Page 43 of No Judgements

And a mistake about what? Staying in Little Bridge for the hurricane? Or staying at the Hartwells’?

Or letting myself get involved with Drew Hartwell?

If it was the latter, why was I feeling such a powerful urge to run back out into the rain, throw my arms around his neck, and beg him not to get back inside that truck?

I didn’t know. None of it made any sense.

So I ignored the feeling and followed his aunt inside the house.

Except I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the biggest mistake of all.

Chapter Sixteen

Emergency Disaster Survival Kit Basics—Personal

Hand sanitizer or disinfectant wipes

Travel-size beauty products

Toilet paper, paper towels, garbage bags

Dental care and vision products

Blankets, sheets, pillow

Clothing, no-rinse detergent

Ididn’t know what had happened until I emerged from the bathroom after spending a long time under the hot water, washing the smell of gasoline and Drew Hartwell’s dogs from my body. That’s when I heard the cry.

“He’s not coming back!”

I rushed into the kitchen just in time to see Mrs. Hartwell press a hand to her mouth as she gazed down at the screen of her cell phone.

My heart sank. I knew exactly whom she was talking about, but for propriety’s sake, I had to pretend that I didn’t.

“Who’s not coming back, Mrs. H?” I asked.

“Drew. He just wrote.” She held up her phone so I could see the text she’d just received, although it was difficult to read, since her fingers were trembling a little. She wasn’t a woman who wore her heart on a sleeve but it was clear she was upset. “He says the roads by the beach are already so bad, he doesn’t think he can get back here safely, so he’s going to wait out the storm with his dogs at that ridiculous house of his. He’s not coming back here. He’s not coming back!”

I patted her on the back as comfortingly as I could. I realized that what Drew had said to his aunt in Spanish before we’d left to pick up my bike must have been an assurance that he’d be back to hunker down for the storm with her.

Of course he’d been lying. He’d never had any intention of spending the storm anywhere but his beach house. But, like a typical male, he’d been too cowardly to tell his aunt so to her face.

“Now, Lu.” Ed had come in from the dining room and was as matter-of-fact about his nephew’s reckless choice as he was about everything else. “The boy will be fine.”

“He won’t.” Mrs. Hartwell sounded as close to tears as I’d ever heard her. “He’s going to die out there.”

“Unlikely. He’s got a boat. Worse comes to worst, he’ll get himself and those dogs of his into it and ride out the storm there.”

Understandably, this did not seem to comfort the anxious woman.

“He’s got nothing! No generator, no landline, no satellite phone—”

“He’s got his wits.” Ed walked over to the counter to check on theropa viejahis wife was cooking for dinner, the ingredients for which had all gone into a slow cooker. The smell that emanated from it when Ed lifted the lid was so appetizing, my mouth almost watered. “Mmm, now that’s going to be delicious, Lu.”

His wife ignored this compliment. “He’s going to die.”

“He’s been through lots of these storms before, Aunt Lucy,” Nevaeh said. She’d come into the kitchen as well to see what all the fuss was about, and now she wrapped a comforting arm around her aunt’s waist. “He’ll know just what to do. Uncle Drew always does.”