It was mid-September of 2018 and I was sitting in my Raleigh NC house trying to watch coverage of Hurricane Florence as it made landfall on the coast of the US near Wilmington. I was worried about my sister Karen whom I hadn't heard from in a few days. Even without a hurricane bearing down on her she was experiencing a shitty year. She was 4 years younger than me and I had always felt responsible for her safety and happiness. It is said that you can never consider yourself responsible for anyone else's happiness, and I suppose that is true, but there are extenuating circumstances here. All of that aside, a major hurricane was bearing down on her.
I thought that I had always done a pretty good job protecting her until she met Bob Murphy. She married Bob in March of this year only to be seeking an annulment a few weeks afterwards when one of her bridesmaids was found to be 5 months pregnant with Bob's child. Now two marriages were ruined and Karen was shell-shocked, losing a husband and what she thought to be a close friend that she thought she could trust.
She moved out immediately into a small apartment near the hospital where she worked and insisted they split what few assets they had. Bob kept the house and Karen's new car (along with the payments on both of them) and Karen moved out and took her rather nice salary and Bob's paid-off redneck Jeep that was far too high for Karen to climb into comfortably. The Jeep smelled like wet dog and body odor but it was paid off and it was serving its purpose for the time being.
Karen had distinguished herself professionally and was the ER Director at the largest trauma center in the region. After only a couple of weeks had passed since the split Bob began to show up at the ER where Karen worked publicly begging for Karen's forgiveness and what he saw as her inevitable return. Usually he was drunk as hell. Her flat refusal to stop working and listen to his drunken ramblings resulted in no less than 3 calls to the local 911 dispatch center. Bob was arrested each time and allowed to sleep things off. Never the quitter, Bob persisted until finally his visit resulted in a total lock-down of the facility one night at 3am when he implied that he had a gun and would harm Karen and himself. That event landed Bob in jail for about 10 days until his lawyer (and cousin) managed to get him out by promising he would enter an in-patient treatment facility for his alcohol problem.
To no one's surprise Bob failed to remain in the facility and showed up drunk at the ER again one evening yelling at the top of his lungs. He managed to disappear before the police showed up this time and they looked for him without any real enthusiasm. He called her cell phone a number of times telling her he was waiting for her and that she would never know when he might pop-up.
Karen called me and I made the nearly 2-hour drive from Raleigh to where she worked in record time. I found Bob prowling around the employee parking garage near his old Jeep. I confronted him and he was stupid enough to pull a 3-inch pocket knife out of his back pocket and threatened to kill me. He was too drunk and way too slow to see my right fist until it was inches from his nose. I shattered his nose and probably would have beaten him half to death if the police hadn't shown up when they did. As it was, I nearly broke his arm by twisting it behind him and I also beat his face quite badly.
The police response was pretty swift now that I'd flushed out their quarry. I was handcuffed forthwith and ushered to the back seat of a police car. When the sergeant on duty questioned me and realized I was Karen's older brother he pulled the other officers aside, explaining the whole situation - including Bob's previous appearances at the ER over the past several weeks as Karen's dip-shit ex-husband. The other officers changed their attitudes towards me and soon I was released. They assured me that Bob was in deep shit this time. After an extended stay in a nearby ER Bob went to jail for 90 days. His cousin couldn't (or wouldn't) help him this time.
All of this negative publicity did significant damage to Karen's image at the ER and the embarrassment was beyond what she could bear. She felt pressured by hospital administration and soon left her six-figure job at their prestigious ER. She managed to find a job across town in a small clinic at less than one third the salary she was used to.
Now, barely a month later, the weather report on the news was scary to say the least. I had tried for 2 days to reach Karen by phone but only got her voicemail for my efforts. I left a total of 5 messages for her - each one showing more urgency. So, doing one of the dumbest things I could have possibly considered in this situation, I threw some clothes into a duffel bag and headed for the North Carolina coast and a category 4 hurricane in my Tahoe. I got within about 20 miles of the city before being stopped by an emergency crew who told me that the Interstate was blocked about a mile ahead. I had already seen several downed trees and had run through patches of standing water on Interstate 40 that were probably half-way up my 20-inch tires.
I was nearly distraught by this time but knew enough about hurricanes along the NC coast to know that the water would certainly be rising even further inland as the hours passed by. Knowing that both the interstate and more rural roads would be impossible to travel soon I had no choice but to turn back. Karen was (normally) smart and would surely have taken steps to protect herself. It took me almost 6 hours to make it back to my house in rapidly worsening conditions.
I was cursing myself for not making the trip two days earlier and nearing panic when I turned onto my quiet street when I noticed Bob's old Jeep in my driveway. I recklessly sped to my driveway and skidded to a halt, stopping the Tahoe with one wheel up on the curb like I had been drinking. I barely remembered to close the driver's door before running up to the front porch where Karen sat on a heavy rocker, soaked to the bone like a drowned rat. She didn't have a house key.
I ran to her and wrapped my arms tightly around her, telling her that I had tried to call many times and asking why she hadn't returned my calls. She looked up at me and then fell completely to pieces, her tears coming in great shuddering sobs like I have never seen. Nice! Now I felt like a complete asshole for nearly yelling at her. She held to me like she was going to fall if she let go.
Fearing she would stand on the porch in the driving rain all night I had no choice but to pick her up and carry her into the house. Fortunately, my smart phone had unlocked the front door as I approached so I didn't have to fumble with keys. Karen isn't anywhere near fat, but 130 pounds of soaking wet, crying woman is a bit difficult to carry through your front door when she isn't making any effort of her own.
I placed her gently on my couch and removed her coat as she continued to sob openly, noticing that she was soaked to the skin from head to toe. I went to my bedroom and retrieved two towels and a blanket before returning to her. I knelt in front of her and placed a one towel over her wet mop of hair apologizing over and over for fussing at her, assuring her that I was just concerned for her safety. Then I wrapped the other towel around her shoulders and patted and squeezed to try to dry her out some. I began drying her hair with the first towel and when I managed to stop it from dripping I held her and whispered into her ear that I loved her over and over. The faucets of tears and snot she produced were impressive and she was rapidly making her way through the entire box of tissues that was sitting on the end table next to her.
Gradually, the intensity of her sobs decreased and within about 30 minutes had stopped almost completely. She whispered without looking at me, "I'm sorry, Bill. I am such a mess right now and I guess I have been barely holding myself together."
"Karen" I replied, "I'm just glad you're here. Do you have some clothes in your Jeep?"
That question was met with an immediate outburst of tears making me wish I had just kept my damn mouth shut. I simply held her and tried to calm her as best I could.
Fifteen minutes later she grew quiet once again and I stood shakily to my feet (I'd been kneeling on a hardwood floor for 45 minutes) and sat next to her on the couch. She showed no signs of taking any action so I pulled her to me and wrapped the blanket around her. She began crying again, but more gently this time and it was obvious that she was going to have to cry this thing out in her own time.
She eventually slid down and rested her head in my lap and became much quieter, with only occasional sobs. They were scary when they happened, though! I continued to dry her hair, lifting her head gently to get as much of it as I could. I fluffed it a little when it was mostly dry then sat silently and stared at my little sister for the longest time - no words spoken by either of us. I noticed her cute nose and freckled face, the same face that had disarmed me so many times as a teenager and young man. She had a girl-next-door beauty that was undeniable, and it was easy to see even after the total meltdown she had just experienced.
Almost afraid to break the silence I said, "I love you, Karen." She slowly turned her head upwards and I swear I thought she was either going to yell at me or lunge into another crying jag. She turned her body towards me and hugged me tightly enough to crush a smaller man as she buried her face in my chest. "I love you, Billy,'' she whispered. "So much."
I swallowed hard and told her, "Why don't you get out of those wet things and let me get some dry clothes for you to change into?"
"That's probably a good idea,'' she admitted. "I need to pee anyway. Why don't I go change and wash my face," she suggested. She stood to her feet. Her wet shirt clung to her tightly and it was obvious she had no bra on. Holy shit! Her breasts were magnificent and I fought to take my eyes off of them before she noticed. She actually broke a smile when she noticed and said, "My eyes are up here, buster!"
"Uh, use the master bath in my bedroom,'' I stammered. "I haven't cleaned the upstairs bathrooms in a while," I sheepishly admitted. I kicked myself for not taking better care of the second floor of my house - and for getting busted. There were 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms up there along with a moderate sized den. I only went up there occasionally and really hated the space now.
She turned and headed for my bathroom so I stood and started to pick up the towels and the blanket on the way into my bedroom to dump them in the hamper. By the time she hit my bedroom door she had begun undressing and dropping pieces of her clothing as she walked. Her tennis shoes were wet enough to squeak when she walked and they were the first to go, followed by wet socks and her yoga pants. I wondered if she realized I was following her when she hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled them down, bending at the waist. I couldn't look away and got a full view of her soft ass and hair-covered crack. A bright pink slit was barely visible, hidden almost completely by her unbelievably thick brown pubic hair.
