“A few things,” said Gamache. “It occurred to me that in French ‘stone’ is ‘pierre.’ And Pierre is Peter. It’s a play on his name, but it’s far more than that. You wrote it years ago. You could see it even then?”

“That he was made of stone and wishful thinking? Yes.”

“And that there was a deity that killed for pleasure,” said Gamache. “But that it could also heal.”

“That’s what I believe,” said Ruth. “Peter didn’t. Here was a man who was given everything. Talent, love, a peaceful place to live and create. And all he had to do was appreciate it.”

“And if he didn’t?”

“He would remain stone. And the deities would turn on him. They do, you know. They’re generous, but they demand gratitude. Peter thought all his great good fortune was because of himself.”

Unseen by Ruth, Gamache nodded.

“Peter always had a ‘best before’ date stamped on his forehead,” said Ruth. “People who live in their heads do. They start out well enough, but eventually they run out of ideas. And if there’s no imagination, no inspiration to fall back on? Then what?”

“What?”

“In the words of Emily Dickinson, you’re screwed. What happens when the stone shatters, when even the wishful thinking disappears?”

Gamache felt in his pocket, like a weight, the small book. And the smaller bookmark. Marking a spot beyond which he’d never been.

“Their creations eventually die of neglect, of malnourishment,” said Ruth, answering her own question. “And sometimes, when that happens, the artist also dies.”

“Driven to it by a deity who kills for pleasure,” said Gamache.

“Yes.”

“But it also heals? How?”

Gamache found himself keenly interested. And he was honest enough to know it wasn’t just for Peter.

“By offering a second chance. One last chance. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in using your head. But not in spending too much time in there. Fear lives in the head. And courage lives in the heart. The job is to get from one to the other.”

“And between the two is the lump in the throat,” said Gamache.

“Yes. Most people can’t get over that. Some are born to be brilliant. Peter was. But he just couldn’t get there. He got so close he could see it, smell it. He probably even believed he was there.”

“Wishful thinking,” said Gamache.

“Exactly. He was given a taste of brilliance, of true creativity, and then, like a jest of God, he had it taken away. But the gods weren’t finished with him yet. They gave him a wife who was truly gifted. So that he would have to see it every day. Witness it. And then the gods took even that away.”