Page 9 of No Judgements

“Oh, good,” I said. “Well, I’ll look forward to seeing him around. And thanks for putting up our shutters. I’m headed to the store right now. Can I get you something there as a way of saying thank you?”

“Sure, orange soda,” he said, brightening. “If they have it? And Sour Patch Kids.”

“Oh, sure. Can do. Come on, Gary.” I hoisted the cat up from the shade of the frangipani, though he let out a squeak of protest. “You have to go inside while I’m at the store.”

“I’ll watch him while you’re away,” Sonny offered. “I’m just gonna be right here.”

I lifted a hand to shade my eyes from the strong summer sun as I studied his earnest expression. “Are you sure?” It was something Sonny had done several times before while working around the building, without incident, but never while a violent hurricane was sitting a thousand miles offshore.

“Yeah,” Sonny said, nodding vehemently. “I like Gary. And Gary likes me.”

This was true. Although it was also true that Gary liked everyone, including the postal and newspaper delivery persons, all of my neighbors, the exterminator, and anyone else who happened to wander through the courtyard gate.

What was even more true was that Gary, like me, had been hurt... but he was healing. He’d chosen me at the shelter just as much as I’d chosen him, shuffling toward me and butting his head against my feet as if to say, “Hey, down here. Look at me. I’m needy, but I’m also needed. You need me as much as I need you.”

Because it had turned out to be true. And together, we were forging a new life, learning to trust when we each had so much reason not to.

“Well,” I said to Sonny. “Okay. I’ll leave my door open, so he can come inside if he gets hungry or thirsty. And feel free to help yourself to anything you find in my fridge, too, while I’m gone. Except the beige stuff in the pitcher. My roommate bakes with that. You probably wouldn’t like it.”

Sonny nodded appreciatively. He was beginning to sweat in the midafternoon sun. “Thanks, Bree.”

I smiled as I headed toward the front gate. One of thereasons I loved Little Bridge so much was because you could do things like this—leave your beloved cat and apartment in the care of your handyman, and not worry about it, whereas in New York this would never happen. Well, maybe it would, but not in my experience.

This was one of the many reasons for my leaving the city.

But now, given what seemed to be headed our way, I was wondering if I’d made the right decision.

Chapter Five

Have supplies on hand to help with everything you might need before, during, and after a hurricane.

Emergency Disaster Survival Kit Basics—Food

Gas or charcoal for the grill (warning: never use a grill inside)

Manual can opener

Nonperishable foods and beverages—7–10 days per person

Drinking water—at least 1 gallon per person per day

Plastic plates, cups, and utensils

Don’t forget food/water for pets and babies!

The sun was still shining brightly when I headed out for Frank’s Food Emporium to buy my hurricane supplies—on my purple no-speed bike with its large front basket, since I wanted to save what little gas was left inmy scooter—Daniella’s list tucked in my hip pocket. I’d convinced myself after the two o’clock bulletin from the National Weather Service that we probably weren’t going to get anything but a few rain bands, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.

Except that maybe the locals knew something I didn’t. As I pedaled along, I saw evidence that Little Bridge residents were preparing for an all-out weather catastrophe. Along the main thoroughfare businesses were boarding up, literally hammering boards over their plate-glass display windows. The pharmacy had already pulled down its metal gates. Only a small handwritten sign on the door indicated that it was still open.

And once inside Frank’s, I was in for a surprise: the shelves had the same barren look of shops in apocalyptic films and television shows after they’d been looted by survivors. Only this was real life.

“You’re just in time,” a familiar voice said, and I turned to see Lucy Hartwell, Drew’s aunt and the owner of the Mermaid Café, waving a bag of chips at me. “Last one. You want it?”

I felt a sudden and overwhelming longing for the chips, though they hadn’t been on my list. “Yes... unless you do.”

“I’ve got plenty.” She pointed down at her shopping cart. She did, indeed, have plenty. Seven, to be exact, of many varieties, including jalapeño and rippled. And over a dozen bottles of wine, as well.

She must have noticed my surprise, since she laughed and said, “I’m having a hurricane party tonight for everyonewho isn’t evacuating. I take it you’re one of those, since I saw your name is still on the schedule for breakfast service tomorrow morning.”