A Trick of the Light (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #7)

by Louise Penny

As long as the sun shone and there was poached salmon on the plate, people could be good. But take that away, and see what happens. Take the food, the chairs, the flowers, the home. Take the friends, the supportive spouse, the income away, and see what happens.

Clara actually looked frightened, as though saying a thing made it more likely to happen, as though whatever God she believed in worked like that. But Myrna knew neither Clara’s God nor hers was so chaotic and petty they needed or heeded such ridiculous suggestions.

“I saw it with my clients who’d been abused either physically or emotionally. The relationship never starts with a fist to the face, or an insult. If it did there’d be no second date. It always starts gently. Kindly. The other person draws you in. To trust them. To need them. And then they slowly turn. Little by little, increasing the heat. Until you’re trapped.”

Not for the first time Three Pines struck Myrna as the equivalent of the Humane Society. Taking in the wounded, the unwanted. The mad, the sore.

Madame and Monsieur Dyson were gone now. They’d crossed over to that continent where grieving parents lived. It looked the same as the rest of the world, but wasn’t. Colors bled pale. Music was just notes. Books no longer transported or comforted, not fully. Never again. Food was nutrition, little more. Breaths were sighs.

How long did hope live?

There were worse things than not meeting God. Meeting Him, for instance.

The alcoholic is like a tornado, roaring his way through the lives of others,”

“You aren’t expecting a miracle today?” Gamache asked. “Are you?” “Always. And I’m never disappointed. I’m about to go home to the woman I love, who loves me. I do a job I believe in with people I admire. Every morning when I swing my legs out of bed I feel like I walk on water.” Gamache looked Peter in the eyes. “As Brian said last night, sometimes drowning men are saved.”