"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.
