It felt as though my chair had fallen out from under me. I gripped the sides of the desk to steady myself.

“I’d like to do a DNA test to be sure,” Lucinda Barnes rattled on, seemingly unaware she’d sucker punched me with that last line.

I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like sandpaper.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

When I didn’t respond she got up and rushed to my side. She touched my shoulder, and I shook her hand off as if she were a poisonous snake.

“I don’t believe you.” It was all I could think of to say.

Undeterred, she went back and sat down. “Your father was Ziggy Barnes, the world-famous rockstar. Even a priest must understand the attraction his position held for women. I didn’t appreciate Ziggy’s infidelities, but it came with the territory.”

She shrugged. “All right. I get it—you’re surprised. But I’d like to get a swab of your saliva if you don’t mind. So we can be sure.”

I straightened. “What is the point of this? What makes you think he was my father?”

“The money trail. He tried to hide it, but I hired a private investigator and a forensic accountant, and Ziggy left a blind trust for you. I’m sure that’s how your education was paid for. Do you still have it? I imagine it has reverted to you by now . . .”

Her words were like a kick in the gut. I did have a trust fund. My mother made me think it was funded by the ranchers she worked for. All this time, I’d thought they felt sorry for me, that they were extraordinarily generous. Whenever I questioned it, she or later, Reverend Morley always made me feel like it was simply a blessing I should be grateful for.

“The DNA is really for legal reasons. I can already see it. You have your father’s mouth. Other than that, you must look like your mother.”

Vanity got the better of me and I reluctantly answered, “That’s what most people say. My mother was a remarkably beautiful woman.”

“I was sorry to hear that she’d passed away.”

“Thanks.” Emotions I didn’t quite understand welled up inside me, and suddenly I saw red.

I didn’t need this woman’s sympathy. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this.”

Taken aback she said, “I’ve come to offer you your birthright.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I didn’t want it. Ziggy Barnes had used and discarded my mother, treated her like just another groupie in a long line of what was probably thousands. Why this woman wanted to dredge up old infidelities of her late husband I had no clue. “Look, if this is some publicity stunt for your TV show, I’m not interested.”

“Well, of course I wish you would cooperate with my filming our journey, but if you won’t that’s fine too.”

“Our journey?” What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Eduardo, you are practically my flesh and blood—a long-lost family member. I am here to welcome you to the fold!”

I stared at her in disbelief. This woman was nuts. Why in the world would she want me in her family, a constant reminder of her late husband’s inability to keep his pants zipped? Surely she could see that I’d be like a rabbit amongst a pride of lions in her opulent world.

“With all due respect, why do you think I would be interested in that?”

Her black, spidery eyelashes fluttered rapidly, and her hand flew to her throat, offended. “Eduardo, I would have thought that the offer of a family, when you have none, would have come as a welcome surprise.” She sniffed. “Obviously I was wrong.”

A pang of guilt pinged my gut. I hadn’t intended to hurt her. Not exactly. “I do have a family.”

“You do?”

“My church is my family.” It sounded good in my head, but the words rang hollow even in my own ears.

“It’s not the same thing.”

Lucinda stood up and walked around my office, making a point to take in the photographs on the wall, my degree certificates, the religious prints. When she got to the one of Mary holding baby Jesus, the pair of them surrounded by a bright halo, she stopped and turned to me.

“I’m sure your mother loved you very much.”

“She did.”

“And I’m sure she wouldn’t want you all alone in this world, adrift without a family to call your own.”

“I’ve already explained to you, I have a family. The Lord provides me everything I need right here.”

“I don’t deny that you believe that, Bishop Soto. However, there are earthly bonds of which you know nothing.”

“Such as?”

“Such as—each child of Ziggy Barnes is to inherit an equal portion of his estate. Even if you choose a life of abject poverty to prove how pious you are, you must admit, that kind of money could do a lot of good were it in the hands of a man whose mission in life is to serve the Lord.”

She was here to give me money? I doubted any sum would come without a plethora of strings attached. I regarded her silently, sensing she wasn’t done speaking.

“C’mon. Here.” She handed me what looked like a big Q-tip. “Just brush this inside your mouth, along the inside of your cheek.”

I considered refusing, but I’d ascertained it was best to pick your battles with this woman. And if my DNA wasn’t a match, it would put a stop to all this nonsense, so I swiped the thing inside my mouth then handed it back to her.

“Thank you. Also, I’ve done some digging, as you might have gathered, and it has come to my attention that you coach a little basketball team.”

I nodded.

“You must know who my son is.”

I stared at her blankly. Kay had said he played basketball, but that hadn’t registered.

“Nick Barnes. Unless you have been hiding under a rock for the last five years, surely you are aware of Nick.” I froze, recognition flooding my brain. My outward reaction must not have been enough for her because she kept going. “Professional basketball player. Won the scoring title last year. On the cover of Ballers 2K the video game.”

My heart skipped a beat. Sure, I’d been a fan of Nick Barnes for years. I’d watched him win the college championship for his team practically singlehandedly. But when I found out my father had been a rock star, I hadn’t put two and two together, and now I felt stupid for it. Maybe I’d blocked the connection from my mind because it was too painful. A big star like Nick, given the birthright and the talent, and well, everything. When what did my mother and I get? Nada.

As if she sensed my resentment, Lucinda said, “Your father wasn’t perfect, Eduardo. No man is.”

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s say you’re right, and I’m Ziggy Barnes’ son. He’s dead. No way he’s going to be a father to me now. What I don’t get is—what do you want from me?”

“I want you to be my son.”