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Subject: Title story: "Father Knows Best" Author: Incestor 58289853
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Date: Mon, 31 Oct 2005 19:59:26 +0000
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Father Knows Best The shrill ring of the phone yanked the Anderson's from their
sleep. Jim rolled over, with a mild groan that spoke of every one of his 50
years, and picked up the alarm clock on his nightstand. He held it up so he
could see the face in a shaft of moonlight from the window. "It's 2 a.m.," he
said irately. "Who would be calling at this hour?" The phone trilled again.
"Well, we certainly won't find out just lying here," Margaret said. She got up
and walked down to the hall phone. Jim nestled back under the covers and had
just about gotten back to sleep when Margaret shook him. "Wake up, Jim! Get up!
Oh, do get up, Jim!" He opened his eyes slowly. "What is it?" he said. "It's
Betty," Margaret answered quickly, out of breath from her race up the stairs.
"She wants you to come pick her up." "At this hour?" he asked, his voice rising
in dismay. "She was supposed to spend the night at the Thompsons, wasn't she?
What's wrong? And why can't Ed Thompson drive her home?" He sat up, a worried
look crossing his brow. "Ed and Nancy did come home after the play, didn't
they? Is everything all right?" "Yes, or, no, oh, I don't know," Margaret said.
"All I know is Betty said she needed to come home and she needed a ride and she
sounded very upset. You've got to go." "Oh, all right," he sighed, getting out
of bed and beginning to rummage through his dresser. Margaret snapped at him:
"What ARE you doing, Jim Anderson?" "I'm getting dressed, of course," he
replied. "Oh, don't bother," his wife said. "Here's the keys, just go. I think
she wants you to hurry." "But I can't go out like this," Jim said, flinging his
arms wide. He wore no top, and the crotch of his pajama bottoms was so bare you
could see the dark outline of hair. A few wiry strands were showing through a
gap between two of the buttons. "Just throw on your raincoat," Margaret said.
"And get going. Now!"
=== === === ===
Jim was still feeling a bit angry when he pulled up in front of the Thompsons'
house. He'd dropped off Betty just eight hours before, and she was supposed to
sleep over after spending the evening watching Ed and Nancy's two young
daughters. What was so all-fired important... Even before he could finish the
thought, Betty came flying out of the Thompsons' front door. She ran across the
lawn -- Jim noticed that she had no socks on, and only one shoe -- and jumped
into the car, quickly tossing her schoolbag to the floor and pulling the door
shut. Then she slumped back against the window, looking very small and frail on
the big, wide bench of the car's front seat. Jim waited for her to say
something, but heard only her quick, short breaths. He snapped on the dome light
and looked over. She looked flushed, and something seemed wrong with her blouse.
"Can we go, Father?" she asked, staring down at the floor. "Can we just go?"
"But, Princess," he said, "what happened?" The anger was gone from his voice
now. She looked so beautiful in the light, the high cheekbones, the smooth skin
-- Margaret's had been like that, when she was young. "Just go, Father. Now.
Please?" Jim flipped off the light and drove away. As the car rolled through the
quiet streets, Jim occasionally looked over at his daughter -- 14, now it seemed
such a short time ago she'd been a toddler. Sometimes the glow of a streetlight
made a halo out of her soft, silky brown hair and cast the shadow of a firm
young breast on the white cotton of her blouse. It wasn't very big, but there
was a definite shape to it, the gentle slope down to the nipple, the sweet curve
from there down to ... With a start, Jim realized she wasn't wearing a bra. He
shot a glance at the schoolbag she'd taken along. There was a squarish outline
on one side -- the textbooks, he guessed, she was going to spend the night
studying -- and an odd lump -- that must be her other shoe, he figured -- and
yes, just there, peeking out of one corner of the overstuffed bag, a narrow band
of white with a small, shiny circle at the end. Her bra strap. "What the devil?"
he thought to himself. Just then, Betty began to speak. Her voice was flat, a
monotone, except every so often when she seemed to swallow a sob. "I put the
twins to bed at 9:30," she began, "just like Mrs. Thompson said. Then I read for
awhile, on the couch in the living room. I guess I got a little sleepy -- it was
all about cell division and stuff, kinda boring. "I thought I'd put the radio
on, to keep myself awake. But then I thought, no, it'll wake the girls -- so I
didn't. And then I guess I must've fallen asleep on the couch. I don't know how
long. I think I just drifted off..." Jim glanced over. Princess was staring
straight ahead, her eyes focused far away. She was hugging herself tightly, and
her legs were drawn up next to her on the seat. She'd kicked off her other shoe.
Even in the dim light, he could see the shapely curve of her ankles, rising ...
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