Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

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      Still the niggling doubts had begun to form. Maverick mysteriously disappeared for several hours once a week. He swore he hadn’t been gambling, but he hadn’t felt inclined to enlighten her as to where he spent his time, either. She hadn’t pressed him; she knew it was because she was afraid of what she’d find out.

      Elise had other worries, too. Aurora had been acting differently toward Maverick. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on exactly how the father-daughter relationship had changed, but it had. She’d noticed it a few weeks ago—whispered conversations, intercepted glances, a sense of confidences shared. Elise felt excluded, although she tried not to.

      Aurora offered to drive her, but Elise declined. “I’ll take the bus. It’s not a problem,” Elise murmured. Her daughter was right about Maverick. He probably did have a credible excuse, only Elise supposed that was exactly what it would be. An excuse. A lie …

      “I’m sure Dad’ll be there to pick you up,” Aurora said as she walked Elise to the front door.

      She nodded, but she suspected otherwise. During the bus trip, she tried—unsuccessfully—to forget her fears. She got off automatically and transferred to the second bus. After all these years of traveling by Metro, Elise knew the schedules as well as her own address.

      She arrived late, and the meeting itself was a blur. By the time the group broke up, she knew it had been pointless to attend. She hadn’t been able to concentrate, and contributed little to the discussion.

      Her doubts and suspicions regarding Maverick were simply impossible to ignore. She knew his history, and yet she’d so badly wanted to believe him that she’d played a dangerous game of pretend. Loving him again had come so easy—too easy.

      On the short walk to the bus stop, she passed a number of card rooms. She passed them whenever she took this route but had never before felt even the slightest inclination to glance inside. But now the need to find Maverick consumed her. She wanted to burst into these places, slamming open the doors, hoping to catch him in his lie. But through sheer willpower, she resisted. That was a degrading thing she’d done early in their marriage, dragging their infant daughter into bowling alleys and taverns, looking for Maverick. Praying she’d find him before he lost the money they needed for rent.

      The memories bombarded her, and when she stepped off the bus late that afternoon, she was emotionally exhausted. She wasn’t surprised to see Maverick’s car parked in front of the house. She made a decision then: she couldn’t do this anymore.

      He didn’t meet her eyes when she walked in the door, which was another sure sign he’d been up to no good.

      “Hello,” she said stiffly.

      “Elise.” He cast a look toward their daughter, who promptly left the room. “I figure you and I should talk. I apologize for not being here to take you to your readers’ group.” He paused for a few seconds. “I’m sorry.”

      “Yes, I knew you probably would be,” she said, setting her purse on the small table in the hallway. Her throat was dry as she walked into the kitchen and took a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. Hand trembling, she reached for a glass.

      “I’m hoping we can talk about this,” he said, standing not more than two feet behind her. When she glanced around, she saw that he’d folded his hands like a repentant child.

      She shrugged as if it was of no importance. Compared to missing their daughter’s childhood—missing their entire marriage, for that matter—this was minor.

      “You were counting on me,” he said.

      “The bus was fine.”

      “Come on, Elise.” He held out his hands. “I hate it when you’re angry with me. I’m not a grade-school child who’s come to you about an overdue book. I’m your husband.”

      “Ex-husband,” she reminded him.

      “All right, so we’re divorced, but—”

      “You were gambling this afternoon.” It wasn’t a question. She knew, and she suspected that was where he’d been every week, although he’d denied it.

      “Would you listen for once?” he demanded.

      “No. There’s nothing more to be said. You made your choice all those years ago, and you’ve made the same choice again. Gambling is more important than me, than our marriage, more important than anything. I’m not surprised. Why should I be? It’s only history repeating itself.” Putting down the glass after a single swallow, she walked through the hallway to her room.

      Maverick followed her, leaping back as she shut the door. Despite her anger, Elise hadn’t intended to slam it in his face. She leaned her shoulder against it, feeling too weak to stand without support.

      Maverick paced outside in the hallway; she could hear the sound of his footsteps. “All I ask is that you listen. Please, honey, just listen.”

      She closed her eyes. He hadn’t called her honey since before the divorce.

      “I love you, Elise. I know you don’t believe that, and I don’t blame you, but it’s true.”

      The declaration was all too familiar. Unable to stop herself, she jerked open the door. “I do believe you love me,” she said with great calm, “but you love cards more.” She watched Maverick’s face twist with pain and feared it was a reflection of her own. Unable to look at him, she gently closed the door.

      “No, no, you’ve got to believe me,” he pleaded. “I’m doing this for you.”

      Elise stood facing the door. That, too, was a common excuse of his. It was never for him, never about what he wanted. He’d squander what little they had on the promise of more. Except that promise had almost always proved to be empty.

      Granted, he’d obviously made a certain amount of money through the years—to meet his child support obligations, to travel—but she was sure he’d lost far more than he’d ever won. That was the pattern with gamblers.

      “This afternoon I was playing poker,” he confessed. “I wanted to talk to you about it first, but I knew you’d be upset. You get this … this look and it rips me up inside. Makes me feel like I’ve disappointed you again. I couldn’t bear to see it.”

      It hadn’t stopped him, though.

      “I wore the socks you knit me and felt close to you the entire time I was playing. They brought me luck.”

      Elise wished she’d given those socks to David the way she’d originally intended.

      “I won the tournament, Elise,” he said triumphantly.

      She refused to answer him. Winning was possibly the worst thing that could’ve happened. It only made the situation worse. Maverick would feel encouraged. He’d wager more and more until he’d lost everything, including his pride. In those early years, she’d seen him down on his luck too many times, sick at heart, emotionally depleted.

      “Don’t you want to know how much I won?”

      “No!”

      “It СКАЧАТЬ