All the Devils Are Here(59)

Armand thought about that. “No, it might actually be a good thing.”

He looked around for Jean-Guy. He was anxious to hear what Beauvoir had learned at GHS earlier in the afternoon.

Armand spotted him and watched as Jean-Guy gave Honoré the nickels that were stuck together. While the boy tried to pull them apart, Jean-Guy turned full circle. Scanning the area.

Gamache recognized that look. It was not casual.

Honoré, in frustration, tossed the nickels into the grass.

When Jean-Guy turned back to his son, the nickels were gone. He immediately knelt and opened Honoré’s mouth, frantically sweeping his fingers in as the boy began to cry.

Armand ran over, calling, “It’s okay. He threw them away.”

“Oh, thank God. If anything happens to Honoré …” He looked over at Annie. “I don’t want to be blamed.”

Armand laughed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daniel pick up the nickels, making sure no other child swallowed them. Putting them in his pocket, Daniel walked away from his father and Jean-Guy.

“Are you all right?” asked Jean-Guy. “After what Fontaine said …”

“It was a shock. I know it’s not true, about Stephen, but just hearing the accusation was sickening.”

“I’ve asked for the file.”

Gamache turned to him now. “Does it strike you as strange that she should have it? They only began the investigation this morning, but they already have some old dossier on Stephen that had been buried in the archives for seventy-five years.”

Jean-Guy nodded and watched as Honoré ran over to play with the other children. Then he looked at Annie, so pregnant she was about to explode. She was sitting on a bench, chatting with another mother.

“You all right?” asked Armand.

“I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted.”

Armand followed his glance. “Tell me.”

Jean-Guy lowered his voice, becoming almost furtive. As though what he was about to say was shameful.

“I’m so worried. Have we done the right thing? What’s going to happen? Jesus, I’m standing right next to Honoré and I can’t stop him from swallowing coins. How’m I ever going to keep our daughter safe? All her life. It’ll never stop. And, and, God help me, I think of how happy we are, just the three of us. Have we made a mistake? I’m so afraid.”

Armand paused, then asked gently, “What’re you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to do it. That we, I, won’t love her enough. I’m worried for Honoré. And yes, I’m worried for me. What it’ll mean to me. I wake up in the middle of the night and think, what’ve we done? And I just want to run away. Oh, God, am I really so selfish?”

Across the park Daniel, now talking with other parents, saw his father and Jean-Guy in a clearly intimate conversation. Turning his back, he focused on the strangers in front of him.

“No, of course you’re not. Listen.” Armand held Jean-Guy’s arm. “Are you listening? Look at me.”

Jean-Guy raised his eyes.

“It would be insane not to be afraid. To worry. The very thing you just admitted is what will make you a great father to your daughter. We’re all afraid. Of something bad happening to our children. Of not being there when they need us. Of not being enough. We all want to pull the sheets up over our heads some days and hide. But not all of us admit it. Your daughter is one lucky girl. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, but I suspect you’ll find that she is much more like other babies than she is different. And I do know you will love her, Jean-Guy.”

Beauvoir looked into his father-in-law’s eyes and hoped that was true.

Just then little Zora started crying. They watched as Daniel took her in his arms and held her, rubbing her back. Letting her wail. And whispering, “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

Reine-Marie and Armand joined them.

“Did she fall?” asked Reine-Marie.

Daniel put her down and asked, “Are you hurt?”

Sputtering, trying to catch her breath, Zora shook her head.

“Why are you crying?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“Nothing.”

Armand gave a handkerchief to his son, who used it to wipe Zora’s face and have her blow her nose.

Florence, her older sister, had come over and was hovering in the background.

“It’s the other kids,” Florence said.

“Is not,” muttered Zora.

“What about them?” asked Daniel.

“They make fun of her.”

“Do not.”

“Why?”

“Because of her name.”

Now her little sister was quiet, though her face had again crumpled, and she was on the verge of tears.

“They say it’s weird. That she’s weird.”

“I hate it,” said Zora. “I hate my name, and I hate them.”

“Has anyone told you about your name?” her grandfather asked. “Where it comes from?”

“Grand-mère,” she muttered. “Or something.”

Armand knelt down now. “Your great-grandmother, yes.” He looked at the other kids, staring, then at Daniel. “Can we all go for a walk?”