She thanked Madame Provost, then turned and walked stiffly off the stage, not saying another word.
Harriet Landers knew if she was the future, they were all fucked.
“She’s coming back with us,” said Clara, at the reception after. “Right? The party’s all organized.”
“For a few days, yes,” said Myrna. She was holding hands with Billy Williams, who’d taken the day off from spreading compost to be there.
“Does she get to keep the robes?” asked Gabri. “Do you think she’d let me buy them off her?”
“Why in the world would you—” began his partner, Olivier, then stopped. Not wanting to know the answer.
Armand and Reine-Marie were across the room, talking with the Chancellor. Then, seeing Fiona Arsenault standing alone, they excused themselves and walked over to her.
Jean-Guy had left a few minutes earlier, but not before reassuring Armand that Sam Arsenault had left the building as soon as the ceremony was over.
“I saw him off. I suspect he wants to meet you even less than you want to meet him.”
Armand knew that was not true but left it at that.
“Merci,” he said. “Did you speak with him?”
“Briefly. He won’t be back.”
Gamache nodded. He didn’t want, or need, to know more. The fact was, he’d kept tabs on the young man and was far more aware of his movements, his life, than Jean-Guy. He’d expected Sam to be there that day, and he was.
What Armand had not expected was to feel that frisson, that sharp spike of anxiety, when their eyes had met. Now he turned his mind from that young man to his sister.
Reine-Marie hugged Fiona, while Armand stood back and watched. Smiling.
He’d never have thought, never have guessed, on that cold November day so many years ago, in that horror of a house, that this could ever happen. Once again, he reflected on the folly of assumptions.
“Merci, Monsieur Gamache,” said Fiona, looking down at the scroll and small box in her hands. “I know this was because of you.” She turned to Reine-Marie. “You both.”
“You put in the work,” said Armand, looking her straight in the eye. “I’m proud of you.”
And he was. Not many could turn their lives around. After what happened.
“You’re coming down to Three Pines with us, right?” said Reine-Marie. “We have your room all ready.”
“Can’t wait.” Fiona looked at the small box, then held it out to Armand. “Would you?”
His smile widened, and without a word he opened the box and brought out the thin iron ring. It was simple, unadorned except for the marks where it had been pounded into shape. Not a ring anyone would choose at a jeweler’s. But it could not be bought, it had to be earned.
He slipped it onto the little finger of Fiona’s right hand. She looked down at it, shaking her head slightly. “I’d never have dreamed—”
“Bonjour.”
Armand stiffened and his smile froze.
“Sam!” Fiona brushed between the Gamaches to embrace her brother. “Thank you for coming.”
“Are you kidding? Miss this? Never. I’m so proud of you. First person in our family to go to university, never mind graduate. You definitely got the brains.”
“While you got the rugged good looks,” she said with a laugh.
It was a running joke between the siblings. Though, as Reine-Marie watched, she recognized it was true. She’d met this young man only once before and had liked him. She suspected most people would.
Except her husband. It went beyond not liking, into a territory she’d rarely seen with Armand. She’d asked him once about it, about Sam Arsenault, but he’d just frowned and shrugged and said he couldn’t explain it.
She thought he meant that he wouldn’t explain it.
Still, she didn’t press. It didn’t matter. The young man had no place in their lives. Unlike his sister.
Sam embraced Fiona again, holding her tight. “I’ve missed you. Missed this.” Then he turned to the other two. “Madame Gamache. Chief Inspector.”
“Sam.”
There was no question of a handshake.
Armand held the young man’s eyes. While he’d kept tabs on Sam Arsenault, he hadn’t actually seen him in years. The boy had grown into a man. He was tall. Almost as tall as Armand. He’d filled out, grown fit.
But his eyes had not changed. They were remarkable. Clear, bright, a bluey green. They sparked with intelligence and warmth and good humor.
But, Armand knew, if he held them long enough, really looked, he’d eventually see it. The flecks on the irises. The dark spots where the real Samuel Arsenault hid.
But what Armand would always recognize was intangible, invisible. If he were blindfolded and Sam Arsenault walked into the room, Armand would know it.
“Excusez-moi,” he said, breaking eye contact.
He and Reine-Marie began to walk away when Sam called after them. “I’ll see you there.”
Armand stopped, paused, then turned. “Where?”
“Didn’t Fiona tell you? I’m coming down to Three Pines too. I’ve made a reservation at the B&B.” He smiled at Gamache. “It’s gonna be fun.”
“You all right?” Nathalie Provost asked a few minutes later. “You look tense.”
Armand’s smile was tight. “I was coming over to ask how you were feeling,” he said, deflecting the question. “It was a beautiful ceremony. But emotional, I know.”
“Oui. Always is. In a good way too.”
“Thank you for what you did for Fiona. I know it added an extra stress.”
Nathalie didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the young man standing with Fiona Arsenault. She wasn’t the only one watching him. Almost all the female grads, and their sisters, and their mothers, and more than a few of the men had at least glanced over. Some were openly staring.
“Who’s that?” Nathalie asked.
“Her brother,” said Reine-Marie. “Sam.”
Nathalie nodded, examining him. “Attractive.”
Though she looked anything but attracted. Her brows were drawn together. And she’d taken half a step back.
She feels it too, thought Armand. He wondered if those who’d experienced death recognized the boatman.
“Auntie Myrna, who’s that?”
Harriet was standing with her back against the wall, beside the bright red Sortie sign and the door. As close to out as in could be. She was openly staring at the most beautiful young man she’d ever seen. His gleaming brown hair, auburn really with its natural highlights, was slightly longer than fashionable, though however he chose to wear it would be de facto fashionable.
His clothing was casual, though appropriate to the occasion, and fit him well.
But a green garbage bag would have looked good on him. Though Harriet thought it was a shame to cover up that body at all. She spent a moment imagining …
She’d noticed that the young man had looked over at her aunt and nodded. He clearly knew her. So she must know him.
“His name’s Sam Arsenault,” said Myrna.
Harriet grabbed her hand and started forward. “Come on, introduce me.”
But Auntie Myrna didn’t move, and after a few tugs Harriet realized it was futile.
“Why not?”
“We don’t have time. We need to get back to the village before Ruth sacks the place. She’s already stolen half a dozen books from the store this week.”
It was clear this was an excuse. That her aunt, for whatever reason, didn’t want to approach the man.
Harriet would have argued, but she was sidetracked by the mention of the elderly poet. It conjured up so many images, so many feelings.