the Big Time (2010) (3 page)

“
MOM, WHAT ARE YOU
doing!” Troy yelled, the blast of fear still burning through his veins.

His mom sat upright against the headboard of his bed with her arms folded and her legs crossed, wearing a robe over her pajamas. She uncrossed her legs and swung them over the side, standing, but keeping her arms folded tight as if against some unknown chill.

“Waiting,” she said, the word dropping from her lips like a stone.

“Well,” Troy said, turning to his Xbox controller and winding up its cord, something he never did.

His mom brushed past him and left the room. From the hall she said, “I left two more of those pain pills for your finger on the table next to your bed. One for
tonight and one for tomorrow, and don't forget to brush your teeth.”

Then he heard her bedroom door close.

Troy shook his head and took the pain pill, brushed his teeth and went to bed. He lay awake. At first his finger throbbed out the rhythm of his heartbeat, but then the gentle wave of the pain pill softened the ache in his finger and his heart. He dropped off to sleep thinking of Tate's words about his father.

 

Troy ached more in the morning than he could ever remember. His whole body felt stiff and sore from the rough game they'd played, and his finger had blown up like a deli pickle. For a moment the whole thing—the championship, the agents who'd approached him in the parking lot, and even his father's appearance at Seth's house—all seemed like a dream. He took the second pain pill his mom had laid out with a glass of water beside his bed. Then he heard the sound of his grandfather's voice from the kitchen, and he jumped up and nearly tripped pulling on his pants as he swung open the door.

“Gramps!” Troy said, hugging his grandfather where he sat at the kitchen table. “Where were you last night?”

“I was there for the game, are you kidding?” Gramps said. “But I'm too old for parties. Besides, that was for your team. No, I just went home afterward and had a
cup of tea on my porch to celebrate.”

His grandfather, tough and straight as an old stick, wore wire-rimmed glasses that highlighted his blazing pale blue eyes. His hair was mostly gone, and on his chin he had a white stubble that could leave a raspberry on Troy's skin. As Troy stepped back, Gramps held out one iron hand.

“Give me the grip,” he said, then he looked at Troy's swollen finger. “Ouch. Better not. I saw them messing with you on the sideline and that last pass that looked like a dead duck, but I didn't know you messed yourself up this bad.”

“I'm okay,” Troy said.

Troy's mom turned away from the stove with platters of eggs, grits, and sausages, setting them out on the table before taking a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and then pouring herself and her father cups of steaming hot coffee.

“The doctor said the finger isn't broken,” Troy's mom said, blowing on her coffee and looking from Troy to Gramps over the rim of the mug. “It's his heart I'm worried about, Dad.”

Gramps shoveled some food onto his plate and said, “Sounds serious. Girl trouble? That Tate McGreer turned him down?”

“Gramps,” Troy said, nearly choking on his juice, “Tate's my friend. I don't have a girlfriend.”

“She's a cutie, though,” Gramps said, a twinkle in
his eye as he mixed the eggs and grits together with some sausage before taking a big bite.

“Drew showed up, Dad,” Troy's mom said, her voice cold enough to wipe the smile off Gramps's face.

“Oh?” Gramps said, swallowing. “Showed up? Where do you mean? After the game?”

“He saw us on
Larry King
, Gramps,” Troy said. “He said he didn't know I even existed, and Mom said that was possible.”

Gramps tilted his head down and looked at Troy's mom over the top of his glasses. “She did?”

“I said ‘possible,' Dad,” Troy's mom said, “but lots of things are possible. I figured if anyone could explain to Troy why you can't just show up twelve years into a boy's life and expect to be some kind of inflatable father figure, it would be you. You've been more of a father to him than the fathers a lot of kids have.”

Gramps sipped his mug of coffee and rubbed the bristles on his chin. “I've enjoyed spending time with Troy. Not much at cleaning fish, but he sure catches 'em well enough.”

Gramps winked at Troy.

“I'm serious, Dad,” Troy's mom said. “I told Drew to leave us alone. I don't want him treating Troy like a yo-yo.”

“Well,” Gramps said softly. “It's a tough thing Troy's been through. Oh, I know you've done everything a mom could do, Tessa; and I guess I have, too. But it's
different, a boy and his dad.”

“See, Mom?” Troy said, excited at the direction in which things were headed.

“Still,” Gramps said, turning his blazing eyes on Troy, “your mom has a point. You're at that in-between time of life, Troy. You're not a kid anymore, but you're not quite a man. It's a hard time, and I think maybe, if your dad really means what he says, well, when you're a man he'll still be there, and the two of you can get acquainted and see where it goes. Jumping in on the parent wagon at this point doesn't do anyone much good.”

“Gramps,” Troy said, standing so fast that his chair fell over, “I can't believe you're taking her side. I took off last night, and I should have stayed gone.”

“
HEY, MISTER,” HIS MOM
said, raising her voice and banging her mug so that coffee splashed out onto the tabletop. “I thought we were over that. I let it slide; now you're tossing it in my face?”

“What am I tossing?” Troy said, bending to flip the chair upright before backing away toward his bedroom. “I've always dreamed I had a dad. I knew he was out there, somewhere. Now he found me. Do you know how good that feels?”

“For now,” she said, standing up. “For the moment.”

“Why? Why just for the moment?” Troy asked.

“Because I know him, Troy,” she said, her hands clasped and her voice almost pleading. “You don't. You saw him pull up in a hundred-thousand-dollar car with a fancy pair of cowboy boots. I know who he is, and I
know what he did—to both of us.”

“You always say ‘forgive and forget,'” Troy said. “What about that? That's only for when it's good for you? What about now? Why can't
you
forgive?”

“Okay, I forgive him,” she said, “fine. That's not what this is about. I do forgive him, but I don't want to let him hurt us again—hurt
you
.”

“I don't
care
if I get hurt,” Troy said, trying not to shout. “I'm hurt already. You don't know what it's like to have people look at you, the kid without a dad. The football player without a dad.”

“Don't tell me I don't know,” she said, shaking her head so that her hair lay in a crazed web on her shoulders. “I know. I'm the woman with no husband, the woman with a broken family and a troubled son.”

“I'm not troubled!” Troy yelled.

“You just said you were!”

“STOP!”

Troy and his mom froze. Gramps was on his feet now, too, and it was the first time Troy had ever heard him shout.

“Now,” Gramps said in his normal voice, his hands motioning for them both to sit and settle down. “Both of you. Sit down. We're all on the same side here. We are. And, if you'll listen, I think I've got a solution.”

“
THERE ARE LAWS,” GRAMPS
said, “that give your father some rights.”

“Dad!” Troy's mom said, her lips curling back in disgust.

“You need to listen, young lady,” Gramps said, his voice and look stern. “It's true. Drew has rights. If he can show he didn't know about Troy and he's his father, the court will give him some kind of visitation rights, especially if Troy wants it.”

Troy's mom bit her lip and winced.

“And,” Gramps said, turning his eyes on Troy, “your mom can fight it. She can get a good lawyer and drag this thing out so that it'd be years before Drew could ever see you.

“That wouldn't be good,” Gramps said. “But, Troy,
you have to know this. Your father is a smart man. If he really wants to see you, to be a part of your life, then he'll find the laws if he doesn't know them already. And, if he's willing to use his time and money and initiate a suit, then I say it proves he's not just showing up on a whim because he saw you two on
Larry King
. That's what I say.”

Gramps picked up his fork and rammed home a mouthful of food, chewing so that his leathery neck danced up and down and side to side.

“He has to sue to get to see me?” Troy asked in disbelief.

“No,” his mom said softly, “that's not what Gramps is saying. He's saying that
if
it's that important to Drew to see you, then he'll begin a lawsuit,
and
if he does, we'll just settle it right out of the gate.”

“Why do we have to make it hard on him?” Troy asked.

Gramps held up his hand so Troy's mom would let him speak. He swallowed and washed down the mouthful with a gulp of juice before he said, “Because he made it hard on you, Troy. And on your mom. There's a saying that anything worth having is worth fighting for, and it's true. If he really wants a relationship, let him fight for it. Then when he does get it, he's a lot less apt to walk away from it.”

“Again,” Troy's mom said.

Gramps glared at her.

“Well?” she said to Gramps before dropping her shoulders and turning to Troy. “Okay, I'm sorry. I'll behave.”

His mom extended her hand across the table and let it hang there between them.

“Is it a deal, Troy?” she asked.

“
SO,” TROY SAID, EYEING
her hand, “we don't do anything, but if my dad says he's going to start a lawsuit to try to get visitation rights, then you let me see him?”

“That's right,” his mom said. “Let him make the first move. Gramps is right. If he
really
wants to be your dad. If he's really sorry and he's going to be in it for the long haul, then he's not just going to go away, Troy.”

“Okay,” Troy said, nodding his head and clasping her hand. “Deal.”

Gramps smacked his hands together and rubbed them as if he were trying to get warm. “Nice, now let's get serious about this breakfast. These eggs remind me of Waffle House back in Avondale, before it was a chain.”

Troy smiled and dug in. They ate for a bit, recounting
the highlights of the championship game, Troy's touchdown passes, especially the final, ugly lob to Nathan, who had been wide open in the end zone on a trick play.

“Gramps,” Troy said, “how come you didn't stick around?”

Gramps wiped his mouth and swished his hand through the air. “I saw you surrounded by all those cameras and all; I'm too old for a mess like that. I knew I'd see you this morning and congratulate you proper. You, my friend, played like a champion, and you are a champion. To the bone.”

Gramps raised his orange juice glass.

Troy blushed and looked at his plate. “Thanks, Gramps.”

“Did you see the agents, Dad?” Troy's mom asked.

“The who?” Gramps asked, his forehead rumpling beneath his bald dome.

“Agents,” Troy's mom said. “They practically swarmed us after the interviews.”

“I was gone by then,” he said. “What did ‘agents' want?”

“To represent me, Gramps,” Troy said, suddenly excited at the recollection of the men in suits handing him and his mom their cards. “One of them, some Nash guy, he said I could get between one and two million.”

“Two million what?” Gramps asked.

“Dollars, Gramps,” Troy said. “We could all be rich.”

Gramps's face fell. “Rich? I don't know about that. A couple of people I know who got rich don't do so well with it. It's overrated.”

Troy stared at Gramps.

“Dad,” Troy's mom said.

“Of course, it's not always bad,” Gramps said, swigging some coffee with a nod. “You can take some pretty nice vacations with two million dollars. Educational things like the rain forest or the Galápagos Islands. Maybe Antarctica.”

“How about a new pickup truck, Gramps?”

“Oh, no. I'm fine. Nothing I need.”

“Well,” Troy's mom said, “either way, we'll need an agent. Let's get today's game behind us, and tomorrow I'll start to set up some meetings so we can figure out who to go with. I want to try and keep your life as normal as possible, Troy. A good agent can even handle the media for us, be a buffer.”

“Buffer?”

“A barrier,” his mom said, “between you and the teams, you and the media, all the outside distractions. You still need to go to school, have your friends, play your football.”

“Well,” Troy said, “football's over for now anyway.”

His mom raised an eyebrow. “Seth didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“
WE LEFT SO FAST
last night,” Troy's mom said. “I guess that was my fault. He wanted to tell you before he made a general announcement, so no one knows.”

“Tell me what, Mom?”

“No, you'll have to wait until you see him,” she said. “I know he wants to be the one to tell you.”

“Mom, you can't do this.”

“Nope,” his mom said, making a locking motion on her lips and pretending to throw away the key.

Troy jumped up and grabbed the phone on the wall. “I'll call him.”

“Don't,” his mom said. “Since the game isn't until four today, he's sleeping in. You'll see him at the stadium.”

“Meantime,” Gramps said, rising from the table,
tugging free the necktie he'd hung on the back of the chair and looping it around his head, “we got church, so get yourself changed.”

“Do I have to go?” Troy asked. “I just won the championship.”

“All the more reason
to
go,” Gramps said, winking. “You don't think that last pass ended up in Nathan's hands just because of you, do you?”

They all laughed.

Troy got changed and so did his mom.

 

When they got home from church, Troy put on his Falcons gear, happy to be free from the stiff shirt with its collar and tie. Gramps headed home to watch the game on TV, something he did as religiously as going to church.

“How's the finger?” Troy's mom asked when she emerged from her bedroom with the clipboard she used for work.

Troy looked at his injured finger, tried to move it, and winced.

“Not good.”

His mom looked at her watch and said, “Might be time for another pain pill.”

“I know,” Troy said, “but I was thinking, Mom. The pills work, but they make me kind of light-headed. I mean, with everything going so well—me getting my job back, the Falcons on this playoff run, and all these
agents talking about me making a ton of money—I just don't know if I should take the chance of being foggy. What if the pain pill keeps me from being able to see the patterns?”

His mom looked at him for a minute and pressed her lips together. “Well, what if the discomfort keeps you from being able to see the patterns?”

“If the pain bothers me that much,” Troy said, “and I can't get with it, then I can always take the pill then.”

His mom nodded. “Good idea. I hate to think of you suffering, though.”

“Part of the game, right?” Troy said, trying to smile.

His mom sighed and nodded.

They picked up Tate and Nathan on their way to the Georgia Dome. Mr. Langan had given permission for Troy's two best friends to be on the sideline with him during the game, so long as they didn't distract him.

They got to park in the staff lot and go in through the same entrance as the players. Troy still couldn't get over the size of the men walking past. They were giants in all kinds of clothes—from sweats or jeans to suits and ties—with hands the size of hubcaps and heads like upside-down buckets. They all recognized Troy and gave him anything from a clap on the back to a wink and a thumbs-up. Most of them congratulated Troy on winning the junior league state championship. Troy blushed at the attention but had to admit to
himself that he enjoyed it.

Tate and Nathan silently accepted passes to the sideline from Troy's mom and strung them through the belt loops in their jeans. Both wore Falcons shirts and hats like Troy.

Troy and his friends followed Troy's mom out onto the field. With more than two hours to go before game time, no one was in the dome except for the players from both the Falcons and the visiting Green Bay Packers. Aside from the hum of the lights suspended from the web of steel above, the place was strangely quiet. A handful of players already covered the field, stretching out and warming up in football pants and T-shirts. Troy's mom showed Nathan and Tate where they could sit and wait on the bench while Troy went into the locker room to meet with Seth and the coaches.

When Troy walked into the meeting room just off the side of the locker room, he was disappointed to see that both Coach McFadden, the head coach, and Jim Mora, the defensive coordinator, were already sitting there beside Seth. Troy ached to ask Seth about the surprise his mother only hinted about but knew it would have to wait. Together, the four of them discussed the process for getting the correct calls to Seth during the game. It usually took Troy at least a couple of series of plays to see the patterns that told him the opponent's game plan. He would stand next to Coach Mora until that time came. The instant it did, he could describe the
play, and the coach could signal the correct defensive call to Seth. Troy didn't want to even tell them about how badly his finger hurt, because there was nothing they could do about it anyway. He could only hope that it wouldn't keep him from using his gift.

When the meeting broke up, Troy tried to get Seth's attention, but Coach Mora put an arm around the star linebacker, and the two of them headed back into the locker room. Troy put a hand on the door but hesitated. The door swung open, and Coach McFadden appeared, asking Troy if he wanted to walk out onto the field with him. Troy did, and it wasn't long before the two of them were wandering the turf, talking to the individual players. Most of the team was out on the field by now, and Coach McFadden seemed to have words of encouragement for even the backup players. It wasn't until the head coach began a conversation with Mr. Langan that Troy saw Seth jogging slowly up the sideline with a headset on, playing his music.

Troy slipped away and intercepted Seth near the Falcons bench.

“Hey, buddy,” Seth said, slipping the earphones down around his neck and pausing the music.

“You okay?” Troy asked, nodding at Seth's knees, which Troy knew had grown increasingly worse as the season progressed.

Seth made a face, then said, “Part of it. I'll get warmed up and be okay. Got the left one drained and
took a little cortisone. I'll get by. It's always tough later in the season. What about you, buddy? You feeling good? How's that finger? It looks like junk.”

“I took a pain pill this morning,” Troy said, flexing his finger stiffly.

“Well, look brave,” Seth said, angling his head toward the field. A cameraman with a handheld camera and an assistant holding the cable were moving their way with the camera pointed at Troy. “You're on.”

“I thought the media wasn't allowed inside the yellow rope,” Troy said.

“That's the FOX game camera. The NFL lets one network cameraman inside the yellow, and that's him,” Seth said. “You want me to make him go away?”

Troy had nothing against being on TV, so he shook his head. The cameraman came right up to him and Seth, moving the lens back and forth just inches from their faces. The thought of being on TV brought back the nervousness he'd felt on
Larry King Live
, and Troy could only stand there as stiff as a ruler.

“Troy?” the cameraman asked. “You two going to put one on the Packers today?”

Troy forced a smile and gave a thumbs-up.

“Seth,” the cameraman said, “how's it feel knowing what the other team is going to do before they do?”

“Well,” Seth said, slinging an arm around Troy's shoulder, “I wouldn't say it's before they know, but it's not too long after. You still gotta make the play, though,
right? It's not chess; it's still football.”

“Great,” the cameraman said with a nod, moving on toward some other players.

“I felt so goofy,” Troy said, watching them go.

“You'll get used to it,” Seth said, flicking a finger at the brim of Troy's hat so it tipped back on his head.

“Seth, my mom said you've got something to tell me? She said the season might not be over? I mean, we won the championship. There's nothing after that, right?”

Seth broke out into a huge grin. “That's what I thought.” He nodded over at where Tate and Nathan sat on the bench. “Come on, let me tell the three of you together. You're all going to be a part of it.”

“It's something good, my mom said.” Troy's palms were actually sweating with anticipation.

“No,” Seth said, “it's something great.”