A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(136)

Armand nodded. “You made me smile. I didn’t think I’d ever do that again, but you showed me I could. You gave me hope that it would get better.”

The gun lowered a little more.

“It seems hopeless now, I know,” said Armand. “It feels like there’s no way out. I understand. You know I do.”

Michel nodded.

“But it will get better. Even this. I promise.”

“I followed you home, you know, one night,” said Michel. “To your village.”

“That was you?”

“I wanted to see where you lived.” He paused. “It was so peaceful. I sat in the car and longed to drive down and join you. To maybe buy a little cottage and have drinks every evening in that brasserie. Maybe join a book club.”

This was the worst ghost story yet. The phantom life that might have been.

“I’ll die in prison. You know that. Of old age. Or someone, one night, will beat me to death. Someone who knows who I used to be. How is it better to die there than here?”

The gun was raised again, and now Armand brought up both hands. Not reaching for the gun, but for the man, just out of reach.

“Give me your hand,” he pleaded. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Come with me. Please, Michel.”

Michel dropped his eyes to the outstretched hands, then raised his gaze to Armand’s eyes as he pressed the gun to his temple.

“For God’s sake,” Armand whispered. “Don’t. I’m begging you. Please.” He searched his mind for something, anything, to say. To stop this. “Would you condemn me to seeing this for the rest of my life?”

“Then turn your back, Armand.”

*

At the sound of the shot, Jean-Guy Beauvoir leapt up.

He and Jacques had gone to Commander Gamache’s rooms, where Jacques splashed water on his face while Beauvoir secured the gun and poured them each a Coke. They’d just sat down when the shot rang out.

“Stay here.”

Jean-Guy was out the door and into the corridor, where the sound was still reverberating. He skidded to a stop in front of Brébeuf’s rooms and yanked the door open.

Armand Gamache stood in the middle of the little room. Specks of blood on his face. A figure crumpled at his feet. Gamache squeezed his eyes shut then. But it was too late.

He had not turned his back on Michel.





CHAPTER 43

A wail filled the air, followed quickly by an expletive and a familiar voice. “Oh, for God’s sake. Does the crying ever stop?”

“Probably just thirsty,” said Clara. “Sounds like you when you want a drink.”

“Jeez.” Myrna turned around from the pew in front of them. “I thought that was Ruth.”

There was another piercing wail.

“Nope,” Myrna said. “Not loud enough.”

Ruth cackled. “I could use a shot of Liebfraumilch.”

Shhhh, said the rest of the congregation.

“Me?” said Ruth. “You’re telling me to shush? Tell that to the kid.”

She thrust Rosa, her appendage, toward the altar.

It was a warm morning in late spring, and Three Pines was gathered in St. Thomas’s Church.

Armand stood at the front and looked out at the congregation.

Daniel and Roslyn were there from Paris, with their daughters Florence and Zora.

Jean-Guy’s family were elbowing each other in the front pew.

And beyond them, friends, sitting and standing. At the very back stood the four cadets.

Jacques, Huifen, Nathaniel, and Amelia.

The graduation ceremony had been held at the academy the day before. It was more solemn than most, given the events of that term.

The cadets had stood as one, somber, erect, silent, when Commander Gamache entered the auditorium and walked alone across the stage.

He gripped the podium and stared out at them, in their dress blues. Those about to graduate and enter service, and those returning the following year.

The uniforms were perfectly pressed, the creases sharp, the buttons polished, the young faces shiny and clean.

He stared in silence, and they stared back. The specter of the tragedies filling the space between them. Filling the room. Darkening the past, dimming the present, and eclipsing their bright futures.

And then he smiled.

Armand Gamache’s face broke into a radiant smile.

He smiled. And he smiled.

First one, then a few, then they all smiled back. They beamed at each other, Commander and cadets. Until the darkness was banished. And finally he spoke.

“Things are strongest where they’re broken,” said Commander Gamache, his voice deep and calm and certain. The words entered each of the cadets. And their families. And their friends. And filled the void.

And then he talked about what had happened. The shattering events. And the healing.

He ended his address by saying, “We are all of us marred and scarred and imperfect. We make mistakes. We do things we deeply regret. We are tempted and sometimes we give in to that temptation. Not because we’re bad or weak, but because we’re human. We are a crowd of faults. But know this.”

He stood in complete silence for a moment, the huge auditorium motionless.

“There is always a road back. If we have the courage to look for it, and take it. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I don’t know.” He paused again. “I need help. Those are the signposts. The cardinal directions.”