Arthur pressed his fingers to his mouth without being aware of the gesture, a few short steps from holding his face in his hands, which was what he wanted to do. The gambling had been to anchor himself, at least at first — now he could not stop. But he had never wanted Dezzie to know, had never wanted her to see this side of him — they had met after Art had established a better living situation, after his gambling slowed to a trickle, when his bad habits were more charming than they were life-ruining.

He couldn’t lie to her, as much as he wanted to — because she may known, sure, but also because Meredith Watchword was right. If Desdemona wanted out, if she was done, then he couldn’t take that choice away from her.

”I owe the boxing venue money,” he admitted, like pulling teeth, from behind his hand, ”But — we’re not in trouble. It’s under control. And it’s not enough money that they would come for anything.”

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