"Give me the grip," he said, then he looked at Troy's swollen finger. "Ouch. Better not. I saw them messing with you on the sideline and that last pass that looked like a dead duck, but I didn't know you messed yourself up this bad."

"I'm okay," Troy said.

Troy's mom turned away from the stove with platters of eggs, grits, and sausages, setting them out on the table before taking a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and then pouring herself and her father cups of steaming hot coffee.

"The doctor said the finger isn't broken," Troy's mom said, blowing on her coffee and looking from Troy to Gramps over the rim of the mug. "It's his heart I'm worried about, Dad."

Gramps shoveled some food onto his plate and said, "Sounds serious. Girl trouble? That Tate McGreer turned him down?"

"Gramps," Troy said, nearly choking on his juice, "Tate's my friend. I don't have a girlfriend."

"She's a cutie, though," Gramps said, a twinkle in his eye as he mixed the eggs and grits together with some sausage before taking a big bite.

"Drew showed up, Dad," Troy's mom said, her voice cold enough to wipe the smile off Gramps's face.

"Oh?" Gramps said, swallowing. "Showed up? Where do you mean? After the game?"

"He saw us on Larry King, Gramps," Troy said. "He said he didn't know I even existed, and Mom said that was possible."

Gramps tilted his head down and looked at Troy's mom over the top of his glasses. "She did?"

"I said 'possible,' Dad," Troy's mom said, "but lots of things are possible. I figured if anyone could explain to Troy why you can't just show up twelve years into a boy's life and expect to be some kind of inflatable father figure, it would be you. You've been more of a father to him than the fathers a lot of kids have."