the Big Time (2010) by Tim Green

glowing numbers on the control panel reminded him of a space rocket and G Money’s pool.
    â€œIs 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.
    â€œThat’s some pool he’s got,” Troy said, pointing out the way his father should go.
    â€œA million bucks, just for the pool alone,” his father said, glancing at him. “Twelve for the house.”
    â€œUp 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 paththrough 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.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Troy asked.
    â€œHow about I go with you?” his father said.
    â€œOver the wall?”
    â€œI’d like to see where you live,” he said, “make sure you get back safe.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œIt’s not far, right?” Drew said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSo, you can show me, then bring me back and take the ladder with you.”
    Troy hesitated and bit his lower lip.
    â€œYou don’t have to,” Drew said.
    â€œNo, it’s not that,” Troy said. “I was thinking, maybe I could show you the bridge.”
    â€œBridge?”
    â€œThe 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.”
    â€œLike a special place?” his father asked.
    Troy nodded.
    â€œSo, 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.
    â€œFeel 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
    TROY SHOWED HIS FATHER how 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.
    â€œNice 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.
    â€œCan I ask you some questions?” Troy asked.
    â€œShoot.”
    â€œDo you have any other kids? Do I have a brother or sister or anything?” Troy asked.
    â€œNope,” 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 aregone, 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.”
    â€œAnd you live in Chicago,