Page 9 of Divine II

Present Day…

It was crazy that losing my own mother didn’t hurt as much as the mere thought of losing Divine. No matter how fake she claimed the situation to be, I didn’t like it. Real or not, I didn’t want a nigga in her face. There was no way I would be able to stand around and watch her skinning and grinning in another man’s face.

I couldn’t lie. I was fucking heartbroken. Divinewasmy heart, like my whole damn heart. There was no doubt in my mind that she was the one for me. For some reason, I had a hard time getting her to see that.

As I sped down the highway putting as much distance between me and the woman I loved as I could, fat tears dropped from my eyes. I didn’t even cry when I got the news about my mom, but here I was crying over a woman. My heart ached for the love I’d lost and the time I would never get back with my mom. Everything was so fucked up.

Even on my bike, the ride to Gray Springs was over three hours. You would think that would have given me plenty of time to think about what I would say when I saw my dad. Honestly, in an ideal world, I would never have to face him again. As cruel as it sounded, I hoped and prayed that the next time I saw him would be over his cold dead body.

He had never once taken accountability for his actions. I guess we were a lot alike in that way. Not once had we ever even discussed what went down between us that night. Just like every other situation, we just swept it under the rug and went on as if nothing ever happened.

The long ride seemed to end way too quickly, because before I knew it, I was pulling up to my parents’ house. Deciding not to prolong the time, I climbed off my bike and took a deep breath, letting it go as I pulled my helmet over my head.

It was as if the entire city had been in a time capsule. Everything in Gray Springs looked just like it did when I left this place presumably for good. My parents’ house was no exception. Huge white columns lined the front of the symmetrically designed white house and gave away the fact that it used to be a plantation house.

My dad took pride in the fact that our property used to be a plantation. Buying the land was his idea of buying back the block. I loved and hated my childhood home. I hated that I still felt like property when I lived there, but I loved how all of my friends thought our house looked like the house onThe Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

“In West Philadelphia born and raised,” I mumbled under my breath as I moved closer to the house.

Either nostalgia or starvation had my stomach doing flips and my head pounding as I walked up the long drive to my parents’ front door. I considered turning around and leaving a hundred times. A force stronger than me kept my steps movingtoward the door. When I raised my hand to knock on the door, it swung open. I dropped my hand as I locked eyes with a familiar face.

“Mr. Grimes, I was hoping that you would show up,” Margie, my parents’ housekeeper, said with a somber smile.

“I wasn’t sure if I would.”

“I’m glad you did. Eventually, we all have to face our demons,” she stated knowingly.

I scoffed. “Don’t I know it.”

“I’ve already prepared your room in hopes that you would come. You’re right on time. The chef is almost done preparing lunch.”

“I don’t have much of an appetite, Margie.” I shook my head.

“Nonsense, Mr. Grimes. You have to eat.”

“I have a throbbing headache. I need to take a nap or something first.”

“Very well, I’ll have him put a plate aside for you. Should I alert your father to your arrival?”

“Actually, I think I should go ahead and face him. That might be the reason why my head is pounding.”

“I’m sure it is. I’ll take you to him.”

Although it had been years since I’d visited my parents’ house, I knew the layout well. That didn’t stop me from letting Margie escort me to my dad’s study. I needed a buffer, something or someone other than myself to make the introduction. Even in his state, I couldn’t find it in my heart to take pity on my dad. I no longer feared him. That didn’t mean that I wanted to see him, though.

The scent of lemon cleansers filled my nostrils as I followed a few steps behind as Margie led the way to the downstairs room that acted as a library and study. I knew the lemon scent was my mom’s idea. She’d read somewhere that lemon helped eliminate and mask odors, and she just ran with it. We used lemon-scented everything from that day forward. The memory almost pulled a smile out of me, but my nerves were too shot for me to let it break through.

I could hear my heart hammering in my chest as we approached the huge, wooden door. Part of me wanted to cut and run. It had been a decade since I’d stood in front of the man on the other side of the door. What was another ten or thirty years? It was now or never, though.

I wasn’t so heartless that I wouldn’t come home for my own mother’s funeral. No matter how much resentment I harbored for her and my dad, I knew there was no turning back now. I had come all this way and walked right up to the door of where he was. There was no use in backing out. I wasn’t a coward. I was just so angry.

If I were being honest, I was more hurt than anything. I felt betrayed by the people I loved most. I was very mad with my dad, but most of all, I was pissed with my mom. How could she leave without ever giving me the apology we all knew I deserved?

Margie raised her hand and knocked on the door before pausing to wait for a response. Within seconds, a tall, dark-skinned man opened the door. He looked at me first then dropped his eyes to Margie.

“It’s Larry’s son,” she clarified.

As if he needed to give me permission to enter, the bulky nigga standing in front of the door looked me up and down. I had half a mind to tell him to move the fuck around, but I had enough shit on my mind right now.

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