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Clara lifted the paint-stained sheet, and there was silence.
“It’s wonderful,” muttered Gabri.
“It’s brilliant,” said Olivier.
When Colette and Jean-Paul left, Armand went across to Clara’s.
The others were in the living room, but he found Haniya in the studio. Staring at the painting.
She had her coat on and her Louis Vuitton suitcases were by the door.
Armand and Haniya stood side by side in silence, staring at Clara’s painting.
Then, still looking at it, he asked, “Are you sure you want to leave?”
She turned and, for the first time, she saw not the deep lines down his face, or the scar at his temple, but the kindness in his eyes.
Then she turned back to the painting. “Sudan is my home. I think you understand that, Monsieur Gamache. It’s where I belong.”
“You and your machete?”
“Are you judging me?”
“Non. I’m asking.”
Armand heard Haniya Daoud, the Hero of the Sudan, sigh.
“Sudan’s awful. There’s poverty, unspeakable violence. Women, girls aren’t safe. But there’s unimaginable courage too. And beauty.” She smiled as she stared at the painting in front of her. “My village was rebuilt. I have a small home there. It isn’t far from the White Nile.”
She told him about the scents in summer. About the rain hitting the water. About the sound of the breeze through the savannah. All the little things that add up to home. To belonging.
“When I’m home, I walk there every day. I sit on the shore and pray.”
“What for?”
She turned to him. “Probably the same thing you pray for. The same thing we all do.”
She walked past him, out of the studio.
Reine-Marie was in the mudroom, putting on her boots and coat.
“I’ll drive you to Montréal,” she said.
“That’s all right. I’ve called a taxi.”
“There’re taxis?” asked Myrna.
“Yes. I’m not sure what language the guy was speaking, but I’m pretty sure he said he’d meet me here.”
They looked at Billy Williams, who grinned and put up his hand. Then he dropped it and took Myrna’s.
“I think we can probably cancel the taxi,” said Reine-Marie, and saw Billy nod.
“We’re coming too,” said Clara, and Myrna nodded.
“Why?” asked Haniya.
Clara turned to her, surprised. “Because that’s what friends do.”
