The Big Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AS SETH PREDICTED, TROY'S mom did understand when Troy explained what Seth had said about not being good company and wanting to get started on icing his knees. She still stopped at Fat Matt's, and they ate ribs and grilled chicken back at Troy's house, watching the beginning of Sunday Night Football. Between eating, Troy's left hand kept secretly returning to his pocket to caress the corners of his father's business card while his right hand stayed dipped in a big glass that held icy water for his hurt finger. Normally, he would have wanted Tate and Nathan to stay as long as they could, but he was relieved when Tate licked the BBQ sauce from her fingers and stood to go.

Troy saw them to the door, and Tate and Nathan disappeared into the pines, headed down to the tracks that would take them home. As soon as his friends had left, Troy removed his father's card from his pocket, studied it, then put it back. He marched into the living room. The Styrofoam boxes from Fat Matt's still lay about the coffee table, but his mom had already disappeared into her bedroom. He could hear her talking to Seth on the phone. Troy tried to ignore the soft, gooey sound of her voice through the door as she offered sympathy and comfort to the star linebacker.

Troy turned off the TV in the living room and waited impatiently. Finally, he heard his mom tell Seth that she loved him, and her bedroom door creaked open.

"What?" she asked. "You're not watching the game? You feeling okay?"

"I want to call my dad," Troy said, his hand sneaking back into his pocket to clench the rumpled card.

His mom sighed, then her face did that thing where her chin went up and the corners of her mouth tugged out and down into little crescent-shaped wrinkles. "Yes, we need to talk about that."

"I want to see him," Troy said, "and you said that if he tried to sue for me, you'd let me see him. You said. Gramps was right here."

"Right," she said, drawing out the word. "He's suing me. Funny how that happened all of a sudden at the dome, after you spoke with him."

"He came up to me," Troy said, feeling the ground slip out from under him. His stomach sank, because he knew where this was headed and he knew his mom couldn't be fooled. Even so, he had to try. "Gramps said my dad needed to prove I wasn't just a whim because he saw me on Larry King, and he asked his client to get him passes so he could see me. That proves it wasn't just a whim."

His mom looked at him for a long moment before she put her hands on her hips and said, "But it wasn't his idea, the lawsuit thing, was it?"

Troy's mind went into hyperdrive. "He's a lawyer, Mom. You heard him. He knows all about that stuff."

A grim smile lit his mom's lips. "You didn't answer my question and I'm glad you didn't, because I think it means you respect me enough not to lie. Now, I know, and you know, that Drew didn't think up that lawsuit business. You just kind of mentioned it to him, didn't you?"

"He came to the game because of me," Troy said, panic filling him.

"But that's not the same thing," she said. "That's not what we agreed to."

Troy's sweaty hand dampened the card. The pressure in his head felt like a boiling pot, and his hurt finger throbbed. He tried to contain his rage, but it burst, and he yelled, "That's my father, and I want to see him! I will see him!"

His mom's voice went eerily calm. "No, you won't see him unless I say you'll see him. I'm keeping that number. Now, I'll live up to my original agreement. If he really sues me, then we'll work something out, but no more coaching from you."

"He said he was going to!" Troy said, banging his good hand on the coffee table so that a container of chewed-over rib bones spilled to the floor, making a mess.

"He's said a lot of things in his day," she said bitterly. "You don't have any idea, Troy."

His mom marched into the kitchen, and he heard her rattling something. Troy got up and followed to see her removing the phone from the wall. She marched back out into the living room and pointed at the mess.

"Clean that up and then get to bed," she said. "You've got school in the morning. You can take another pill for your finger if you need it."

"What are you doing with the phone?" he asked.

"It'll be with me, along with my cell phone," she said, starting toward her bedroom before stopping in the hallway and spinning around. "It's not that I don't love you, Troy, but I can't say one hundred percent that I trust you. I know how you get, and I can see that look in your eye. I don't want you searching the internet all night, finding his number, and calling him. I'll keep the phone with me to make it easier for you to do what I'm telling you to do. Now, good night."

"But he's leaving tomorrow night," Troy said, his voice barely a whisper.

His mom disappeared without another word, gently closing her door with a final click.

Troy's muscles tightened until he shook. He picked up a pillow and whacked it against the arm of the couch until dust glimmered in yellow light from the lamp next to his mom's La-Z-Boy. He sneezed and huffed and threw down the pillow before slumping to the floor and holding his head in his hands, crying and growling to himself with rage.

Finally, he took a deep, ragged breath, cleaned up, and went to bed.

He hadn't lain there for more than ten minutes before he sprang from his bed, dressed, and slipped out the window into the night.

If he couldn't call his father, Troy had a different and better idea of how he could see him, and he wouldn't have to wait.