Little Bridge Island remains closed to anyone who is not currently in residence or is working in an official capacity with the hurricane relief effort. There will be no exceptions by order of the Sheriff’s Office.
I sat on the pink-silk-cushioned love seat, staring at the keypad to the Hartwells’ landline.
I knew by heart the number I was supposed to dial. I just really, really didn’t want to press it.
Instead, I took out my cell phone and looked up the number of my landlady, Lydia Petrovich. Then I pressed the buttons on the landline, dialing her instead.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Lydia? Hi, it’s Sabrina Beckham, your tenant in—”
“Bree!” She sounded relieved to hear from me. “Oh, Bree, sweetheart, how are you? Where are you?”
“I’m in Little Bridge, Lydia, and I just wanted to tell you—”
“You’re in Little Bridge? But how can that be? On television they’re saying that—”
I smiled. “I know what they’re saying on TV, Lydia. But it’s not true. I mean, the apartment building did flood a little, and a few houses along the beach were destroyed, along with the bridge to the mainland. But for the most part, we didn’t receive that much damage.”
I heard her tell someone on her side of the phone everything I’d just said, only in Russian. When she came back on, she sounded excited. “When you say the apartment building flooded a little, how much do you mean?”
“Only a few inches. And please tell Sonny not to worry about R2-D2 and C-3PO, because I got them out. They’re just fine.”
Her tone sharpened. “What do you mean you got them out? What happened to Sean? Sean was supposed to look after them.”
“Well . . .” As matter-of-factly as I could, I told Lydia what had happened with Sean.
But even though I’d been careful not to cast Sean as the bad guy, Lydia was spitting mad by the time I got through. Most of what she said, however, I didn’t understand, since I don’t know many Russian curse words.
“Lydia, Lydia.” I tried to calm her down. “Please. The storm was really, really bad at that point. It was only natural that he was scared. Let’s try not to judge. We don’t know what was going through his head.”
“I know exactly what was going through his head,” she cried. “Helping himself and himself only, because he’s a spoiled little brat, just like his mother, my sister, and he always has been. Of course I will judge him. When that bridge opens back up and I get my hands on him, he’s going to wish he was never born, that—”
“Well, it’s over now,” I interrupted in my most soothing voice. “And it all turned out okay. Your son’s guinea pigs are fine, okay? So let’s concentrate on that.”
“Mom,” I heard Sonny saying in the background, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she told him, in a calmer voice. “Everything’s fine. Your little piggies are fine. Bree saved them.”
“Bree? What about Sean?”
“Never mind about Sean. He—” There was another long pause while I overheard the mother and son discussing something animatedly in Russian. I heard the name Chett mentioned frequently.
Finally Lydia came back on the line with me. “Bree, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you do us another favor? You’re the only person we’ve heard from who’s still on the island, with cell service being out.”
“Of course. Anything you need.”
“Chett, one of Sonny’s friends from the community college, evacuated as well, and left behind his bird. He thought he’d only be gone a day or so. But now, with the bridge out—”
“Of course,” I said. “I understand.”
I was lying. I didn’t understand how anyone could evacuate and leave their pets behind without someone to look after them.
But, like I’d told Lydia, I wasn’t there to judge.
Instead, I reached for a pen and a pad of paper that sat near the Hartwells’ landline. The pad said HOME in fancy cursive across the top.
“Give me Chett’s phone number, and I’ll get in touch with him about his bird.”
“Oh, you’re such an angel, Bree,” Lydia said, and gave me the information.
After I’d said good-bye and hung up, I looked at Gary. Displaced from his favorite seat, he regarded me resentfully from the Persian carpet.
“What have you got to be so upset about?” I asked. “You’re living in the lap of luxury. I’m the one with problems.”
Gary yawned, then turned his head to lazily lick a paw.
Sighing, I dialed Chett’s number. He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Chett? This is Bree, Sonny’s frie—”
“I know who you are, ma’am.” Chett spoke with a Southern accent, his voice breathless and impossibly young. “Sonny already let me know that you’d be calling.”
“Oh.” Sonny must have texted Chett while I’d still been on the phone with his mother. “Okay. Well, so he must have told you that—”
“Yeah, that you’re in Little Bridge, and you said you’d check on my birds?”
“Um . . . birds, as in more than one?”
“Yeah, I have eight of ’em?” Chett’s voice rose at the end of his sentences to make it sound like he was asking a question, even when he wasn’t. “They’re cockatiels. I put ’em in the attic because I was afraid it was going to flood. But now I heard on the news that it didn’t, it was more of a wind event? I live on Roosevelt, so maybe you would know. Did it flood over there?”
I was still trying to absorb the bombshell he’d just dropped on me. “Did you say you have eight cockatiels?”
“Yeah, eight of them. I left ’em plenty of food and water, but if the power is out I imagine it’s getting really hot in that attic. Cockatiels are sensitive to heat. Do you think you could go over there and check on them? I rent a room at 804 Roosevelt. There’s a key under the welcome mat in front of the door. I’m in room three. You shouldn’t have any problem getting in.”
“Um . . . okay.”
“I can’t thank you enough, ma’am, this is real nice of you. Also, I know a bunch of other people from the college who can’t get back to their pets, either. Would you mind if I gave you their names?”
I hesitated with my pen poised over the HOME notepad. “A bunch of other people who left their pets behind?”
“Well, yes, ma’am, I know it sounds bad, but we’re students so it wasn’t like we could afford hotel rooms or anything. We’re all staying at this one girl’s grandma’s condo in Boca, but her grandma said we couldn’t bring pets on account of she’s allergic to animal dander. We thought it would be okay to leave our animals behind because we’d only be gone a little while. We didn’t know the bridge was going to—”
I cut him off, as I could sense a growing hysteria in his voice. “It’s okay. I’m not judging you. I know you love your pets.”
“We do, ma’am.” I could hear tears in his voice now. “We do love our pets. My ’tiels are my life. I thought I’d be right back, but then when I tried to drive back this morning, the sheriff—”
“It’s okay,” I repeated gently. “Just give me your friends’ addresses and . . . uh, well, I guess what kind of pets they have, and how I can get into their homes, and if they have spare keys under the mat, like you do, or any other way I might be able to get into their place.”
Chett happily obliged. By the time he was finished, I had filled a whole page of the HOME notepad.
I also had writer’s cramp.
“So will you call us?” he asked eagerly. “Will you call us and let us know how it goes? Because I’m real worried about my birds. They’re just the sweetest things.”
“I’ll call you, Chett,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
All I could think about was how much gas all of this was going to take. Ed was going to kill me.
But since Ed was also an animal lover, I knew he’d be happy to donate to the cause.
Probably.
Speaking of which, I knew I had one last—and much more difficult—call to make. Which I did as soon as I’d hung up with Chett, finally dialing the number I’d been avoiding for so long.
“Mom?” I asked when she picked up.
She sounded like her usual self—her voice throaty from all the cigarettes she’d smoked before I was born, and still occasionally sneaked in times of stress. “Sabrina, finally. You don’t know what I’ve been going through these past twenty-four hours, not knowing whether you were dead or alive.”
“Mom, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the storm hit.”
“You know what I mean. Where are you? Who are these people you’re staying with? How are they treating you?”
“They were treating me just fine until you had to go and call the governor and make him send the sheriff over here and blow my cover. No one here knew I was your daughter until then.”
“Why? What do you mean? Oh my God, Bree.” She lowered her voice. “Have you been kidnapped? Are they listening in? Just say yes or no.”
“Mom, no, don’t be ridiculous. It’s the opposite, in fact.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that unlike you, Mother, I wasn’t asking for special treatment. But now my hostess has moved all my stuff into her best guest room. She’s practically falling over herself to be nice to me. Not that she wasn’t nice before, but now I’ve got an en suite bathroom all to myself . . . and my cat.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“Mom, don’t you get it? I want people to like me for me, not because I’m Judge Justine’s daughter.”
“People do like you for you, Sabrina. You’re a kind, smart, pretty girl. And if my being who I am happens to help . . . well, what’s so wrong with that? Why, those people ought to show a little gratitude to you. It’s because of me that the longest runway at the Little Bridge airport is going to be cleared as soon as tomorrow.”
It took a second for that to register. “What?”
“That’s right. The governor has promised that even if they can’t get anything else done, that, at least, will be finished as a special favor to me, and your uncle Steen swears he’s going to have a plane there ready to pick you up—”
“Mom.” I cringed. “No. I don’t want that. I mean, yes, the runway is nice, the people here need it. But do not send a plane for me.”
“Sabrina, have you lost your mind? The governor says they don’t expect to have that bridge fixed or power or cell service up and running there for at least another week!”
“I know, Mom, but I’ve got everything I need.”
“Sabrina, don’t be ridiculous. The governor tells me there isn’t a functioning hospital down there for a hundred miles. What if something should happen to you? You could step on a nail and get lockjaw, or something. No, it’s simply too dangerous. Steen and I are coming down there as soon as the runway is cleared, and that’s all there is to it.”
I felt as if someone had poured a cold beer down my back. “Mom, no. Do not come here.”
“Well, someone has to, honey. If you don’t have the common sense to get out of there, then—”
“Mom. You can clear all the runways you want—I’m sure everyone will appreciate it. But I’m not leaving.”
“Sabrina. Look. I understand that you’re still angry about your father and me not telling you about your donor mother. And you have a right to be. But haven’t you punished me enough? Isn’t it about time that you let that go? This is a very dangerous situation, and—”
“I know it is, Mom. And I swear to you that my not wanting to leave yet has nothing to do with you not telling me about my donor mother.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No, of course not. I’m not even angry with you about that anymore. I’m mad that you didn’t believe me about Kyle—”
“Oh, honey, I told you, I believed you. I just think you overreacted. You know, I was at a Christmas party once with the president of AMC Radio, and you wouldn’t believe where he put his—”
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about any of that right now. I actually do need your help. Just not the kind of help you’re offering.”
“Well, what kind of help do you need, then?”
“I need you to go online—since I can’t, because we don’t have the Internet—and post a message to every social media outlet that you can think of that anyone who’s evacuated from Little Bridge Island and left a pet behind needs to contact your office. Tell them to call your office and leave their name, address, type of pet, the pet’s needs, and a way we can get into their home. Make sure they don’t post this information online—they have to leave it verbally with whoever picks up at your office when they call. If there really are looters, we don’t want them knowing which houses are sitting empty and how to break into them. These people have to feel that their private information is safe with you. Then I’ll call you back in a little while to get the data you’ve collected, and we can go from there.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. I waited tensely until finally my mother said, “Sabrina. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about all the people from this island who evacuated and left their pets behind and now can’t get back to them because the bridge is out. You need to help me reach them before all their pets die.”
“Sabrina.” My mother’s voice was tight. She sounded furious. “That is ridiculous.”
“What? Why is it ridiculous?”
“Because those people should never have left their pets behind in the first place. Why should you go to all the trouble of helping them?”
“Because if I don’t they’ll die, Mom. And anyway, things happen. Don’t they? Like people panic and evacuate and then the bridge blows out and they can’t get back to their homes. And parents use a donor egg to have a baby and then never tell the kid, but eventually the kid finds out anyway. Do you think maybe we shouldn’t judge people so harshly for their poor decisions?”
My mom made a croaking noise. “Sabrina—”
“Most of these people were just scared, Mom. Most of them were just doing the best they could. Many of them were only thinking of their children or their family or friends. Let’s try to help them without judging them. Okay?”
“But . . . I just don’t understand. It seems like so much work. Why do you have to be the one to do it?”
I sighed. Sometimes I felt like I was never going to understand my mother, and she was never going to understand me. But that didn’t mean I didn’t love her.
“Because,” I said, “I’m here. And I’m not doing anything else. And I’m your daughter, and you have millions of followers on your social media. They, in turn, will spread the word to other people on social media, until it finally gets to the actual evacuees from Little Bridge who we’re offering this service to. And then we’ll be able to save these animals, and also prevent a possible potential health hazard. Okay? Can you just have someone do this, please? It would mean a lot to me, and I actually think it might do wonders for your reputation. It could even win you some new fans.”
“Sabrina.” My mom’s voice sounded choked. “I—”
“Mom. Could you just do it? Will you do this one thing your daughter is asking you to do?”
There was silence again over the phone. And then finally my mother said, quietly, “Yes. Yes, Sabrina, of course. Tell me again what it is you want me to do.”
