Felicite Found (6 page)

Hélène Rousseaux

A light tap on Pierre’s shoulder woke him up. Instantly, he wanted to see Ém, but as he turned, he only saw his mom’s small, round face. He let out a disappointed growl and rolled over on his side, smothering his head with the pillow to escape from the blaring light that poured into the room.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” Hélène said, her voice lathered with sarcasm.

“Sorry, just wasn’t expecting you.” After saying those words, he regretted it. He knew his cover was up.

“You like her, don’t you?” She picked up his legs with considerable effort until he sat up to make room for her.

“I can’t keep anything from you, can I?” He nudged her in the ribs, making her giggle. He had tried his whole life to make her laugh since it was so difficult for her to be happy because of her depression.

“You’ve never been good at hiding things from me. Like that time you brought a rat you caught on the street home as a pet.”

He laughed at the thought. “After smuggling it in and putting its cage under my bed, it took you only three hours to smell it out.”

“That was the end of your pet days. But Ém’s a different story.”

“I promised you that I wouldn’t fall for her . . . And I haven’t. I just think she’s pretty. I’m a guy, can’t help noticing, ya know. Even Luc thinks so.” He imagined taking a punch at Luc if he ever tried anything. “Anyway, she’s only here until her memory comes back. She’ll be out of my life soon.”

“If you say so.” She nudged him back, but it didn’t have the same effect as when he did the same thing to her.

Pierre stood and stretched his arms to the ceiling, yawning deeply.

“What in the world? Put some clothes on. What if Ém came out right now?” She threw the blanket at him. He wore only his boxers.

“I couldn’t get into the bedroom to get pajamas. She was asleep.” He never slept in pajamas, anyway, always in his boxers. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. “I can’t believe she’s been asleep for over a day.”

“I think it’s a good thing she’s been sleeping so much. Her body needs to recuperate after all she’s been through.”

Pierre tilted his head, studying his mom. Her tone sounded so motherly. Ém had gained his mom’s admiration already. For some reason, her being with them had made his mom look younger and happier—angelic.

“I think
you
like her.” Pierre squinted at his mom.

“Maybe a little bit, like a friend. But you like her more. I can tell.”

“I’ve only known her for, what, five days and have hardly seen her the whole time. Was at school, remember? You’ve spent more time with her than I have.”

Hélène stood and started picking up the clothes he had tossed on the floor last night, most likely as a hint for him to put them on.

“Then what is it, Mom?”

“I like to see you happy. You’ve never been interested in a girl before—at least to my knowledge. You’ve always said you would never date or, heaven forbid, get married. And I
understand why, but you can’t let
that
get in the way of your happiness. Live your life, Pierre, regardless of what might happen.” She was in the kitchen now brewing some coffee. The smell of the beans wafted over to him; it smelled delicious.

“If it isn’t my lack of dating, it’s about going to university,” he huffed. “I don’t want either.”

She snorted back at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ll change your mind in time. But attending university is different. I want you to go, regardless. You’re so smart, Pierre.”

“I swear, I’ll fail
le bac
just to get out of going.”

“You better not. I’ll never talk to you again if you do that.” She sniffled.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I wouldn’t fail
le bac
. You know that, right?”

Coughing some cries back, she responded, “I know. I would hate to see you go into law enforcement just to solve your dad’s murder; if that’s what you want, great, but don’t do it out of some obligation to your dead father.” Her eyes drifted to the photo of her and her husband on their wedding day. A frown filled her cheeks. “You don’t have to be a police lieutenant. You could be anything. Anything, Pierre.”

“I know, but I want to be a police lieutenant. Please, accept this for once. I do want to solve dad’s case, but I also want to help people, too.”

She said nothing, only approached her son, and he hugged her.

“Love ya, Mom.”

“Love you, too. Just don’t break my heart by saying terrible things like failing when you very well could pass the test with a perfect score. Your dad would be so proud of you.”

Pierre swallowed the hard lump in his throat. That was the first time he had ever heard his mom say his father would be proud of him. Having always wanted a fatherly figure to be pleased with him, he finally felt it through his mom’s sweet words.

“That means so much to me.” Backing away, he kissed his mom on the forehead.

“I’m proud of you, too.”

“I’ve always known
that
.” He shuffled his feet back and forth, wanting to change the subject. “Okay, serious moment over. How can I make you laugh, now?” He ruffled her hair. She leaned away from him to get away from his hand and then brushed her hair flat.

“I’m going out with Madame Rose today,” she said, obviously avoiding his comment. Hélène filled two mugs full of piping hot coffee, handing one to Pierre. “A whole day of just you and Ém together.” She winked. “What’re your plans?”

“Don’t have any plans. She’ll probably be bored out of her mind. I’m not too entertaining according to Luc.” He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

“You would believe something Luc said?” She smirked at him, giggling. She ran her finger over the lip of her coffee mug.

“See, I made you laugh.” He cracked a smile. “Yeah, I’d never believe something he said.”

They joked about Luc and all the absurd things he had done over the years. They laughed so hard once they worried they had woken up Ém. Their eyes zipped to the bedroom door, but it didn’t open. Both of them sighed in relief.

Soon Hélène left, leaving him alone with Ém in the other room. He lay back down on the couch and fell asleep. Of course, his last thought was of Ém. He saw her beautiful face in his mind and felt a smile curve on his face.

Name

Félicité shook Pierre’s shoulder to wake him up. She had been trying for several minutes, but he was sound asleep, not snoring anymore, thankfully. Suddenly, he rolled over, waking up, and the blanket fell to the floor, uncovering him in his underwear. His brown eyes opened and closed rapidly. He rubbed at them and yawned. She looked away, shocked at seeing him so exposed.

“Hi.” Pierre stood up like a flash, half smiling. Félicité stared at him again and was unable to keep her eyes from searching his chiseled chest, his tight abdomen. Little, if no hair grew on his chest. His appearance made heat-filled butterflies form in her stomach and up her throat. Pierre followed her eyes as she gazed at his body. Her face burned hot from knowing he had witnessed her blatant gawking. She glanced away.

“Oh, sorry, let me put on some clothes,” he stammered, fumbling for his clothes folded on the arm of the couch.

Even without looking at him, she was afraid she would never forget how he looked without a shirt. Her heart sped up and the twirling in her belly intensified.

Stop thinking about him, Félicité
.

She smiled from thinking about not thinking about him. Then it dawned on her that she had referred to herself by her given name. And suddenly, all thoughts of Pierre in all his handsome, half-naked glory zoomed away. Giddiness rushed through her body until she bounced on the balls of her feet, unable to hold in her gushing emotions. Her hands almost started clapping in excitement.

“I’m dressed now.” Félicité turned around. He looked at her strangely, a sheepish grin on his face.

Is he embarrassed?
But she hoped he was admiring her.

“What gives, Ém? You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I remembered my name. Well, my first name, but that is progress.” Now, she was clapping and smiling and laughing all at the same time.

“That’s great! I’m dying here. What is it?”

“Félicité. Félicité. Félicité.” Without thinking, she jumped into Pierre’s arms. He held her tight.

“How did you remember? Did it just come to you out of the blue?” Pierre led her to the couch.

Félicité told him the particulars of her dream, excluding her mother’s influence in naming her—that was too special. With reverence, she related part of the dream where she remembered her name. “My father looked into my eyes, and he said, ‘Her name will be Félicité because she will bring happiness.’ Pierre, my name is Félicité. I remembered my name. I am Félicité.”

“That’s amazing, Ém—Félicité.” He corrected himself while scrutinizing her face. He nodded as if accepting something. “Yep, it fits you better than Ém. Glad I know your real name now. That’s something to be happy about, right?”

“Yes and no.” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s sad that my mother died. I feel as though I would have liked to have known her.”

“Yeah, that’s hard. I understand completely. But at least we had another parent who loved us.” Looking at the wall, he seemed to drift into a different world. He laughed, his shoulders shaking up and down.

“What is so funny?” She turned toward him, bending one leg under her on the couch.

“Oh, just some memories of my mom
attempting
to teach me guy things like how to play football.” His leg bobbed out as though he was kicking something. “That didn’t work out too well. Oh, this is the funniest, she took me to a bar, and we played poker with some old guys. To fit in, she actually smoked a cigar. She coughed her head off. But, of course, didn’t let me smoke one.”

“I hope I can remember good memories like that about my dad.” Pierre’s hand rested on his thigh. She ached to lace her fingers through his, but resisted. “I hope he is out there somewhere. He is probably worried about me. Do you think people are looking for me?”

“For sure.”

At Pierre’s confidence, she reached over and squeezed his hand.

For no reason at all, Pierre jumped off the couch and started babbling nervously. “I guess you want to get ready. My mom left to spend the day with our neighbor. So you’re stuck with me.”

“I would like to freshen up.” A frown formed on her face, and her chest hardened into an unbreakable stone. She didn’t understand why he had shot away so fast. To keep him from seeing her wild emotions, she rushed to the bathroom.

“I’ll make you breakfast. You must be starving.”

She nodded, looking behind her to see Pierre lift up his arms and sniff. Sweat marks had formed on the armpits of his shirt.

After closing the door, she could hear a lot of noise coming from the kitchen. Clatter and chopping sounds reverberated through the door as though Pierre was preparing for war.

Turning to the mirror, she studied her pale face.

Could he ever like me? But why would he? I know nothing about myself, and he would never like a person without an identity. And the way he reacted proved he could never, ever like me. I should be focusing on remembering who I am, not if he likes me, because obviously he doesn’t.

Breakfast was a feast of eggs, bacon, and crepes. Pierre knew his way around the kitchen. He had even cut up fruit and made it look pretty on a platter. After eating the meal in an awkward silence, he suggested they go out to see if the city might trigger her memories. Félicité accepted the suggestion. Although, she worried the silence would continue throughout the day. In ways, she wanted to be left alone to figure out her life.

“My mom said you could borrow some of her clothes. Check in her armoire. You can’t wear those scrubs all the time.” He laughed—the first sign of friendliness he had shown her since rejecting her.

“That was thoughtful.”

“I’m going to shower. I’ll be quick.” Without saying anything else, he closed the bathroom door, clicking it closed as though he was shutting her out of his life indefinitely. Tears stung her eyes; brushing them away, she entered Hélène’s room to find something more suitable to wear.

She picked a long, khaki skirt with a pink blouse and a cream, knit scarf. The scarf hid the bandages of the awful reddened burn on her neck. The thought of others seeing the blemish made her want to throw up. She draped the pink jacket over her shoulders pulling her arms into the sleeves. Last, she pinched her cheeks to bring some color into their paleness.

He would never think me pretty, not in my current state.

She placed the self-defeating thought aside to focus on trying to have a fun day. And she hoped she would remember something to fill her mind with who she was before she jumped off
Pont Neuf
Bridge.