The Big Time

CHAPTER EIGHT

" 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."