How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9) - Louise Penny Page 0,159
raced from the church while others called 911.
Reine-Marie wondered, as her new son-in-law led her around the sunny village green, what she’d have done. Could she have taken that shot, knowing she’d almost certainly kill the man she loved?
And yet, not to would condemn him.
Could she have lived with herself either way?
When she’d heard the story, she knew then that if he got to rehab, and Annie still wanted him, she would consider herself blessed to have such a man in her family. And now, in her arms.
Annie was safe with him. Reine-Marie knew that, as few mothers ever could.
“Shall we?” Jean-Guy asked, and indicated the other couple, dancing closer.
“Oui,” said Reine-Marie, and released Beauvoir.
A moment later, Armand Gamache felt a tap on his shoulder.
“May I?” asked Jean-Guy, and Gamache stepped aside, bowing slightly.
Beauvoir looked at Annie with such tenderness, Gamache felt his own heart skip a beat, surprised by joy.
Then Jean-Guy turned and took Gamache in his arms, while Reine-Marie danced with Annie.
There was a whoop of laughter and applause from the guests. Gabri and Olivier were the first to join them, followed by the entire village. Even Ruth, with Rosa in her arms, danced with Billy Williams, whispering sweet swear words in each other’s ears.
“Is there something you need to tell me, young man?” Gamache asked, as he felt Jean-Guy’s strong hand on his back.
Beauvoir laughed, then paused before speaking. “I want to say I’m sorry.”
“For shooting me?” asked Gamache. “I forgive you. Just don’t do it again.”
“Well, that too. But I meant I’m sorry you’ve retired from the Sûreté.”
“When senior officers start shooting each other, it’s time to leave,” said Gamache. “I’m sure it’s somewhere in the regulations.”
Beauvoir laughed. He could feel the older man leaning on him, tiring a bit and still uncertain on his feet without his cane. Allowing Jean-Guy to take his weight. Trusting that Jean-Guy would not let him fall.
“Did it feel strange,” Beauvoir asked, “seeing Madame Gamache walk Annie down the aisle?”
“You must call her Reine-Marie,” said Gamache. “Please. We’ve asked you before.”
“I’ll try.” It was difficult to break the habit of years, just as he found it almost impossible to call the Chief Inspector Armand. But one day, perhaps, when the children were born he might call him “Papa.”
“I walked Annie down the aisle in her first wedding,” said Armand. “It seemed only fair for her mother to do it this time. I’ll do it at her next wedding.”
“Wretched man,” whispered Beauvoir.
He held the Chief and thought about the moment he’d pulled the trigger and seen Gamache propelled from the forest by the force of it. He’d dropped his gun and run and run and run. Toward the prone man, and the red stain spreading on the snow, like wings.
“My heart broke, you know,” Beauvoir whispered, and resisted the urge to lower his head onto Gamache’s shoulder. “When I shot you.”
“I know,” said Armand softly. “And my heart broke when I left you in that factory.” There was silence for a few steps before Gamache spoke again. “There really is a crack in everything.”
“Yes.”
* * *
By midnight Armand and Reine-Marie were sitting on the wide verandah of Emilie’s home. They could see Annie and Jean-Guy, silhouetted against the bonfire on the village green, swaying in each other’s arms to the soft music.
Clara and Myrna had joined Armand and Reine-Marie on the porch. Daniel, Roslyn and the grandchildren were asleep upstairs, and Henri was curled up by Reine-Marie’s feet.
No one spoke.
It had taken several months for Gamache to recover enough to leave the hospital. While he was there, Jean-Guy had been in rehab.
There was, of course, an inquiry into the plot to bring down the bridge and a Royal Commission had been struck to investigate the corruption.
Arnot, Francoeur, and Tessier were dead. Georges Renard was in the SHU awaiting trial, along with all the others who’d plotted and colluded. At least the ones they’d caught so far.
Isabelle Lacoste was the acting Chief Inspector of homicide, and would soon be confirmed. Jean-Guy was on part-time duty, and continued, as he would the rest of his life, to recover from his addictions.
Thérèse Brunel was the acting Chief Superintendent. They’d offered Gamache the job but he’d refused. He might recover physically, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover in other ways. And he knew Reine-Marie would not.
It was someone else’s turn now.
When it came to deciding what to do next, it had been an easy decision. They’d bought Emilie Longpré’s house on the village green in Three Pines.
Armand and Reine-Marie Gamache had come home.
He held her hand now, stroking it with his thumb, while a single fiddler played a soft familiar tune, and Armand Gamache knew he was fine where he was.
Reine-Marie held her husband’s hand and watched her daughter and son-in-law on the village green and she thought about her conversation with Jean-Guy, as they’d danced. He’d told her how much he’d miss Armand. How much the Sûreté would miss him.
“But everyone understands his decision to retire,” Jean-Guy had hurriedly reassured her. “He’s earned his rest.”
She’d laughed, and Jean-Guy had pulled back to study her.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Armand was made to do what he was doing. He might retire, but he can’t quit.”
“Really?” asked Jean-Guy, not exactly convinced. “’Cause the Chief seems pretty sure.”
“He doesn’t know it yet.”
“And you? Would you be all right if he wants to rejoin the Sûreté one day? If you said no, he’d listen to you.”
The look on her face told Jean-Guy that he wasn’t the only one to face a terrible choice.
And now Reine-Marie held her husband’s hand and looked at him as he watched Jean-Guy and Annie dance.
“What’re you thinking of, mon beau?” she asked.
“Now there is no more loneliness,” Gamache said, and met her eyes.
Go now to your dwelling place to enter into
the days of your togetherness.
When he’d handed Beauvoir back to Annie, in the middle of the first dance, Armand had seen something in Jean-Guy’s eyes. Beyond the happiness, beyond the sharp intelligence, beyond even the suffering, Armand Gamache had seen something luminous. A glint. A gleam.
And may your days be good and long upon the earth.