The Big Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

" BUT," TROY SAID, HIS voice barely rising above the muted chatter of the nearby cardplayers, "you said you wanted to see me."

"And I do," his father said, nodding his head, "but not like this, not sneaking around. No, wait. Don't drop your head like that. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just that I don't want her to ruin it. If we give her an excuse to act out-any excuse-she'll use it. There are reasons I didn't stay with her, Troy, and none of it had anything to do with you. Like I said, I didn't even know about you."

Troy studied his father's face: the brown eyes flecked with shards as black as tar. They whirled like hypnotic tops. Troy thought of the annoying things his mom could do, the way she managed him like a circus tiger: cutting him off; making him sit, roll over, and jump through hoops of fire. She claimed it was all for his own good, but he knew how any little deviation from the rules, any misstep, led to consequences that were always severe.

"I know what you mean," Troy said.

His father put a hand on Troy's shoulder and squeezed. "So, here's what we do. We get you back before she knows you're gone, and then we do this thing right."

"But you're leaving tomorrow," Troy said.

His father's grin reappeared, and he tilted his head. "I was supposed to, but if you think I'm leaving without getting this straightened out, you've got another think coming. Troy, do you realize how excited I am to have a son? Forget about how great a football player you are and this football genius thing. I've always wanted someone to go hunting and fishing and to ball games with-all that stuff."

Troy felt his heart swell.

"Come on," his dad said, rising from their seat, "let me drive you home. I can let you off on the street, where she won't even see us together."

Troy shook his head and said, "Honestly, it's better for me to just go back the way I came. Once I get over the wall, it's a shorter walk than if you let me off at the top of my driveway."

"Whatever works," his father said.

"You could help me out, if you don't mind," Troy said. "Maybe drive me to the back of the development. If you're with me, I won't have to worry about the security guards."

"Guards? You mean G Money's guards?" his father asked.

"No, the Cotton Wood guards," Troy said.

His father raised his eyebrows. They stopped to say good-bye to G Money, and the rapper told Troy's dad to hurry because he wanted to win back his money. Troy climbed into the front seat of the Porsche next to his father. The smooth leather and green, glowing numbers on the control panel reminded him of a space rocket and G Money's pool.

"Is this yours?" Troy asked.

His father grinned and nodded as he fired up the engine. "Brought it down from Chicago. I was itching for a road trip. Clears my head to drive a thousand miles in a machine like this."

Troy nodded.

"That's some pool he's got," Troy said, pointing out the way his father should go.

"A million bucks, just for the pool alone," his father said, glancing at him. "Twelve for the house."

"Up there," Troy said, pointing to a maintenance road that led to a shed back behind part of the golf course.

His dad pulled the Porsche up the gravel path through the trees and stopped in the dusty lot beside the massive shed. Tractors, golf carts, and other odd-shaped machinery lurked in the shadows cast by a single light mounted on the shed wall. Dust settled in the headlights' beams, and his father shut off the engine. Trees whispered above.

"What are you doing?" Troy asked.

"How about I go with you?" his father said.

"Over the wall?"

"I'd like to see where you live," he said, "make sure you get back safe."

"I have to take the ladder with me," Troy said, warmed, though, by the thought of his father wanting to do something dangerous and outside the lines with him.

"It's not far, right?" Drew said.

"No."

"So, you can show me, then bring me back and take the ladder with you."

Troy hesitated and bit his lower lip.

"You don't have to," Drew said.

"No, it's not that," Troy said. "I was thinking, maybe I could show you the bridge."

"Bridge?"

"The railroad tracks are back there, and there's a bridge not too far down that crosses the Hooch-the Chattahoochee River," Troy said. "I like to go there sometimes, to think."

"Like a special place?" his father asked.

Troy nodded.

"So, show me the way," his father said. "I'd love to see it. I'd be honored."

Excitement bloomed in Troy's chest. He got out of the shiny orange car, slamming the door and trying not to run for the wall. He turned to see his father taking long strides to catch up. When they reached the wall, Troy went to the left. His gramps's ladder lay tucked into the underbrush about fifty feet away. He crouched and raised it up, his father helping to brace it against the wall.

"Feel like I'm twelve myself," his father said under his breath as he steadied the ladder and Troy climbed up.

When he reached the top, Troy said, "Now you come up, then we'll pull the ladder over."

It took several minutes, but soon Troy was leading his father down the tracks toward the steel trestle spanning the river. He had so many questions-questions that had haunted him for years-and now, finally, it looked as if he might have the chance to get the answers.