Again Bob smiled. His teeth, the few he had left, were stained. “That means you’re a few hours sober. Well done.”
Gamache found he was quite pleased with himself and was glad he hadn’t had that glass of wine over dinner.
“Hey, Jim,” Bob shouted across the room to a gray-haired man with very blue eyes. “Got another newcomer.”
Gamache looked over and saw Jim talking earnestly to a young man who seemed resistant.
It was Beauvoir.
Chief Inspector Gamache smiled and caught Beauvoir’s eye. Jean Guy stood up but Jim made him sit back down.
“Come over here,” said Bob, leading Gamache to a long table filled with books and pamphlets, and coins. Gamache picked one up.
“A beginner’s chip,” said the Chief, examining it. It was exactly the same as the one found in Clara’s garden.
“I thought you said you weren’t an alcoholic.”
“I’m not,” said Gamache.
“Then that was a pretty good guess on your part,” said Bob with a guffaw.
“Do many people have one of these?” Gamache asked.
“Sure.”
Bob produced a shiny coin from his pocket, and looked down at it, his face softening. “Took this at my first meeting. I keep it with me always. It’s like a medal, Armand.”
Then he reached out to Gamache’s hand and folded it in.
“No, sir,” protested Gamache. “I really can’t.”
“But you must, Armand. I give it to you, and you can give it to someone else one day. Someone who needs it. Please.”
Bob closed Gamache’s fingers over the coin. Before Gamache could say anything else, Bob broke away and turned back to the long table.
“You’ll also need this.” He held up a thick blue book.
“I already have one.” Gamache opened his satchel and showed him the book in there.
Bob raised his brow. “You can use one of these, I think.” He gave Gamache a pamphlet called
Gamache brought out the meeting list he found in Lillian’s home and got the look from his new friend he’d so quickly come to expect. Amusement.
“Still claim not to be an alcoholic? Not many sober people carry around the AA book, a beginner’s chip and a meeting list.” Bob examined the meeting list. “I see you’ve marked a bunch of meetings. Including some women’s meetings. Honestly, Armand.”
“This doesn’t belong to me.”
“I see. Does it belong to a friend?” Bob asked with infinite patience.
Gamache almost smiled. “Not really. The young woman who introduced us said that men should stick with men. What did she mean?”
“Clearly, you need to be told.” Bob waved the meeting list in front of Gamache. “This isn’t a pick-up joint. Some guys hit on women. Some women want to find a boyfriend. Think that’ll save ’em. It won’t. In fact, just the opposite. Getting sober’s hard enough without that distraction. So men speak mostly to men. Women to women. That way we can concentrate on what’s important.”
Bob fixed Gamache with a hard stare. A penetrating look. “We’re friendly, Armand, but we’re serious. Our lives are at stake. Your life is at stake. Alcohol’ll kill us, if we let it. But I have to tell you, if an old drunk like me can get sober, so can you. If you’d like help, that’s what I’m here for.”
And Armand Gamache believed him. This sticky, disheveled little man would save his life, if he could.
Behind him a gavel hit wood with several sharp raps. Gamache turned and saw a distinguished older man sitting at the front of the room at a long table, an older woman beside him.
“Meeting’s started,” whispered Bob.
Gamache turned back and saw Beauvoir trying to catch his eye, waving him to an empty seat beside him. Vacated, presumably, by Jim, who was now sitting across the room with someone else. Perhaps he’d given up on Beauvoir as a hopeless case, thought Gamache, smiling and making his way past others to take the empty seat.
Bob had stuck with him and was now sitting on Gamache’s other side.
“How the mighty have fallen,” Gamache leaned over and whispered to Beauvoir. “Last night you were the art critic for
“I’m in good company,” said Beauvoir. “I see you’ve made a friend.”
Beauvoir and Bob smiled and nodded to each other across Gamache.
“I need to speak to you, sir,” whispered Beauvoir.
