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Beth yields her cherry to Jack.
"Hi, dad. What's up?" answered Jackson, as he held the phone to his ear while trying to eat a very large well stuffed burrito.
"I left some paperwork at home, could you get over there, and fax them to me? I'm out of town at a meeting and I'll need those reports in about an hour. I'll text you the fax number. Can you do that?" asked Malcolm, hoping his son wouldn't say yes and forget it immediately upon hanging up.
"Uh...yeah. Sure, dad."
"It's on my desk. It's titled, 'A Study of Advanced Injection Molding for Increased Production'. Don't worry, I'll text the title as well. How soon can you get to the house?"
"Okay. I'll- uh- leave in about - uh- twenty minutes, so figure forty minutes. Is that okay?" answered Jackson as he began devouring the first of three burritos.
"Yeah, that'll work. I'll text you the information as soon as we hang up."
"Okay, dad. Bye."
Five minutes later, Jackson's mobile phone chortled a tone, indicating he'd received a text message. But, he was too busy starting on the second burrito to pay his phone any attention.
Once his hunger was sated, Jackson wandered into the living room, to sit in the fairly comfortable over stuffed arm chair and turned on the television to see if any his favorites shows were being rerun. Several minutes later, during a commercial about computers, he was suddenly reminded of his dad's request. Glancing at his watch, he noticed it had been forty-five minutes since his dad had called.
"Oh, shit!" Jackson knew his dad was going to be pissed, but dad had always said, "Better late than never". Hoping his dad would understand, and live by his sage philosophy, Jackson ran out the door and to his car.
Driving like a madman, which to most young adults his age, was the normal mode of driving, he arrived at his dad's place in half the time it would have, otherwise, taken. Some what proud of himself for some of the lost time he'd made up, Jackson rushed up to one of the gate columns, punching in the code to unlock the gate, as soon as the gate opened Jackson ran into the house, while reading his dad's text message.
'Where did dad say the paperwork was? In his desk? On his desk? I guess I'll have to look for it.'
Rummaging through some papers atop the desk, Jackson found what his dad wanted, but he also found something else. As he glanced over this other paperwork, his eyes widened in surprise. After another moment, Jackson shook his head in dumbfound confusion, and refocused on faxing the paperwork to his dad. Yet, as he stood there, dialing the fax number and running each sheet through the scanner, his mind returned to what he'd read on the other paperwork. He could feel a slow anger beginning to burn in his mind.
Later that evening, as Malcolm walked into his home, a very upset son confronted a very tired father.
Waving around some papers, like a madman, Jackson stopped his rapid pacing and faced Malcolm.
"Why didn't you tell me before? Why did I have to read it off some fucking paper? Does Trish know?"
"Watch your language, boy." admonished Malcolm in a gruff voice, waiting expectantly for Jackson to apologize.
"Sorry, Dad. But-"
Waving his son to silence, Malcolm plopped down on the couch. Raising his eyes to meet his son's, he said, "You weren't supposed to know anything about that." A stern look silenced his son who was ready to argue the merits of what he was supposed to know and not know. "I didn't tell you because I wasn't ready to discuss it with you, or Trisha. I haven't made up my mind on a few things, and until I do, this topic is closed."
Before he'd finished his last sentence, Malcolm had risen and began heading to the stairs.
"Dad! Wait! I'm not done!" said Jackson loudly, to his father's retreating back.
"Jackson, you can bellyache all you want, but I have nothing else to say. I'm going to bed. You can spend the night, or go home. Either way, lock up. Will you? Thank you. Good night."
Frustrated at his father's stubbornness and angry at the situation, Jac