A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,26
Bread,” said Clara, barely intelligible through the thick peanut butter.
“Oh, jeez,” said Myrna, breaking from the line and turning to look for Sarah the baker. “I’m going to get one of those.”
“Here,” said Billy Williams. “Take mine.”
Though he was famished, he offered her half his sandwich.
Myrna smiled and shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll get my own. But thanks.”
Billy looked after her, then down at his damp sandwich. And understood that he had nothing that Myrna wanted.
She was unattainable, and he worried he’d love her for the rest of his life.
Gabri walked over to the bridge and offered Ruth a coffee. “I put a shot of brandy in it.”
“That’s okay,” shouted the old poet over the sound of the river. She reached for a steaming mug. “I’ll take the soup.”
Gabri paled. It was, he knew, a sign of the End of Days. Ruth refusing booze.
He looked down and saw that the river was not just angry, there was a madness about it. As though all the indignities visited on all the waterways in the New World, by generations of settlers, were coming to the surface.
The waters were rising up, not in protest but in revenge.
He could barely hear himself think for the howling.
It was, he thought as he walked off the bridge, the sound a soul might make as it approached hell.
* * *
Gamache’s mind was racing. Had they thought to open the spillways for the dams across the province?
Hospitals needed to be put on alert. Other provinces contacted and asked for possible assistance. The water-filtration plants needed to be protected. Hydro crews needed to be ready to restore power. Military reserves and first responders called out. Emergency measures put in place.
A sudden catastrophic event, natural or otherwise, brought with it turmoil. Places so pastoral and pretty one minute became war zones the next.
A populace unused to these sudden emergencies needed to be rallied and directed. And kept calm.
It was vital to take control.
Gamache tried to stop his mind from going there. And his hand from reaching for his phone to call Emergency Management. Call his successor at the Sûreté. Call the Premier Ministre. And tell them what to do.
Instead he took a deep breath and forced himself to sit back in the passenger seat.
This was no longer his job. No longer his responsibility. They knew what they were doing. They did not need him.
Still, he felt like a swimmer treading water offshore. Watching some terrible event unfold on the mainland and being unable to stop it. Or even help.
Once out of the mountains, his phone had gone wild with emails. Texts. Phone messages.
He tried Reine-Marie first and finally got through to Olivier in the bistro, who called Reine-Marie in.
“We’re all right, Armand. Sandbagging, of course. But there’s no panic.”
“Ruth didn’t—”
“Put valium in the hot chocolate again?” asked Reine-Marie. “Non. But I am feeling very, very calm.”
Actually, she sounded tired.
“How is it really?” he asked.
“We’re getting the barriers built. The Bella Bella’s higher than anyone’s ever seen it. A few inches from the top. But even if it floods, it won’t be too bad.”
Reine-Marie had never been in a flood. He had. It wasn’t just a few inches of water in basements. A wave of water, even a small one, that had traveled that distance contained almost unimaginable energy. The force of even a minor breach could knock down walls. Buildings. Wells would be contaminated. Power lines knocked over. People, animals swept away.
It didn’t take as much water as people thought.
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Where are you?”
“There’s a state of emergency. I’m on my way into Montréal.”
There was the briefest of pauses. “Of course.”
She’d tried to sound upbeat, but the disappointment in her voice took his breath away. He was heading away from her, not to her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry. We’re fine. We really are. Be careful. You have your water wings?”
“The blow-up swan? Always.”
“Good. Make sure you wear it.”
He laughed. “Now, that would be a photo for social media.”
Hearing her laughter as she imagined her husband in suit, tie, and pink swan around his waist, directing emergency operations, went some way to healing his heart. They talked another minute or so before hanging up.
Then he phoned Monsieur Godin. It was a difficult call. He had to tell Vivienne’s father that the search for his daughter was temporarily on hold, during the emergency. But would be resumed as soon as possible.
“You can’t stop,” said Homer. “You have to find her. You promised.”