The Madness of Crowds

CHAPTER 19

“Désolé,” Félix called as Jean-Guy and Armand stepped outside.

“The little shit’s not sorry at all,” said Jean-Guy.

It was clear now that the firecrackers had been thrown onto the bonfire by Monsieur Béliveau’s eleven-year-old assistant.

“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing, Jean-Guy, when you were his age. Fireworks? A bonfire? You’d have thrown the whole damn box into the flames.”

Jean-Guy grinned. It was true. Pinwheels. Roman candles. Those whistling rockets. All would have gone up in one glorious demonstration of his impotence.

Monsieur Béliveau joined them, his boots crunching on the hard-packed snow. “Désolé. I’ll handle this. My fireworks. My fault.”

Monsieur Béliveau looked across the flames at Félix, who was inching toward the big open box of fireworks.

“Eh, garçon. Non.” His voice was firm, but when he turned back to Armand and Jean-Guy, he was amused. “Kids.”

Though dour and childless himself, the grocer was unfailingly kind and patient with children. As though instead of having none, he had them all.

While Monsieur Béliveau went to speak to Félix, Armand and Jean-Guy warmed themselves by the bonfire, holding their bare hands to the flames. It was a crisp, clear winter night, though the wind was picking up.

“Weather’s closing in,” said Jean-Guy, looking up at the stars. Instinctively finding the Big Dipper.

Just in sweaters, they got as close to the fire as they dared.

There was a familiar scratching as ice crystals, picked up by a gust, slid across the surface of the snow. The same gust caught smoke and embers from the bonfire and blew it toward them.

Armand and Jean-Guy closed their eyes and turned away. When it had passed, Armand asked, “Everything okay?”

Jean-Guy smiled. “It’s smoke. I think I’ll survive.”

“I meant Professor Robinson.”

“She saw Idola,” said Jean-Guy. Armand was silent, staring into the crackling bonfire, knowing there was more. “I tried to stop her, Armand. I think Annie thought it was because I wanted to protect Idola, and it was mostly that. But…”

Armand waited.

“… but a small part of me didn’t want her to see.”

In the wavering light of the flames Armand saw, for the first time, lines on Jean-Guy’s face. Had so many years really passed, Armand thought, since they first met? So many lines produced.

And now he noticed too the beginning of gray in Jean-Guy’s dark hair.

“But you let her,” Armand said.

“Only because of Annie. She said it would be all right.”

“And is it? All right?”

Jean-Guy gave a short laugh, and Armand saw that the deepest lines actually ran from the corners of his son-in-law’s eyes. Laugh lines. “It’s getting there.”

Beauvoir glanced into the room behind them. A television had been positioned by the fireplace and tuned to the annual Radio Canada year-end special, Bye Bye.

Chairs were being pulled forward and guests were wandering over, plates and drinks in hand.

“Come in,” Reine-Marie called from the door. “It’s almost time.”

“Wind’s picking up,” said Monsieur Béliveau. “I’ll stay outside and watch the fire.” He turned to Félix. “You go in too. Get a hot chocolate and get warm.”

“No,” said the boy. “I want to stay with you. Fire needs watching.”

“Come along,” Armand said to Jean-Guy. “We’ll see this year out together.”

“You’re not going to kiss me at midnight, are you? By the way, you’re on fire.”

Armand looked down. Sure enough, embers had landed on his sweater.

Jean-Guy pulled the sleeves of his own sweater over his hands and batted the embers out.

Once inside they got two hot chocolates and took them out to the grocer and his apprentice, then joined the others around the television.

Reine-Marie put her arm through Armand’s and leaned into him. “You’re smoking.”

“Smoking hot?” he asked with a grin.

“No, no, just smoking.”

He looked down. Seemed Jean-Guy hadn’t quite got all the embers.

Reine-Marie patted him down. “This sweater was a Christmas gift, monsieur. You’ve had it a week.”

“Mrs. Claus is going to be disappointed.”

“Mrs. Claus understands that sometimes men set themselves on fire, for no particular reason.”

He laughed. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“I saved the sweater. You happen to be in it.” She hugged him tighter, smelling the wood smoke and singed wool mingling with sandalwood and rose. It was earthy and strangely pleasant.

“Shhhhh,” Ruth hissed. “It’s almost midnight.”

They leaned forward, toward the unblemished new year, as numbers appeared on the screen.

“… sept, six, cinq…,” they counted down. “… trois, deux, un! Bonne année!” they shouted, laughing and hugging.

Reine-Marie and Armand embraced and kissed, as did other couples. Stephen tilted his head at Ruth, who closed her eyes and leaned toward him before Rosa popped up between them and he ended up kissing the duck.

A Roman candle lit the sky above the Inn and Spa. Monsieur Béliveau had also found silent fireworks, so as not to upset the animals. Which somehow made the display all the more magical.

Armand sought out Daniel, and gave him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Moi aussi,” said Daniel. Together they went outside to watch the fireworks.

The cold was forgotten as ooohs and aaahs filled the air. The crowd pointed and exclaimed. Pinwheels spun and skyrockets twisted and dragon’s eggs appeared overhead, lighting up their faces and the village of Three Pines below.

Sparklers were handed out to the kids. Félix showed Honoré how to dip the tip into the bonfire until a fountain of tiny stars burst from the end. Then he showed him how to write his name in the night. Soon all the kids were doing it.

“Little monkeys,” said Vincent Gilbert, coming up beside Armand and Reine-Marie, just as the display was ending. Gilbert was the only one smart enough to have put on a coat.

When all the fireworks were exhausted, they ran back inside to the fireplace, shivering and laughing.

Another year done. Another begun.

Billy Williams, left outside to tamp down the fire, smiled as he shoveled snow onto the flames and relived those moments to midnight. He’d positioned himself next to Myrna.

“… deux, un! Bonne année!!”

He’d turned to her and asked above the cheers and laughter, “May I?”

When she’d nodded, he’d leaned in and kissed her, lightly, briefly. On the lips.

He’d felt her hand on his arm. Not to stop him, but to keep him there. And he’d kissed her again. Kissed her longer.

Now he paused, leaning on the shovel. Reliving that moment, so long longed for. Then a glow caught his eye as the bonfire leaped to life.

Another gust had revived it, he thought, as he thrust the shovel into a drift.

A few minutes later, just as he was about to go back inside, Billy noticed a commotion. He looked off to his right, into the darkness. One of the teens had stumbled out of the woods and was calling to his friends.

They’d be sixteen, seventeen years old, Billy guessed. He knew them all. Seen them grow up. Not yet of drinking age, he knew, but that didn’t stop them. Just as it hadn’t stopped him when he’d been their age. He still couldn’t smell cider without feeling sick.

Smiling, he threw one last load of snow onto the fire and heard the dying embers hiss at him. Now there were more shouts. Something in the tone made Billy pause. He stepped further into the darkness.

Then, out of the woods, first one, then another and another stumbled. Their eyes, caught in the light from the living room windows, were wide, wild.

Billy Williams dropped the shovel and moved forward.

Tired and happy, Armand and Reine-Marie were just about to head down the hallway to their coats when Armand stopped.

Turned.

And looked back.