“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I don’t know.” As he listed them, Chief Inspector Gamache raised a finger, until his palm was open. “I need help.”
But along with the triumph, there was something else lurking in those eyes. It was relief. Like an addict getting a hit. Or a starving creature that fed on someone else’s pain, enjoying a meal.
Who hurt you once, so far beyond repair / That you would greet each overture with curling lip.
Now you will feel no rain / For each of you will be shelter for the other/ Now there is no more loneliness. Go now to your dwelling place / To enter into the days of your togetherness. He and Robert emerged into the sunshine of the early June day. In this village that seemed to defy time. If only, thought Armand, that were true. And may your days be good and long upon this earth.
“Now here’s a good one: You’re lying on your deathbed. You have one hour to live. Who is it, exactly, you have needed all these years to forgive?”
Jean-Guy looked around at the peaceful village and began to see that maybe the belief in goodness wasn’t a blind spot. It was a bright spot.