Tim Green - The Big Time

"Are you writing apology emails to all the reporters?" Troy asked.

"Apologies?" his father said. "Heck, no. I'm moving money. Making deals. Communicating with my partners. Making the money is just the beginning. Now you've got to put it to work."

"Work?" Troy said.

"Sure," his father said. "Investments. Tax shelters. Trusts. Real estate. Hedge funds. Money is like soap. You let it sit there and the rain washes it away. Time whittles money down to nothing. You have to protect it. Inflation. Taxes. All that."

"You do that, too?" Troy asked.

"Naw," his father said, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm no expert, but I know people who are. The best. Big time. All of them. I've already got one of my partners setting up an offshore corporation for us-or you, I mean."

"Corporation?" Troy asked as they stood to go.

"Big time," his father said.

Troy followed him out the door, thanking the flight attendant who'd been so nice and stepping into the bright Atlanta sunshine.

When they arrived at Troy's house, his mom's car was sitting by itself in the red clay patch. Troy's dad hopped out and eagerly made for the front door, where he knocked but then went right in.

"Tessa!" he shouted. "We did it! You're rich!"

Troy's mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron, her face dusted with smudges of baking flour.

"I've been rich," she said.

"Not like this you haven't," his father said, glancing around the tiny room before putting his arms around her and hugging her and spinning her around until she finally managed to push him away, laughing.

"Okay," she said, her laughter trailing off, "what's the offer?"

"Something too good to refuse," his father said. "So we agreed in principle. I said that of course we had to get you to sign off, but we gave our word."

"Your word that what?" she asked.

"That we'd do this deal," Troy's father said. "I know I said I wouldn't, but I had to."

"You were just to get things going," she said, her voice sounding empty with disbelief. "To 'whip them up,' you said, 'get the bidding started.' We have to check with the Falcons. After everything they've done for us?"

"They'll never match it," his father said. "Mr. Langan is rich, but he won't throw money around like this, Tessa. Just listen. You never listen. It's more than we dreamed. It's more than I asked for. It's a fortune! Fifteen million dollars, maybe thirty-five, forty, even fifty before it's over. Who knows?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Troy, tell her," his father said. "Tell her why we had to give him our word and kind of lock this thing down."

Troy looked from one of his parents to the other and nodded. "Seth Cole told us either sign it or he wasn't interested."

"I threw out the idea of eight figures, shooting for the moon," his father said. "No one actually offered me that. I was posturing, and he, well, he just made an incredible offer. So, we did it. Don't tell me you don't see how huge this is? It's everything Troy's dreamed of, everything he deserves. And we gave our word. You can't ask us to back out on that. That's not the example you want to set for Troy. How could you be looking at me like that?"

Troy's mom wasn't smiling. She wadded her apron up tight and shook her head. Speaking softly but with a full portion of disgust, she said, "You think it's all about money? It's not. There are other things."

"What other things are there when we're talking fifteen million?" Troy's father asked, his hands hanging limp at his sides.

"Where we live ," she said. "Troy's friends. My job."

Troy's father froze, and the twisting vine of a smile grew across his face.

"Aha!" He paused. "Your job. Now I see. Your job, and maybe Seth Halloway's job, too?"

"No one said anything about Seth," Troy's mom argued, her back straightening.

"No." His father was quick. "No one said it, but there it is."

Troy's mom bit into her lower lip and glowered at his dad.

"I knew it," she said in barely a whisper. "Nothing ever changes. People never change. Please go."

"Tessa," his father said. "Don't do this. Think of Troy. Please. We don't have to like each other, but let's get along. This is just business. It's done."

"This is not just business," his mother said, waving her hands in the air. "This is my son. This is our life! Now go."

Troy's father pursed his lips. He gave Troy a sad look, mussed his hair, gripped one shoulder, and said, "It's all right, champ. She'll get over it."

"Don't bet on it," his mom said.

His father didn't even flinch; and as if Troy's mom hadn't spoken, he said, "This is all gonna work out, you'll see. You're my boy, right?"

"Of course," Troy said, liking the hand on his shoulder.

"Dad?" his father said with a smile and a wink.

"Of course, Dad," Troy said.

Troy's mom marched behind his dad to the door, with Troy trailing. When his father opened the Porsche's door, she said, "And don't tell him it's going to 'all work out' like you know something I don't. I don't care who promised what, I'm the one who has the final say. I'm going to look at what's best for Troy, and that's not New York."

TROY'S MOM SLAMMED THEdoor and turned to him with an angry face.

"What?" Troy asked.

His mom's anger melted away. Her face fell, hopeless and pained.

"I am so sorry," she said, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

Troy didn't know what to think, and certainly not what to say. Even though he let her hold him, he couldn't bring himself to hold her back.

Finally he asked, "Mom? Can I just go to practice?"

"Of course you can," she said. She sniffed and let him go. "Let me fix you something first, though. I'll call Seth to tell him you're coming. We didn't even know if you'd make it back."

"I almost didn't," Troy said.

"I can get John Marchiano to tell us what he thinks about all this," his mom said, digging through the refrigerator while he washed his hands in the kitchen sink. "How about spaghetti?"

"Great," he said, "but, Mom, shouldn't we really just do this deal with the Jets?"

His mom dumped a container of cooked noodles onto a plate and doused them with sauce and meatballs from a bowl before sticking it all inside the microwave. She dusted her hands and looked at him.

"New York?" she said, her lip curled with disgust. "You really want to move to that place?"

Troy shrugged. "It's the big time, Mom. The money is huge. New York is the center of the world."

"Don't listen to him," his mom said, shaking her head. "Don't let him poison you, Troy."

"No one's poisoning me, Mom," he said. "That's his job. He's supposed to get me the best deal. Shouldn't we think about this? Think if maybe it's really the best thing?"

"What do you want, Troy?" she asked softly.

"A lot of things," he said, his eyes finding the checkered tablecloth on the kitchen table. "I want to play in the NFL. I want to make a lot of money. I want to help the Falcons win the Super Bowl, but then I want to buy you a big new house and a fancy car."

"I don't care about all that," she said bitterly.

"Mom," he said, looking up. "You asked me what I wanted. I told you."

"I thought you and Gramps were the biggest Falcons fans on the planet," she said, her smile weak. "You think you could be okay with helping another team?"

"I know you don't want to hear this, Mom," Troy said, taking his seat, "but it's a business. Everyone says so, not just my dad. Seth Halloway. Mr. Langan. Everyone, Mom. It just is."

The microwave beeped, telling them his dinner had grown hot. She took it out with a pot holder and set it on the table along with a glass and a gallon jug of milk. She went to the bread box and took out some white bread and brought that over along with the butter dish before sitting down across from him and resting her face in her hands.