Tim Green - The Big Time

"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.

TROY SHOWED HIS FATHERhow he and Tate sat, with legs dangling in space. The river below slogged along, reflecting the ghostly tatters of clouds above as they swept across the starry sky.

"Nice spot to think," his father said, swinging his legs and bracing his arms against the metal beam above so he could lean out over the empty space.

"Can I ask you some questions?" Troy asked.

"Shoot."

"Do you have any other kids? Do I have a brother or sister or anything?" Troy asked.

"Nope," Drew said. "I was married for a bit, but that didn't work out, and we never had kids. She was too busy. That's why it never worked. My own parents are gone, and the one sister I had died in a car accident about a year ago. So, it's just me. That makes finding you even more special."

"And you live in Chicago, right?" Troy asked.

"Got a condo in Lake Point Tower," his father said.

Troy gave him a confused look.

"It's the top place in Chicago," his father explained. "Downtown high-rise, right on the lake. I can walk to my law office. You'll come see it."

"There's a train that Tate calls the Midnight Express," Troy said, pointing to the other side of the trestle and the tracks that extended as far as they could see. "Atlanta to Chicago. I hear it sometimes at night and I'd always think of you, even though I didn't know you."

His father seemed to consider the northbound tracks but didn't say anything.

"And you played football, right?" Troy said.

"Pretty well, too," his father said with a chuckle, "until I broke my neck. Oh, it wasn't that bad. I got lucky, actually. They said another eighth of an inch and I wouldn't be walking. They fused two vertebrae together, and it healed pretty good-but not in time for anything in the pros. I missed my train, so to speak. A lot of people do."

"That's what I want to do," Troy said. "Make it to the NFL."

"Maybe you will," his father said. "I'm actually in the Auburn record books myself, so you got the genes, the speed, the athleticism. Now all you need is a little luck. Tell me about this genius thing."

"My gramps told me you were a math major," Troy said. "Kind of weird for a football player. I was wondering if you can kind of do what I can do. I can't really explain it, but Seth says it's about probabilities based on the variables in the game. That sounds like math to me."

His father turned his head and studied Troy's face in the dim light. "Seth, huh?"

"He's been pretty good to me," Troy said.

"Like a father?"

"No, more like a friend," Troy said.

"Good," Drew said, his teeth showing in his smile. "It's funny you said that about how you can't really explain it. That's how math was for me. I really wasn't big when it came to school. I never really applied myself until law school. But I could take these advanced math classes and just…know it. I didn't even really like math. It all just made sense to me: the formulas, the theorems, the way numbers can predict not just lines but curves, even waves, even across three dimensions. Are you good in math?"

"Nope," Troy said. "My mom says I'm a savant. Pretty normal except when it comes to football. That's why they say 'football genius.'"

"A prodigious savant," his father said as if to himself.

"What?" Troy asked.

"Not a savant, really," his father said, reaching out and putting a strong hand on Troy's shoulder. "I mean, you are, but you're more. It's savant syndrome, and almost everyone who has it also has a developmental disability-autism lots of times-except for one narrow area where they're so smart, they're off the charts. A prodigious savant is extremely rare. That's a person who's normal in every other way-no disability, no brain injury, nothing; just a prodigy. 'Genius' is a good name for it-in some narrow area. Wow."