Page 166 of Divine Temptations

Hey Jimmy. I didn’t know if you’d want to know, but your dad had a heart attack yesterday. He’s at WakeMed in Raleigh. Stable, but bad enough they had to cancel his show. I thought you should hear it from me. Take care.

My throat went dry. I set the phone down with trembling fingers.

Lucien’s voice softened. “Jimmy?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the faint ring my coffee cup had left on the table. “Daddy’s in the hospital. Sheila says it happened yesterday.”

Lucien frowned. “A heart attack?”

I nodded. “He was filming that show of his. Guess he got a real taste of divine judgment.” I meant it as a joke, but it came out cracked and brittle.

Silence settled between us, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the lazy tick of the wall clock.

Lucien leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Do you want to go see him?”

The question hit like a punch. For two years, I hadn’t said my father’s name out loud. My whole body remembered what fear felt like—tight throat, cold palms, breath that never went deep enough. I swallowed.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He hasn’t spoken to me since I left. Not a word. It’s like I stopped existing.”

Lucien reached across the table and covered my hand with his.

I looked around our kitchen—at the art déco prints on the walls, the clutter of mismatched mugs, the bright basil plant Lucien kept forgetting to water. Everything about this spacescreamed life. It was the opposite of the house I grew up in—where silence was holy and love was conditional.

“I swore I’d never go back,” I murmured.

Lucien’s smile was gentle. “Then don’t think of it as going back. Think of it as showing up—for yourself.”

I stared at him for a long time, the way you do when you realize someone’s just said something that’ll echo in your head for years. Then I nodded.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Let’s go see him.”

The drive to Raleigh was quieter than any sermon I’d ever sat through.

Lucien drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console near mine. I couldn’t bring myself to reach for it. My fingers just twitched occasionally, like they were remembering a habit they hadn’t relearned yet.

The highway unspooled ahead of us, gray and endless, the clouds hanging low and heavy. We passed through the same towns I’d known as a kid — places where the radio always played gospel and the billboards reminded you that God was watching.

The last time I’d been in a hospital, I was seventeen. I’d sat in a waiting room that smelled like bleach and sadness, watching my mother’s life fade behind closed doors while Daddy paced in front of her room. He’d called it “God’s will.” I’d called it hell.

Lucien must’ve felt the tension rolling off me because he said quietly, “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”

“Yes, I need to do this,” I said, though my voice came out rough. “I’ve been scared of Daddy my whole life. I just… I want to see what’s left.”

Lucien nodded, his eyes on the road. “Then we’ll see.”

By the time we reached WakeMed, my stomach was in knots. The building loomed like a slab of white stone under a dull sky, the red EMERGENCY sign flashing faintly through the drizzle. I stared at it and tried not to breathe too shallowly.

The lobby doors whooshed open as we stepped inside. The smell hit me first — antiseptic and metal, sharp enough to make me flinch. My palms went slick.

“Breathe,” Lucien murmured beside me, sliding a reassuring hand to the small of my back.

“I’m fine,” I lied, though my pulse was galloping. Hospitals made me feel like a teenager again — powerless, waiting for bad news from men who smiled while they broke you.

The elevator ride felt endless, the hum of machinery and faint chatter from nurses turning into a chorus of ghosts. When the doors finally opened onto the cardiac ward, I hesitated. The hallway stretched out sterile and quiet, the floors polished enough to reflect the overhead lights like halos.

Room 214. Sheila had texted me the number.

Lucien reached the door first, pausing with his hand on the knob. “You sure?” he asked.