Read Page 172

They danced past Gabri and Olivier, past Myrna and Clara, past the shopkeepers and villagers. Past Isabelle Lacoste and her family, past the Brunels, standing beside Agent Nichol. Yvette Nichol.

They smiled and waved as Armand and his daughter danced by. Across the green Jean-Guy and Reine-Marie danced past Daniel and Roslyn and the Gamache grandchildren, who were stroking Henri.Advertisement

“You know how happy we are, Jean-Guy,” Reine-Marie said.

“Are you really?”

He still needed reassurance.

“None of us is perfect,” she whispered.

“I tried to kill your husband,” said Jean-Guy.

“No. You tried to save him, to stop him. And you did. I will be forever in your debt.”

They danced in silence, as both thought of that moment. When Jean-Guy had been faced with a choice.

To continue shooting at, and missing, Gamache’s legs. Or to raise his sights, and aim for his back. A shot that might kill the very man he was trying to save. But to not shoot would mean the Chief would certainly die. Be blown up as soon as he reached the door to the schoolhouse. Believing he was saving Jean-Guy.

It had been a terrible, terrible choice.

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As had Isabelle Lacoste’s.

She’d gone with her instincts, and lowered her gun. And watched in horror as Beauvoir had fired, and the Chief had fallen.

The only thing that had saved Gamache was the presence of Jérôme Brunel, the former emergency room physician. He’d 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.” pqdm.com