right,’ said Clara, embarrassed that she’d forgotten. ‘Congratulations. When?’
‘It’ll be thirty-five years on July first. Canada Day.’
‘Easy to remember,’ said Peter, smiling appreciatively at Gamache.
‘Was it love at first sight?’ Clara sat beside Reine-Marie.
‘For me, yes.’
‘But not for you?’ Peter asked Gamache.
‘Oh yes. She means her family.’
‘No, you had family problems too? In-laws?’ asked Clara, eager to hear someone else’s misery.
‘Not exactly. They were wonderful,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘He was the problem.’
She nodded to her husband, leaning against the fireplace mantel, trying to pretend he was invisible.
‘You? What happened?’ asked Clara.
‘Now you must remember I was young,’ he warned her. ‘And in love. And not very worldly-wise.’
‘This is going to be good,’ said Peter to Clara.
‘Reine-Marie invited me round after mass on a Sunday for lunch, to meet her family. There were seventy-three siblings.’
‘Nine,’ his wife corrected him.
‘I wanted to impress them, of course, so I spent all week trying to figure out what to take her mother. Nothing too big. Didn’t want to show off. Nothing too small. Didn’t want to appear cheap. I lost sleep. Couldn’t eat. It became the most important thing in my life.’
‘What did you take?’ Clara asked.
‘A bath mat.’
‘You’re kidding,’ sputtered Peter. Gamache shook his head, unable to speak. As the others broke into howls of laughter he finally found his voice.
‘Well,’ he wiped away his tears, ‘it never goes bad.’
‘Or out of style, but doesn’t it lack a certain je ne sais quoi?’
‘His gift giving has improved,’ admitted Reine-Marie.
‘Soap dishes?’ asked Clara.
‘Toilet plunger?’ asked Peter.
‘Shhh,’ whispered Gamache. ‘That’s a surprise for our golden anniversary.’
‘And surprise it will be,’ said Clara, laughing. ‘But don’t get us started on toilets.’
‘Oh, please. Don’t,’ said Peter, trying to recover himself.
‘Oh, no,’ said Gamache, clasping Peter by the arm. ‘Your turn, old son.’
‘OK.’ Peter relented and took a swig of Drambuie. ‘When I first went away to school and was unpacking all my little socks and shoes and slacks, I found a note pinned to my blazer in my father’s handwriting. It said, Never use the first stall in a public washroom.‘
Peter, grown up and greying, stood in the room, but what Gamache saw was a serious little boy with spots on his hands holding the note. And memorizing it, as one might memorize a passage from the Bible. Or a poem.
Breathes there the man with soul so dead?
What kind of man was Charles Morrow that he’d write that to his son? Gamache was longing to ask Peter about the statue, but hadn’t yet had the chance.
‘Good advice,’ said Reine-Marie and they all looked at her. ‘If you’re in a hurry, where do you go? To the first stall.’
She didn’t need to say more.
Peter, who’d never decoded what his father had meant but knew in his heart it must be vital, wondered.
Was it that mundane? Was it really just practical advice after all? As a child, even as a teen, and even, dare he admit it, as an adult, he’d fantasized that it was a secret code. Given only to him. Entrusted to him. By his father. A code that would lead to treasure.
Never use the first stall in a public washroom.
And he hadn’t.
Gamache was just about to ask Peter’s opinion of the statue when Thomas strolled in.
‘You were talking about public washrooms?’ he said.
‘Toilets?’ asked Mariana, breezing into the room with Sandra. ‘Bean’ll be sorry to be in bed. It’s the sort of conversation a ten year old is good at.’
‘Hello.’ Julia walked through the screen doors from the terrasse carrying a demi-tasse of espresso. ‘There’s lightning and thunder out there. I think a storm’s coming.’
‘No,’ said Thomas sarcastically. ‘Peter’s been talking about toilets,
‘It’ll be thirty-five years on July first. Canada Day.’
‘Easy to remember,’ said Peter, smiling appreciatively at Gamache.
‘Was it love at first sight?’ Clara sat beside Reine-Marie.
‘For me, yes.’
‘But not for you?’ Peter asked Gamache.
‘Oh yes. She means her family.’
‘No, you had family problems too? In-laws?’ asked Clara, eager to hear someone else’s misery.
‘Not exactly. They were wonderful,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘He was the problem.’
She nodded to her husband, leaning against the fireplace mantel, trying to pretend he was invisible.
‘You? What happened?’ asked Clara.
‘Now you must remember I was young,’ he warned her. ‘And in love. And not very worldly-wise.’
‘This is going to be good,’ said Peter to Clara.
‘Reine-Marie invited me round after mass on a Sunday for lunch, to meet her family. There were seventy-three siblings.’
‘Nine,’ his wife corrected him.
‘I wanted to impress them, of course, so I spent all week trying to figure out what to take her mother. Nothing too big. Didn’t want to show off. Nothing too small. Didn’t want to appear cheap. I lost sleep. Couldn’t eat. It became the most important thing in my life.’
‘What did you take?’ Clara asked.
‘A bath mat.’
‘You’re kidding,’ sputtered Peter. Gamache shook his head, unable to speak. As the others broke into howls of laughter he finally found his voice.
‘Well,’ he wiped away his tears, ‘it never goes bad.’
‘Or out of style, but doesn’t it lack a certain je ne sais quoi?’
‘His gift giving has improved,’ admitted Reine-Marie.
‘Soap dishes?’ asked Clara.
‘Toilet plunger?’ asked Peter.
‘Shhh,’ whispered Gamache. ‘That’s a surprise for our golden anniversary.’
‘And surprise it will be,’ said Clara, laughing. ‘But don’t get us started on toilets.’
‘Oh, please. Don’t,’ said Peter, trying to recover himself.
‘Oh, no,’ said Gamache, clasping Peter by the arm. ‘Your turn, old son.’
‘OK.’ Peter relented and took a swig of Drambuie. ‘When I first went away to school and was unpacking all my little socks and shoes and slacks, I found a note pinned to my blazer in my father’s handwriting. It said, Never use the first stall in a public washroom.‘
Peter, grown up and greying, stood in the room, but what Gamache saw was a serious little boy with spots on his hands holding the note. And memorizing it, as one might memorize a passage from the Bible. Or a poem.
Breathes there the man with soul so dead?
What kind of man was Charles Morrow that he’d write that to his son? Gamache was longing to ask Peter about the statue, but hadn’t yet had the chance.
‘Good advice,’ said Reine-Marie and they all looked at her. ‘If you’re in a hurry, where do you go? To the first stall.’
She didn’t need to say more.
Peter, who’d never decoded what his father had meant but knew in his heart it must be vital, wondered.
Was it that mundane? Was it really just practical advice after all? As a child, even as a teen, and even, dare he admit it, as an adult, he’d fantasized that it was a secret code. Given only to him. Entrusted to him. By his father. A code that would lead to treasure.
Never use the first stall in a public washroom.
And he hadn’t.
Gamache was just about to ask Peter’s opinion of the statue when Thomas strolled in.
‘You were talking about public washrooms?’ he said.
‘Toilets?’ asked Mariana, breezing into the room with Sandra. ‘Bean’ll be sorry to be in bed. It’s the sort of conversation a ten year old is good at.’
‘Hello.’ Julia walked through the screen doors from the terrasse carrying a demi-tasse of espresso. ‘There’s lightning and thunder out there. I think a storm’s coming.’
‘No,’ said Thomas sarcastically. ‘Peter’s been talking about toilets,
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