.
“You’re going to church tomorrow, right?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“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 this so-called paperwork 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.”
That was it. The nice gloves were coming off.
I channeled my Aunt Lu, complete with velvet fire.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d call Mr. Jackson to clear this up. I have a lot to do today, and I won’t be leaving until this is settled.”
Her face flushed red, lips tightening. She clearly had a rebuttal locked and loaded—but Aunt Lu was their biggest account holder. She knew better than to push too hard.
With visible reluctance, she picked up the phone. “Mr. Jackson, I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but Ella Lu Eaton is here and says she signed paperwork with you yesterday—placing her on Luanne Eaton’s accounts. Is that correct?”
Her face darkened two shades deeper. I’m sure she thought I was lying. Why did this town always make me feel like I was twelve?
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. Of course, Mr. Jackson.”
Click.
I smirked. Yes, childish. Still deeply satisfying.
“I apologize for the confusion, Ms. Eaton.” She turned to the teller. “Please give Ms. Eaton anything she requires.”
“An account number and twenty hundred-dollar bills, new. Please.”
As the teller quietly counted, I heard my name.
“Miss Ellie!”
I turned.
There she was—Caroline—walking hand-in-hand with her uncle, straight toward me.
Why, Brady? Why now?
I smiled at Caroline. Grimaced at Brady.
He winked.
Caroline let go of his hand and sprinted to me.
I looked up at her uncle. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard someone was causing trouble at my bank,” Brady said with a smirk, “so I came to see what I could do.”
I rolled my eyes—but smiled anyway.
Right on cue, Margaret—the cranky bank manager—stormed out in a tizzy. “Mr. Jackson, I didn’t mean for you to have to come down here.”
“It’s alright, Margaret. The paperwork not being in the system is my fault,” he said, gaze dipping toward me. “I was in town anyway and wanted to make sure Ms. Eaton was taken care of.”
He smiled at me, and I hated how warm it made me feel.
I stood, but Caroline kept a firm grip on my hand. Adorable didn’t begin to cover it.
Margaret speared me with a look that could curdle milk. She would probably phone his daddy before Brady’s truck hit the pavement.
The kind teller handed me the receipt and a sleek envelope of cash. “Have a nice day, Ms. Eaton.”
“Thank you,” I said sweetly.
I looked down at my little admirer. “Thank you for helping me last night. My Auburn tree has never looked so pretty.”
She beamed. “You’re welcome, Miss Ellie.”
Brady leaned in casually. “So, what are you doing today . . . besides causing trouble?”
“Well,” I said, slipping the envelope into my purse, “according to my aunt, I’m Christmas and dress shopping.”
I wasn’t sure why he cared. But I cared that he cared. And I hated that a little. Or a lot.
Brady grinned widely. “Well, what a coincidence. Caroline was just telling me she wanted to go Christmas shopping and see Santa.”
“Uncle Brady, no, I . . . ” Caroline began, eyes darting in surprise.
But Brady scooped her up and whispered something in her ear—something clearly strategic.
She turned toward me in his arms. “Miss Ellie, will you please go shopping with us . . . and to see Santa?”
I sighed, exasperated. This wasn’t fair. Not even close.
“I’ll be really good,” Caroline added. “I’ll listen to everything you say.”
Then came the puppy-dog eyes. Two sets.
“Okay,” I relented.
“Yay!” they shouted in perfect harmony—loud enough for half the bank to hear.
Caroline jumped out of Brady’s arms and grabbed my hand like we’d been linked for years. As we walked out together, I could feel the eyes on us—small-town stares and decades of whispering judgment.
Brady led us to his truck. Charcoal gray. Dual cab. Four-wheel drive. It was new and rugged and . . . him.
He opened the passenger door for me and helped me in.
When our hands touched, all felt right with the world. But this was dangerous, a mistake even.
Before I could process the mistake, he shut the door gently.
He helped Caroline into her booster seat behind me, buckled her in with practiced ease, then slid into the driver’s seat, looking far too pleased with himself.
“I need to make a quick phone call,” he said, pulling out his phone.
I debated climbing out. My emotions were already too frayed. But then I looked at that sweet carrot top in the backseat. And I stayed.
“Benjamin, change of plans,” Brady said. “I’m going to take Caroline with me to Birmingham.”
I glared at him the moment he hung up. “You know where liars go, Brady Jackson.”
He leaned over, ran his finger down my cheek. “I’ll repent later.”
His touch made my breath hitch.
He turned and started his truck like he hadn’t just unhinged my world. “Shopping and Santa await, ladies.”
Meanwhile, I swallowed hard and buckled my seatbelt, knowing I was in for the ride of my life.