Glass Houses (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #13)(131)

Their bodies were screaming to stop, to rest. But they kept moving, desperate to get back to the village. To their families. To Isabelle.

Reine-Marie and Annie ran up the road to meet them.

“Oh, thank God,” Reine-Marie whispered, clutching Armand to her, as he held her tightly, resting his broken cheek on her head. Smelling the scent of old garden roses. And Honoré.

Neither wanted to let go, but he had to. He had to see Isabelle.

“You’re hurt,” said Annie, drawing back from Jean-Guy and touching his leg, wrapped in a temporary bandage.

“So are you,” said Reine-Marie, when she stepped back.

The entire front of Armand’s white shirt was red, and sticking to his chest. As though, in the terrible sequence of events, some transmogrification had occurred and sweat had been turned into blood.

“It’s not mine,” he said.

She reached out and touched his bleeding face. Then she kissed his split and weeping lips.

“Isabelle?” Armand asked.

“They’re with her now.”

“She’s alive?” said Jean-Guy, holding Annie to him.

Reine-Marie nodded, then looked at Armand. And he could see the truth in her eyes.

Alive. But—

“The others?”

“Olivier was hit in the arm, but Gabri got to him. The paramedics say he’ll be fine. There’re lots of cuts from glass and wood, but nothing life-threatening. Only Isabelle.”

Gamache and Beauvoir walked swiftly toward the bistro, breaking into a run as they got closer.

Ambulances and emergency response vehicles were parked all around the village green. As they approached, a gurney came out the door of the bistro, piled with equipment. And in there, like a nest, was Isabelle.

Ruth walked beside her. She hadn’t left Isabelle’s side since crawling through the flying debris. To hold the young woman’s hand. And whisper to her. That she was not alone.

Clara followed, still clutching the fireplace brush, with Myrna right behind her, holding Rosa.

They were almost at the ambulance when Gamache and Beauvoir arrived.

Lacoste’s eyes were closed now, and her face was white, ashen.

Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down.

Armand touched her cheek. It was still warm.

The senior paramedic was working quickly to attend to Isabelle. He looked up briefly and, seeing Gamache, he drew back for a moment. He did not see the head of the S?reté. What he saw was a man covered almost entirely, head to toe, in blood.

“Gamache, S?reté,” said Armand. “May I come?”

“Only one,” said the paramedic. “Maybe her grandmother…”

Ruth drew back, her thin lips even thinner. Her rheumy eyes even more watery.

“But she’s your child, Armand,” she said quietly, so that only Armand could hear. And placed Isabelle’s hand in his. “Always has been.”

“Merci,” he said, and climbed in quickly.

“We’ll follow,” Reine-Marie shouted as the door closed and the ambulance raced off.

Armand positioned himself at Isabelle’s head, making sure he wasn’t in the way. As the paramedics worked, he whispered in her ear.

“You are loved. You are brave, and kind. You saved us all. Thank you, Isabelle. You are loved. Your children love you. Your husband and parents love you…”

All the way to the hospital.

You’re brave and strong.

You’re not alone.

You are loved.

You are loved.

Her lips moved, once. He leaned close, but couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. Though he could guess.

“I’ll tell them,” he whispered. “And they love you too.”

*

When Gamache arrived at the hospital from his meeting with the Premier, he found Isabelle’s husband sitting by her bed.

Breathing tubes were doing their job and machines monitored her heart and brain functions.

He was reading out loud, while music played. Ginette Reno. “Un peu plus haut, un peu plus loin.”

“There’s been some change, Armand,” said Robert, getting up. On seeing Gamache’s alarm, he hurried on. “For the better. Look.”

The brain waves seemed stronger. Broader. More rhythmic.

“She’s responding to things,” he said, taking her hand and looking down so that Gamache couldn’t see his eyes. “The doctors say reading to her might help. Just the sound of a familiar voice, I think.” He pointed to the book on the bed. “The children gave it to me to bring. She asked about it, that night.”

“Go get a cold drink and sandwich,” said Armand. “Get some fresh air. I’ll sit with her.”

When Robert left, Armand took the seat that had not been cold since this all happened a week earlier. Then he reached out and held her hand. And whispered in her ear.

“You are magnificent. Strong and brave. You saved our lives, Isabelle. You’re safe, and you are loved. Your family loves you. We love you. You are magnificent…”

While in the background, Ginette Reno sang, “Un peu plus haut.”

A little higher.

“Un peu plus loin.”

A little further.

Then he picked up the book and started reading out loud to Isabelle. About a little wooden boy and the conscience that would make him human.