Stay For The Summer

"Hi Mom. I just saw a weather report, and it looks like something big is headed for you."

"I heard the report, Doug. We have our storm shutters up, and they've held through some rough winds. I'm not too worried about it. If it gets too bad, we have that safe room your dad had put in, the one with all that reinforced concrete and the steel beams across the ceiling."

"Right. And that bomb-proof door to the outside. It's like a bank vault."

"Yeah, I think he got a bit carried away. It's done though, and he's happy with it."

"Okay Mom. Well, I just wanted to say 'hi'. Stay safe."

"We'll be fine. You take care of yourself -- you're loved."

"Bye Mom"

I didn't think much more about it. They'd been in that house more than twenty years, and never had much damage, not even in that big storm a few years ago. It made an impression on me, though. I moved somewhere that doesn't have that kind of weather. Earthquakes, yes; tornadoes, no, and it's never been more than the dishes rattling. Then, the weather guys always add a dramatic edge to that kind of thing, just so no one can say, "You should have warned us!"

So, it was a bit of a shock to see the town next to theirs on the news, next morning. Helicopter cameras showed a tornado path that looked like a giant roto-tiller came through, and the newscaster said they still didn't have an official count of how many touched down. I called my mother immediately, and got some message like "that number is unavailable." That really made me nervous. I forced myself not to call more than once an hour, since the lines were probably swamped with people like me trying to call in.

I finally got through about four in the afternoon.

"Mom! Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm still not sure. We were off to the side of the worst of it, but still had damage to the house. The storm hit north of us too, and dumped an enormous amount of rain. What really got us was the flooding. The river had never been that high before, and we had nearly a foot of water on the first floor." I heard a catch in her voice, like she was about to cry.

"How's Dad?"

"He's fine, and that crazy concrete room just paid for itself. We didn't even know about the flooding until we opened the door and saw trash cans floating in the back yard. I'm not sure whose they were; I have no idea what county ours ended up in."

"Where are you now?"

"They turned the high school gymnasium into an emergency shelter. There's no privacy, but the cots are comfortable enough. The food isn't bad, all things considered, and we can charge our phones. We're waiting for the emergency crews to finish with the downed power lines and stuff, so they'll let us back to our houses."

"I guess the cell towers took a beating, too. I've been trying to get you all day."

"I'd believe it. I still have no idea what the damage really was. Might not know for a few days."

"Mom, if you and Dad are in one piece, that's all I care about. And Ginny was at school, so that's one less worry."

"Oh, right. And she was supposed to come home for the summer in two weeks." A deep sigh and a dead sound in her voice told me she was in shock, with too many things coming at her all at once. That was yet another. The sound of her voice said her caring was all used up.

"Mom, you take care of yourself, and hug Dad for me. I'll let you go now."

I kept in touch over the next week, and heard more as it emerged. FEMA arranged a hotel for them, in neighboring town, so they had lodging of a sort. The house had some wind damage, but that could be fixed easily enough. And, more then just the shirts on their backs, they could get some changes of clothes and some personal items. Flooding was the real problem, though. Pumping the basement out would take days, and the bottom of the first floor drywall was still so wet you could poke a finger through it. That left questions about wiring and insulation behind the walls, too. And of course, every contractor in the area code was working sixteen hour days, so repairs would take some time. Even if they could find the materials to repair with -- everyone would be competing for them.

I talked to Ginny, too. Her dorm would close for the summer in a week, and there wasn't much to go back to back home. My apartment has two bedrooms, though. I had one set up as my office, but offered it to her. She liked the idea, and my parents thanked me profusely. They even offered to pay half the rent while she stayed. I had, and still have a good job, but the offer was too good to turn down.

My parents decided that any upholstered furniture on the first floor had to go. They were still salvaging what they could of the basement, but mold on the drywall upstairs became a big concern. It was a good thing most of my father's tools were in the garage, but just about everything at floor level was a loss.

Their concerns dwarfed mine, but I still had to make some room for Ginny. I guess I should describe her. She's about five years younger than me, and we've always gotten along just fine, except for her wanting to tag along with me and my high school friends. I think a bit of big-brother hero worship helped keep things pleasant between us. She wasn't in high school yet when I moved out. She was a cute girl, but something of late bloomer. Every time I came home from college, she must have grown an inch or two. That knees-and-elbows kid I left gradually filled out into an eye-catching woman, too. And tall. I'm a little under 180 centimeters, ordinary for a guy, but she might have ten or fifteen centimeters over me. She got Dad's height, and being taller than any boy in her class was not good for her ego. The teasing, maybe even some bullying seemed relentless. The girls might have been jealous too, when they looked at the slim curves she had grown into. My high school years were bad, but hers were miserable.

That changed when she got to college. Her striking figure got a lot of attention, and she learned to stand up straight and own her height. She cut her hair, too, turning her dark hair from a long, amorphous curtain into a very feminine pixie cut. Her new-found confidence made her even more attractive. It was a real pleasure to see her that Saturday, when I went to her school to pick her up. She had a few more boxes than I expected, but we crammed everything into my car. We chatted easily on the drive back to my place. Well, she chatted and I mostly just listened.

She did well in her engineering program. The first two years are much the same for everyone in engineering: a lot of math, a broad base of science, humanities requirements, and introductions to the fields they might specialize in. I did much the same at a different school, so I recognized a lot of what she described. As we got closer to the town I lived in, conversation was less about school and more about family. She kept close touch with our parents, especially Mom, and got a somewhat different view of their disaster than I did. It sounded more personal, more about the other families we knew, and more about the problems of their daily lives.

We stopped for supper on the way home, and found a decent Italian restaurant. It startled me for a moment when she ordered a glass of Chianti, until I remembered she had turned twenty one last fall. As we ate, conversation turned more toward her new living arrangement. I described the place and the room she'd be using. It was the bigger of the bedrooms, but still had my desk in it. Even with me working from home (thank you COVID!), that didn't seem to be a big deal. We could schedule around it. I was between girlfriends at the time, and asked if she'd be bringing anyone home for the night. She blushed, but said she didn't have anyone special. Her school relationships were the kind she left at school.

It was late when we got in, and later when we finished the first round of unpacking. I had cleared the bedroom closet, a couple of shelves in the storage closet, and a drawer in the bathroom. They filled up quickly with clothes, books, and womanly needs, but a lot of boxes were still packed. Ginny took it with good grace when I apologized for the sleeping bag she'd have to use that first night. We took turns in the bathroom and said good night. She gave me a hug and leaned down for a peck on the cheek, and we both turned in.

Next morning, I heard her rustling in the kitchen. I saw her squatted down, checking a lower cabinet. She wore pajama shorts and top in some soft, light blue material. Her long frame left a gap between top and shorts, and the pant legs had ridden up in the back as she squatted. I tried to ignore the curve of her butt when I greeted her.

"It's your kitchen too,while you're here. Everything is fair game, unless I label it. Just let me know what gets used up."

"Thanks," she said. "I'm impressed. You're pretty well stocked. I expected a lot more beer and ramen."

I laughed. "Even when I was in school I ate better than that. Start a shopping list if you want, but let's get moving. We have a lot to do today."

Soon we sat down to eggs, toast, and a bowl of melon chunks for each of us. And coffee, of course. She skipped the top two buttons of her loose shirt, and sometimes showed a curve of breast as she moved or leaned over. She seemed quite unconscious of it and of that gentle bra-less bobble, and I tried not to stare. There was nothing to gain in making her feel uncomfortable here, not when she'd be spending the whole summer.

I outlined my plan for the day: Ikea to get her bedroom set up, plus whatever other shopping she'd need to settle in properly.

"Sounds good to me." she said. "Do you want first shower?"

"Later," I answered. "It's a warm day and there might be some sweaty work ahead. You go ahead. I'll change and clean up the dishes."

"Okay. I think I'll skip the shower too, and just brush my teeth."

A few minutes later I had food put away and dishes in the dishwasher. Back in the bedroom -- my bedroom now -- I changed into jeans and a tee shirt. While I was changing, I heard the toilet flush, the bathroom door open, and the office door -- her bedroom door close. I knocked on the bathroom door anyway, just to get into the habit.

I half expected a full-scale feminine invasion of the bathroom, but her presence was quite minimal and practical: another towel and face cloth on the towel bars, another toothbrush on the sink deck, another shampoo and some conditioner in the shower. Birth control pills next to her toothbrush, too. She's a grown woman after all, so that didn't surprise me. For a moment, though, I wondered who she'd been with. Even though she's twenty one, I still feel some big-brother protectiveness. And maybe a twinge of jealousy that I tried to ignore.

When I finished in the bathroom, she was ready to go. She wore a short sleeved shirt, mostly unbuttoned over a black sport bra, jeans, and sneakers. A baseball cap topped it off, and she looked ready to get the job done. Ikea was about a half hour away. We chatted in the car, mostly about what we'd get. She had already checked the web site, and had solid ideas about a sleep sofa, small chest of drawers for a night stand, and a book case. We both liked the choices she'd made once we saw them, and added two lamps and something like a coffee table to the list. Then sheets, a pillow, and pillow cases. We looked at a blanket, but figured she wouldn't need it for the summer. I felt like a clod for having overlooked so many of those minor necessities, but was happy to get it all in one trip. I wasn't sure how it would all fit my smallish car. With the back seat down, though, it all fit with nothing sticking out the back of the trunk. Best of all, it wasn't that expensive. That rent check coming from my parents should cover most of it.

As we drove home, Ginny asked "Do you mind if I put some coat hooks on the closet door?"

"Not at all. I'll be happy to put them up for you."

"Just let me know where the tool box is and I'll take care of it." I find something very attractive in competent women.

We stopped at a hardware store for the hooks and an extension cord, then at a grocer. Ginny offered to make supper and I agreed. Mom made sure we could both feed ourselves decently and I like cooking, but I don't mind sharing the chore. She ran into the store while I waited in the car. ("Don't peek, I want it to be a surprise.") One more stop for a bottle of wine, and another for something at a drug store, and we were home. Ginny helped bring the bigger boxes in from the car and put the food away while I brought the smaller things up. She already had the sleep sofa half assembled by the time I got it all in. I offered to help, but she brushed me away. ("We'd just get in each other's way.") I unpacked the sheets and pillow cases and threw them in my apartment's washer. Feeling a bit useless, I started unpacking the last of Ginny's boxes. I stacked the books where we agreed the book case would go, and found some more clothes that would go in the storage under the new sofa. It was tee shirts, shorts, and underwear. Some of the underwear looked more pretty than practical, but I figured it's just one of those girl things. Of course, an image of her in those came to me immediately. I knew I shouldn't, but I let myself enjoy that bit of imagination.

When I got to the last box, Ginny looked up and said "No, not that one." She sounded a little alarmed and she blushed. "It's okay, I'll get to it later." I had already been through her underwear, so I wondered what she'd be shy about.

We had worked through without stopping for lunch, finishing by about four p.m. Ginny looked around at her new sleeping arrangements, and seemed satisfied. I asked, "Are you all set?"

She sat on the sofa and answered, "I guess so, at least for now. This will be a lot more comfortable than I thought, and that reading lamp is in a great position. What do you think?"

"I think I skipped lunch and I'm starving."

"You go take that shower we talked about this morning. I'll have supper ready in about forty five minutes."

"Sounds good. What are we having?"

"A surprise. Now scoot. When you've showered, check your email or whatever until I call you."

I went to my bedroom and undressed. Yeah, I could really use that shower. My room has a door directly into the bathroom. I almost opened it out of habit, then remembered and knocked. No answer, so it was mine. I luxuriated in the hot water, feeling some of that heavy carrying in my shoulders. I toweled dry and went back to my room, being sure to shut the bathroom door properly -- something I'd have to get used to. Naked and pleasantly cool from the shower, I thought about rubbing one off. I was half hard already, and my scrotum had pulled in tight. That always make playing with myself a bit more exciting. I wasn't sure when Ginny would call for dinner, though, and didn't want to get stopped in mid wank. So, I dressed, clean underwear and tee shirt, same jeans, and pulled up my favorite time-wasting web site.

Ginny called after twenty minutes or so. When I opened my door, I almost didn't recognize my own living room. Ginny had found candles somewhere. There was still plenty of afternoon light coming in the windows, but it was an elegant touch. The table was beautifully set, too. I recognized a dish of sesame green beans, and a salad of tomato and mozzarella chunks, tossed with chopped basil, a little balsamic, and a lot of olive oil. A big dish of pasta swam in a creamy tan sauce that smelled of mushrooms. She had found my real wine glasses, too. "Wow, Gin. You really outdid yourself. And all in forty five minutes?"

"A bit more than forty five, but it's all simple stuff. It goes together quickly."

"Quick, easy, and delicious. That's my favorite recipe."

I noticed some music playing, too, some undemanding jazz. We didn't talk much as we ate and sipped an inexpensive viognier. The food was so good that my mouth was never empty enough for talking. I had seconds of everything, and I think my taste buds wanted more well after my stomach was full. We both sat back about the same time, happy and sated. I broke the comfortable silence, saying "You cooked, so I clean up. House rule."

She stood and bowed. "I hear and obey. I'll be in my room for a while." I was happy to hear her sound possessive about it. I figured that meant she had really settled in, after just a day or two.

There was some of each dish left over, but not much. I packed it all up, finished the last sip of wine in the bottle, and loaded the dishwasher. When that was all set, I got my laptop from my room and sat at the table. I faced it away from the bedroom doors, so Ginny wouldn't see the porn site I was looking at. It's the best amateur porn writing I've found. I mean, a lot of it is pretty bad, and a lot of it just doesn't work for me. There are gems, though, and a lot of semen has seen daylight while reading them. Ginny opened her door after a while, wearing a fluffy white bathrobe. It covered her down to her knees, with the occasional flash of leg when the front parted. A few steps had her in the bathroom with a closed door behind her. Maybe it was the reading, but I found it easy to imagine her naked in the shower, wet and slick with soap. You know, the kind of thing a brother isn't supposed to think about a sister. She went back to her room a while later, robed and still toweling her short hair dry. I don't think she even looked at me.

I heard her talking again, presumably another phone call and I went back to reading porn. I started a few that were so bad I gave up after the second or third scroll down. 'Cripes,' I thought. 'I'm no writer, but I can do better than some of this crap.'

Almost immediately, my inner voice answered, 'You think so? Prove it.' Challenge accepted. I closed my laptop and started to think of something to write. Ginny came back out after I had spent a few minutes trying to put something together and sat down. She was still in her bathrobe, and started talking. "Are you busy? I can come back later."

"Go ahead. I was lost in thought."

"I just talked to Mom and Dad. It's a real mess back there. The town finally cleared the down trees and wires, and the utilities are back on. The house is a wreck, though. Just about everything from the basement went into a dumpster, and they'll be ripping most of the first floor apart."

"Wow. Can they actually live there?"

"Sort of. Bedrooms and a bathroom are on the second floor. Except for the dishwasher, the appliances seem to work. And they were bleeding money into the hotel they were staying at."

We went on for a while, going over the details of the damage and recovery. I found it hard to keep my eyes on Ginny's face, though. The robe's lapels kept shifting as she moved. There was plenty of "side boob," but it was the inside edge, across her sternum, not the outside. Once, I thought I saw the edge of an areola. Ginny isn't a chesty type, but how much does a lady actually need? She looks great in a swim suit, with the curves in perfect proportion.

"Oh, one more thing." Ginny paused. "I talked to Dad, and he really appreciates you letting me stay here. It must be a big disruption for you."

"It's different, but I wouldn't call it a disruption. I just need to remember to knock on the bathroom door and leave the seat down, mostly."

She laughed. "It's kind of you to say that, and I'll pretend to believe you. I appreciate it, too. I have no idea how I would have lived down there." Her bedroom had been on the first floor.

I had to answer, "Look, it's an emergency. Stuff like this comes out of nowhere, and it has to be dealt with. You seem well settled in, and I really don't mind. I mean, you're my favorite little sister."

She laughed again. "Yeah, little. Right. Seriously, though, it's the first time we've spent more than a day together as adults. You're a lot easier to talk to than I was afraid you'd be."