No Judgments

by Meg Cabot

  “But—”

  I’d turned my back on him and started down the path through the home’s front yard toward the sidewalk. Along the way, Drew reached out and took my hand. I didn’t look back, even though Caleb kept calling, “Sabrina! Sabrina, I need to— Sabrina!”

  “Keep walking,” Drew said, under his breath.

  “I know,” I whispered back. “You don’t need to tell me.”

  “There’s something wrong with that guy.”

  “Duh.”

  “Why did you ever go out with him?”

  “Um, I could ask you the same thing about Ms. Pink Salt.”

  “At least she didn’t wear Lacoste.”

  “Shut up. That’s still a thing in some places.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sabrina!”

  We made it to the corner where we’d parked the scooter without either Caleb or Kyle chasing after us. I was riding the scooter—slowly—while Drew walked the dogs so as not to traumatize them by making them run alongside the motorbike.

  “So what happened in there?” Drew asked. “Did you shoot that guy, I hope?”

  “No. I shot a bottle of tequila.”

  He winced. “No! Good stuff?”

  “Cuervo.”

  He shook his head. “They’re probably going to tell the cops. Your ex seems like the type.”

  “I don’t think so. And even if they do, don’t you think the sheriff has a little more to do right now than worry about a pink-haired waitress who shot a bottle of tequila in some snowbird’s house?”

  He considered this. “You’re right. In about six months, he might get around to looking into it. But even then, what’s he going to do? Charge you for illegal discharge of a weapon? Hell, half the town shoots off their guns into the sky every New Year’s Eve.”

  I thought about the bullet I’d lodged in the back of the waterfall, then decided that Caleb could pay for its removal, if his second cousin ever noticed it was there.

  “Thanks for being there for me,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I know that was . . . weird.”

  He looked surprised. “What are you talking about? I was ready to beat that guy’s head in. I don’t know why you didn’t let me. Now would have been the perfect time to do it, too. No cops, no accountability.”

  “But it’s my problem,” I said. “It felt good to settle it myself.”

  It did, too. Even if the way I’d done it might have been questionable, I felt a strange sense of peace, and no anxiety whatsoever.

  It was an unfamiliar sensation. But good. Really good.

  “Yeah,” Drew said. “You do seem sort of . . . calm.”

  “That’s thanks to you,” I said. “Now let’s get back to your aunt’s place and see if there’s anyone new on the list. Then we need to go back to Chett’s and his friends’ to check on their animals. They all need to be fed and walked again.”

  “God, you know all the right things to say to get a guy in the mood for romance.”

  I laughed. I was still laughing, in the best mood I could remember being in in a long time—and that was saying something, considering how happy I’d been last night—when I walked up the front steps of his aunt’s house.

  Right up until the moment the Hartwells’ front door was flung open, and my mother walked out of it, threw her arms wide, and cried, “Sabrina!”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Bottled water and MREs are being provided by FEMA in the Publix parking lot on a rotating schedule. Both are available from 7 A.M.—9 A.M., 11 A.M.—1 P.M., and 5 P.M. to 7 P.M. This schedule is subject to change.

  Oh my God.” I froze in my tracks.

  My mother was wearing a flight suit. Literally, a gray flight suit like the kind astronauts wear. Only hers was silk and probably Armani.

  “Sabrina, sweetheart!”

  My mother flung her arms around me.

  She was soft and smelled as she always did, of Chanel No. 5. Being hugged by my mother triggered something deep inside me, a memory I hadn’t thought of in a long, long time. It took me a few seconds to realize what that memory was, and then, like a lightning bolt, it hit me: home.

  But it was also so strange to see my mother on Little Bridge Island. She looked so out of place, with her pale blond blowout and her manicure and her carefully made-up face. Not to mention the flight suit.

  I wasn’t sure, after the incident not ten minutes earlier with Caleb and Kyle, how many more out-of-town visitors I could take.

  “Sweetheart, I was so worried about you. Are you all right?” She pulled back to look at me, allowing me to steal a glance at Drew. He was trying not to laugh over by the gumbo-limbo. I could have killed him. “Oh, sweetheart. Your hair. It’s so . . . bright.”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I said from between gritted teeth. “What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?”

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said, taking my hand. Her skin felt cool because she’d been inside with the air-conditioning for so long. “You’ll never believe it. Your uncle Steen got us a cargo plane. Because you know they weren’t going to let us land the jet here, because this place has been declared a national disaster zone by the governor. So we had to bring recovery supplies. But don’t you worry, we brought plenty of things for your new little friends, plenty of good, healthy things, like bottled water and fresh vegetables and diapers and some of those things, what are they called—”

  “MREs.”

  She’d pulled me inside now, into the living room, where her lawyer, Steen, dressed in a business suit, was sitting on the couch with a satellite phone in his hand.

  “Meals Ready to Eat,” he elaborated, with a brief smile at me. “Hello, Sabrina.”

  “Um, hi.” I really could not deal with seeing so many people from my New York world in my Little Bridge world in one day. Not on this day, of all days, when I was so happy because of Drew. It wasn’t fair.

  Even worse, there was another person, a stranger they appeared to have dragged with them, sitting on the other end of the couch. She was a small woman in her early fifties with a severe blond pixie cut who was at least wearing more sensible clothes—khaki shorts with a collared shirt and no-nonsense boots like mine—than either my mother or Steen.

  She was sipping a cup of coffee that Mrs. Hartwell, standing nervously in the corner, had apparently poured for her, while staring owlishly at the rest of us through somewhat thick glasses, probably wondering how on earth she’d gotten herself into this mess. Since she was holding a blissfully purring Gary on her lap, I assumed that she was at least somewhat happy, because no one could hold a purring Gary on their lap and not feel happy.

  Still, I pitied her, whoever she was, for having been sucked into this mess.

  And not just her—poor Mrs. Hartwell, as well. This was the last thing that poor lady needed, to have to entertain Judge Justine while also recovering from a hurricane. The least I could do was try to hurry along her visit.

  “Mom,” I said. “Thanks so much. I’m sure everyone appreciates it. But where exactly—”

  “Oh, I gave it all to that sheriff down at the airport when we landed,” my mother said breezily, not allowing me to finish my question. “He said they’re going to start handing it out this afternoon in the parking lot of some grocery store.”

  “That’s right.” Mrs. Hartwell pointed uneasily to Ed’s radio, which was sitting on the coffee table. “They said this morning on Head and the Toad Licker that they’d be starting food giveaways in the parking lot of the Publix at three this afternoon for anyone in need.”

  “And not only food for humans.” My mom looked inordinately proud of herself. “Pet food, too, Sabrina, thanks to this lady, here.” She pointed at the shy woman on the couch holding Gary on her lap. “Do you know who this woman is?”

  Obviously, I had no idea. “Um, no, Mom.”

  “This,” my mother said, proudly, “is your biological mother, Sabrina. Dr. Iris Svenson!”
/>   Chapter Thirty-Four

  Free Pet Emergency Care Available in Little Bridge

  The Veterinary Emergency Response Team opens today for all pet emergencies at the Animal Clinic. We have a fully operational hospital, including an operating room.

  All emergency care is available at no charge. This team will remain in place until our local veterinarians are back up and running.

  Care is available for ANIMALS ONLY.

  My knees seemed suddenly to have gone out from under me. It was a good thing we were in the living room, where there were a lot of chairs. I sat down heavily in one of them near the end of the couch, my mind whirling.

  My mother. The woman holding Gary on her lap was my mother.

  “Wait.” Mrs. Hartwell looked confused. “You have two mothers, Bree?”

  “No.” Dr. Svenson adjusted her thick glasses, but never stopped stroking Gary, who was flexing and unflexing his front claws in delight, careful not to sink them into her bare knees. He never bothered to take such care when he was sitting with me. “She does not have two mothers, only one. It’s more correct to say that I am Sabrina’s donor mother. I donated the egg from which Sabrina was conceived. Mrs. Beckham actually gave birth to and raised her, so she is Sabrina’s real mother.”

  Mrs. Hartwell still looked confused. “Oh.”

  Drew, who was resting a comforting hand on my shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll explain it to her sometime,” he whispered in my ear.

  I wasn’t really listening. I had more important things to worry about.

  “Mom.” I could not believe she’d done this. Not that I wasn’t happy to meet my donor mother. I just hadn’t planned on meeting her now, in this way, with my hair in a sweaty pony while wearing a pair of borrowed Timberland boots after I’d just pulled a gun on my ex-boyfriend’s best friend. “Was this really necessary?”

  “Well, of course it was, Sabrina!” My mom was clearly upset that her little surprise hadn’t gone over well. “Besides being your mother, Dr. Svenson is a very distinguished veterinarian and animal nutritionist! She works for the Veterinary Scientific Advisory Group! I still don’t understand exactly what that is, but I’m sure it’s very, very important.”

  Dr. Svenson gave me a timid smile that looked a little familiar somehow—until I realized, with a shock, that it was my own. “The VSAG is a group that works to develop cooperative relationships between the veterinary community and various other groups to enhance their services.”

  Of course. Of course my donor mother was a veterinarian. What else would she be?

  I smiled back at her—or tried to, anyway.

  “I’m very glad to meet you,” I said, extending my right hand, though I’m pretty sure my fingers were shaking. “I’m so sorry about my mom. She’s a lot.”

  “Oh, I know.” Dr. Svenson slipped her hand into mine and gave it a gentle squeeze, while Gary, disturbed that no one was petting him, let out a grumble. “I met her before, you know. And your dad. I quite liked them. That’s why I chose them. I thought they’d be good for . . . well, you. I didn’t know you then, of course, but . . . well, it seems to have worked out. You look . . . happy.”

  My eyes filled with tears. It wasn’t only because of what she’d said. It was her touch, as well. Even though it was simply her fingers closing around mine, it felt exactly like the hug I’d received earlier on the porch from my mom: like coming home.

  But how was that possible? I didn’t even know this person.

  And yet it felt as if I’d known her my entire life. Maybe because I had: I was half her, after all.

  “I am happy,” I said, squeezing her hand, not caring if she noticed my tears or shaking fingers. “Thank you. Thank you for what you did for me. I’m really, really happy.”

  She smiled—a much less timid smile this time, more like mine when I was genuinely pleased about something—and said, “That makes me glad. And no need to thank me. I was financially compensated by your parents for my time, and I used that compensation to help defer the costs of my education. There was an element of selfishness to the act, too, I suppose. I knew I was never going to have children of my own, because I’m not a maternal sort of person. But it’s a basic human instinct to want to see your DNA passed on. So helping a couple seeking a child of their own seemed the most logical way to go about it.”

  Well, okay. Maybe we didn’t have that much in common.

  At least until Gary, thoroughly disgusted that no one was petting him, reached up and swiped at both our hands with a velvet paw, and let out a dissatisfied meow. Dr. Svenson looked down at him and laughed.

  “And I like your cat very much,” she said, stroking an ecstatic-looking Gary behind his ear.

  “Thanks,” I said, laughing as well. “I rescued him from the local animal shelter. Can you believe he’d been there for years and no one wanted him?”

  “Their loss is your gain. I notice he has no teeth. Stomatitis?”

  “Yes!” I couldn’t believe she recognized the illness. But then again, she was a vet. “The surgery cost me twelve hundred dollars, but he’s been so much happier ever since.”

  “Yes, it’s amazing how well feline stomatitis patients do after tooth extraction.”

  “And you’ll never guess what Dr. Svenson’s done, Sabrina,” my mom cried, clapping her hands to get our attention. She clearly felt she was losing her audience, and for my mom, that was never a good thing. “Because she’s an animal nutritionist and part of this big veterinary organization, or whatever it is, she has the numbers to the heads of all the pet food companies. So she got all of them to donate food to the Hurricane Marilyn recovery fund! We brought giant bags of dog food, cat food, rabbit food, cat litter—you name it!”

  “That is so great,” I said, smiling at my two moms. “We’re so grateful. You can’t even believe how much we need that donation. We were basically down to one bag of cat food, and we were giving it to dogs.”

  It was the we that finally got my mom to notice Drew, standing behind my chair. Maybe she’d have eventually noticed him without it, but it was the we that got her, and possibly the fact that he was standing so close, with one hand still hovering protectively on my shoulder.

  “Oh,” she said, giving him an appraising look. I watched her take in his long, darkly tanned limbs—bare, of course, because he was wearing his usual low-slung cargo shorts—and flat, lightly-haired stomach, since his linen shirt was, as usual, barely buttoned due to the heat. “And you are?”

  “Mom, this is my, er, friend Drew Hartwell.” I had recovered myself sufficiently to rise from the puffy chair and make introductions. “Drew, this is my mother, Judge Justine Beckham.”

  “How do you do?” Drew leaned forward to shake the hand of my tiny, flight-suited mother.

  “How do you do?” Mom’s blue-eyed gaze took in every part of Drew that she’d missed while examining him from farther away. “Are you a special friend of my daughter’s?”

  “Mom.” How could my mother still have the ability to mortify me after all these years?

  But Drew took her, as he seemed to do everything else in life, in stride.

  “Why, yes, I am.” Grinning in that infuriating, adorably wry way he had, he laid an arm around my shoulders, then steered me around so that I was facing both of my mothers. “I’m very happy to meet both of you ladies, because you seem very special to Bree, and recently, Bree’s become very special to me.”

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling. Oh my God. Please make it stop.

  Dr. Svenson nodded calmly at Drew while still petting Gary. “So nice to meet you.”

  My mother, however, could barely contain herself. “Well, that’s just lovely, Drew. You know, Sabrina hasn’t had a special friend in a while, and honestly, we’ve been a bit worried about her, haven’t we, Steen? Steen!”

  Steen looked up from his satellite phone, on which he’d been texting. “What?”

  “This is Steen Frederickson, my special friend,” Mom said, reachi
ng a hand toward Steen, who obediently crossed the room to take it, though he didn’t really look up from the screen of his phone. “You don’t mind, do you, Sabrina? I’ve been so lonely without Daddy, and Steen’s always been so good to us.”

  I smiled. I was surprised it had taken my mom this long to find a “special friend.” She’d never been the kind of person who liked being alone with her own thoughts. I was just glad the person she’d chosen was someone as steady and sensible as Steen.

  “No,” I said, reaching out to take her hand. “I’m glad for you both.”

  “Well!” Mrs. Hartwell, who’d been standing in the corner watching my little family drama unfold before her like it was a reality show, clapped her hands in delight. “Isn’t this wonderful? I’d say it calls for a celebration!”

  Drew squeezed my shoulders. “It sure does! How about some tequila?”

  Grimacing, I elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Drew,” his aunt said. “I meant lunch. My husband and niece are down at our restaurant serving free food to this entire island, practically, and other restaurants have joined us in donating their food, as well, to serve before it spoils. Would any of you like to meet me down there, to share a meal? They’ve cleared our street, so I’d be happy to take you in our minivan.”

  I glanced at my mother to see her reaction, since she had never set foot in a minivan in her life.

  “Why, I think that would be lovely,” she said. “We’d be happy to, wouldn’t we, Steen?”

  “I’m starving,” Steen said, finally putting away his phone. “I’d love it.”

  “I’d be happy to come.” Dr. Svenson gently pushed Gary from her lap—though he protested quite vocally—and rose to her feet. “So long as they have vegetarian options.”

  “They will,” I assured her.

  “Well.” Mrs. Hartwell beamed. “Let’s go, then! Let me just go find my purse.”

  She hustled back toward the kitchen, while Drew tugged on my hand and pulled me out into the hallway.

  “What?” I asked as he pressed me up against the wall, out of sight of the others.