The Ambition Read Online Free PDF Page B

like. Every shred of logic screamed that he should run the other way, yet he still felt inexorably drawn to the thrill of false hope.
    He sat for several minutes, head in hand, in the shadows of his kitchen. He knew he wasn’t going back to bed; his adrenaline was pumping too much for that. Finally, he walked into his home office, flicked on the lights and computer, and went to his favorite search engine.
    A few keystrokes later, he found a six–month–old article in the Examiner about a program that was helping people who were caught in the grip of compulsive gambling. Tom jotted down the name of the group’s leader who was quoted extensively in the story.
    Maybe it was time to face his demons — now, before it was too late. Perhaps this program could help. At least, it might be worth a chance.
    As best Tom could tell, the group met in a big church in suburban Diamond Point.
    IV
    Eric knew he was in trouble.
    Elizabeth Snow threw her luggage in the backseat, yanked the car door closed, and squared her back against the passenger seat. “Hello, Eric.” There was no smile, and no kiss was offered.
    He pulled away from the curb at O’Hare and merged into traffic.
    “How was the trip?” he asked.
    “Great,” she said, without turning toward him.
    “Customs take long?”
    “No,” she said.
    “You must be tired.”
    She sighed and closed her eyes.
    He wanted to turn on the radio and fill their silence with the Cubs game — it was their home opener against the despicable Cards — but didn’t dare. They rode without speaking until he took the turnoff to Milwaukee Avenue to avoid a backup on the expressway.
    “Good flight?” he tried again.
    She turned and gave an exasperated sigh, her almond eyes narrowing. “When were you planning to tell me?” she asked. “Tell you what?”
    “You know full well what. Rhonda Urban called me on my layover in New York. She told me about the meeting at our house — our house, Eric. She said you told everyone you were going after the Senate.”
    “Now, that’s an exaggeration. We broached the idea, that’s all.”
    “We? As in Debra Wyatt and you? Is she your wife? Where do the two of you get off making announcements about our life? It’s our life, Eric — not just yours to do whatever you want.”
    “I made it clear that nothing is set in stone — just like we discussed before your trip. We’re talking possibilities. Scenarios. Contingencies.”
    “You’re talking about changing our lives one hundred and eighty degrees. I told you before I left for Johannesburg that we’ve got a lot more processing to do before you start playing games with contingencies. This affects me every bit as much as it affects you.”
    He knew she was right. Though Eric was senior pastor, Liz was woven into the fabric of Diamond Point Fellowship. In a sense, she was its social conscience, overseeing volunteers who served in small orphanages, medical clinics, churches, and schools scattered throughout central and southern Africa.
    He’d broached the possibility of the Senate appointment to her while she was packing for her trip to Johannesburg two weeks earlier. She was planning to combine ministry with family time on the trip, visiting relatives in Tembisa (a name he loved: Zulu for “There is Hope”), located northeast of the city. Her mother’s roots went back many generations in South Africa; her father’s ancestors immigrated to America from Scotland in the 1880s.
    Her parents met in the racially turbulent 1960s in Arkansas, deciding to move to San Francisco where a mixed marriage might be tolerated. He taught social studies at a high school; she gave piano lessons and worked in a middle school cafeteria. Their hard work and sacrifice enabled Elizabeth — named after one of the nine heroic teenagers who integrated an all–white Little Rock high school in 1957 — to fulfill her dream of studying at Stanford.
    She emerged with a degree in software engineering and was promptly