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Bill Davidek to trash the school he always hated. “Four years at St. Mike’s. Thousands of dollars down the toilet,” he said. “We might as well have burned it to warm the house.”
    Their younger son, Peter, was happy to go to Valley with the rest of his friends—Chad Junod; Billy Fularz; the Peters twins, Matt and Mark. It bothered him that his mother kept talking about the Catholic school like it was even a possibility. It bothered his father, too. “I don’t want to talk to you about this anymore,” he said.
    June shrugged. She twirled a fish stick on her plate. Bill Davidek nodded at his son, who smiled when his dad said: “ Nobody’s going to St. Mike’s.”
    *   *   *
    The Big Texan changed that.
    It was late July. Davidek noticed the silver Porsche parked in front of their house as he rode his bike around from the backyard. Nobody in their neighborhood drove a car like that, and if they did, they wouldn’t park it in the street. The Davideks lived on a main strip through a part of town known as Parnassus, right along the Allegheny River. There was a sand and gravel company at the water’s edge that sent massive dump trucks rumbling down their street all day, spilling flecks of grit and stones against the windshields and paint jobs of those too stupid not to use their driveways.
    Through the living room window, Davidek could see a large man in an immaculate gray suit, with an open-collar ivory shirt and a tan bald head rimmed by a corona of gray hair. His teeth were huge and white and perfect.
    Davidek immediately thought of him as The Big Texan. No one ever told the boy his real name, and he reminded Davidek of one of those cheerful tycoons featured in a glossy business magazines, one hand propped against an oil derrick and the other waving hundred-dollar bills in the wind.
    When Davidek went inside, The Big Texan was laughing and assuring Davidek’s parents that they were smart people for making a decision like this, very smart indeed. Davidek’s father stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed, looking unconvinced. Davidek’s mother sat on the couch, her hands folded primly in her lap, grinning like someone who’d just won an argument. For some reason, she was wearing the red cocktail dress that she saved for parties or formal occasions. Davidek’s father was in dirty jeans and a UNITED STEELWORKERS LOCAL 1196 T-shirt, which had creases like it had just been taken out of the bottom of a drawer for this occasion.
    The conversation stopped when they saw Peter.
    “This must be the boy! I mean, the young man !” boomed The Big Texan, extending an arm and swallowing Davidek’s hand in a grip that was surprisingly gentle, like a bodybuilder shaking hands with a baby. “Did your parents tell you about me?” the stranger asked.
    Davidek’s father fixed him with a hard expression and nodded his head slightly, so the boy said, “Uh … yeah, I think so.”
    The stranger looked very pleased. “Your mom and dad have been talking with me for a few weeks, but they drive a hard bargain,” he said. “They’re very protective of their little son.… But I think they’ve finally come around.”
    Davidek’s father stared at the floor. His mother kept shaking her foot, like she wanted to dance. The stranger leaned down close, like he was sharing a secret. “Peter, I want you to know that school changed my life. And it changed your father’s life, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.” He put a hand on Davidek’s shoulder. “It’s going to change your life, too.”
    Davidek studied his parents for some sign of what was happening. The Big Texan leaned back and said, “We’ll work out all the dollars and cents later. Cross the i ’s and dot the t ’s, and all that.” He nudged Davidek, who laughed with him uncertainly.
    Davidek’s father extended his hand, albeit reluctantly, but the stranger surprised him with a bear hug instead, pinning his arms at his sides. “Been too long, Billy