How the Light Gets In
“What’re we talking about?” asked Olivier, as he placed two plates of blueberry crêpes and maple-smoked bacon in front of Myrna and Gamache.
“Me,” said Gabri. “Me, me, me.”
“Oh, good,” said Olivier, bringing over another chair. “It’s been thirty seconds since we visited that subject. So much must have happened.”
“Actually, there is something I want to ask you two,” said Gamache. Myrna passed him the jug of maple syrup.
“Oui?” asked Olivier.
“Did you open Constance’s gifts?” the Chief asked.
“No, we put them under the tree. Would you like us to open them?”
“No. I already know what she gave you.”
“What?” asked Gabri. “A car? A pony?”
“I won’t tell you, but I will say that I think it’s something you can use.”
“A muzzle?” asked Olivier.
“What’re we talking about?” asked Clara, dragging over a chair. Her cheeks were red and her nose was running and Gamache, Gabri, Myrna and Olivier all handed her a napkin, just in time.
“Gifts,” said Olivier. “From Constance.”
“We’re not talking about you?” Clara asked Gabri.
“I know. An abomination of nature. Though, to be fair, we have been talking about the gifts Constance gave me.”
“Us,” said Olivier.
“Yes, she gave me one too,” said Clara, and turned to Gamache. “You dropped it off the other day.”
“Did you open it?”
“I’m afraid I did,” Clara admitted, and took a piece of Myrna’s bacon.
“That’s why I keep your presents under my tree until Christmas morning,” said Myrna, moving her plate away.
“What did Constance give you?” asked Gabri.
“This.”
Clara unwound the scarf from her neck and gave it to Myrna, who took it, admiring the bright and cheerful lime green.
“What’re these? Hockey sticks?” Myrna pointed to a pattern at either end of the scarf.
“Paintbrushes,” said Clara. “Took me a while to figure it out.”
Myrna passed it back to Clara.
“Oh, let’s get ours,” said Gabri. He rushed off, and by the time he returned Myrna and Gamache had finished their breakfasts and were on their second cafés au lait. Gabri handed one of the packages to Olivier and kept the other for himself. They were identical, both wrapped in bright red paper with candy canes all over it.
Gabri ripped the wrapping off his. “Mitts,” he exclaimed, as though they were a pony and a car rolled into one magnificent present.
He tried them on. “They even fit. It’s so hard to find ones for hands this large. And you know what they say about big hands…”
No one pursued that.
Olivier tried on his mitts. They also fit.
There was a bright yellow crescent moon pattern on each mitt.
“What do you think the pattern means?” Clara asked.
They all thought.
“Did she know about your habit of mooning?” Myrna turned to Gabri.
“Who doesn’t?” said Gabri. “But a half moon?”
“It’s not even a half moon,” said Clara. “It’s a crescent moon.”
Gabri laughed. “A croissant moon? My two favorite things. Croissants and mooning.”
“Sadly, this is true,” Olivier confirmed. “And he has such a full moon.”
“Paintbrushes for Clara and croissants for the guys,” said Myrna. “Perfect.”
Gamache watched them admiring the gifts. Then the thought that had eluded him last night drifted into his consciousness, like a snowflake, and landed.
He turned to Myrna. “She didn’t give you a present.”
“Well, just coming down was more than enough,” said Myrna.
Gamache shook his head. “We found these gifts in her suitcase, but nothing for you. Why not? It doesn’t make sense that Constance would make gifts for everyone else, but not bring anything for you.”
“I didn’t expect one.”
“Even so,” said Gamache. “If she brought them for the others, she’d bring one for you, no?”
Myrna saw his logic. She nodded.
“Maybe that photograph she packed was for Myrna,” Clara suggested. “The one with the four sisters.”
“Possibly, but why not wrap it, like your gifts? Returning for Christmas wasn’t part of the original plan, was it?” he asked, and Myrna shook her head. “She initially came for a few days?”