Free Broken Man by Christopher Scott Page B

hands from the night before, studying the cost benefit analysis of these zero sum games, looking for any leaks in his approach. After confirming his strategies and approach for the day, Jack would settle on a restaurant for a light lunch, primarily a diversion to kill some time.
    He then returned from lunch in the afternoon for a short nap before waking in time to watch the stock market close and to prepare his mind for the nightly battle at the poker table. He spent an hour meditating and clearing his mind, a poker zen warrior, poised and mindful, planning for how he would react to varying scenarios and different players, visualizing a clear mind and calm spirit.
    He also spent the last hour before making the trip down to casino looking forward to his social life, his nightly conversation with Amanda at the break table forefront in his mind. They had slowly become friends, their schedules intertwining, their thoughts on similar pages. She was honest, independent, and intelligent, traits that Jack admired, and their conversations had range, but not beyond what He was comfortable discussing.
    Jack sensed a kindred spirit in Amanda, an old soul who somehow shared his sense of loss and hopelessness while at the same time displaying the fight and tenacity that he had lost. He admired and liked her, but his feelings for her went no further than that, her youth and his damaged soul solid barriers to further engagement.
    And, so it went, and before long, Jack had spent two months in Atlantic City, a fixture in the poker room, a man without a home. He didn’t really think about where he was going to go, who he was going to meet, what he was going to do. He just lived day by day, sticking with his schedule, no one knowing where he was or what he was doing.
    Slowly, he returned to the place where he felt comfortable before he met Brittany. Scheduled, uncluttered, antiseptic, and dispassionate, his mind distracted by routine, his heart safe from harm.
    * * *
    Amanda was not going to let him get away with it tonight. His dodging, deflecting, maneuvering, changing the subject, anything he could do to not let her in.
    She and Jack had become friends over the last couple of months, getting to know each other better by the day, his daily arrival promptly at 6:00 a welcome routine in her life. He was kind, thoughtful, funny, considerate, and a wonderful listener, everything she had hoped he would be. It had gotten to the point that she hoped the break table wouldn’t fill at all, the lost income a welcome trade for a full half hour of conversation with him.
    They talked about so many things. Her school work, poker, the stock market, people, their shared love of baseball, pretty much anything that came up in daily conversation.
    But, nothing personal. She knew he was hiding something, something he didn’t want her to know, something he didn’t want to share. Could he be married, maybe going through a difficult divorce?
    She had resigned herself to this possibility. Several of her friends had approached him, some not even with the slightest hint of subtlety, only to be politely rebuffed by him. He was impervious to flirtation, unwilling to even entertain the thought if a dalliance. Could he be nursing a broken heart, the victim of a failed marriage. What else could he be doing in Atlantic City?
    It was impossible for her to know. He was a master at moving the conversation to where he wanted, and not wanting to pry and having to maintain a semblance of professionalism, Amanda had let him steer the ship. But tonight, as she watched him navigate the approach to the table, she prepared herself to change course.
    “Good evening, Amanda. How are you tonight?”
    “I am fine, Jack,” she returned his smile. “How was your day?”
    “It was good. Got in a good workout, and had a great lunch at Flames over on the boardwalk. Have you tried it?”
    “I don’t get over to the boardwalk much,” she teased him. “Isn’t the boardwalk for