Felicity Found (Rogue Series Book 6)

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “You’re not making sense. You don’t need to go to another fucking country to sort this out. I’ll leave the house. Just stay here.”

  “Please,” she whispers. “Please, just let me do this. I need this.”

  I watch her, trying to understand what is happening. All I see is a woman desperate to get away from me. A woman who is pleading with me to give her freedom. From me. I can’t force her to stay. I can’t make her want to be here.

  “When do you leave?” I ask, defeated.

  “As soon as I finish getting the kids things together. James arranged a private plane, so that will make the travel much easier.”

  “What do you need me to do?” My voice is dull. I just want to get this over with.

  “You don’t need you to do anything. I have a car service coming.”

  “You have it all sorted.”

  “I . . . I met with Amelia earlier. I had to speak with her about everything. And it felt good to do that. I walked away from her feeling more clarity than I have in a long time. That included this idea of a few days away.”

  I nod. I feel numb. I don’t have any sense of what I should be doing. Finally, I take a deep breath and say, “I’ll just go see the babies while you, eh, pack.”

  “Conor,” she calls, and I turn back to her. “I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

  “I’m not hurt,” I say.

  I’m wrecked.

  39

  Felicity

  The flight takes less than three hours and the three of us are thereafter briskly chauffeured to our apartment in Foz do Douro, an historic area on the west coast of Porto. I had been in such a hurry to find a place for us to stay, wanting to move forward with this plan before I changed my mind, that I engaged a small rental without much research. That now means I’m surprised to find that rather than it being a private house, it is one of six rooms within a house converted to a bed and breakfast. Too anxious to get the kids settled, I decide to make the unexpected situation work.

  Duarte, the middle-aged proprietor with a thick mane of dark hair and smiling eyes, greets us with a warm welcome, delighted to have us. I’m grateful for his offer to help with our bags and the double-stroller, as well as his assurances that he’s already placed two cots in our room.

  “It’s so nice to have young ones staying,” he says in good English. “You have the ground-floor double-bed room. It has a lovely little terrace—fenced, so it’s safe for the children. You’ll see that it offers some privacy, but you can also view out to the back garden where we serve all our communal meals as long as the weather is good.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I tell him as I follow him down a short hallway. “Are you fully booked?”

  “We are. Your room became available at the last minute. We get mostly college students, artists, and young couples here. Rarely do we have children, but as I say, I am happy to have yours.”

  I thank him once more when he unlocks the door to the room and shows us in. Though small, the room is clean and comfortable. The bed and cots take up most of the space, but beyond that, I can see through to the terrace Duarte mentioned. The back garden is flooded with sunlight and has a cluster of small tables with terra cotta colored umbrellas for dining. There are hanging lights strung overhead in a zig-zag pattern. It’s charming.

  “You can pull the shade down here,” he says, and reaches overhead to indicate a roll-down privacy screen. “I’m afraid, though, that guests do tend to gather for meals and drinks. Nothing too loud, but it won’t be completely quiet.”

  “That’s fine.” I haven’t come here to engage with strangers, but I still like the idea of others being around.

  “Is there anything I might get you?” he asks.

  “I don’t think so, Duarte. Thanks so much for your kindness.”

  “Oh! I know. I will bring a tub.”

  I look at him in confusion.

  “For the babies,” he explains. “There’s only a shower. I will bring a tub so that you may bathe them.”

  “That’s so thoughtful.”

  “My wife and I are lucky to have three grandchildren. We do not get to spend enough time with them, though.” He says this wistfully as he looks at Ella and Romeo who are both sleeping in their car seats. “So, I gave you a map of the area when you came in, some suggestions of Michelin-star restaurants—but you can find many delicious traditional food options at Mercado da Foz, too. Whatever is your preference. Of course, a drink at sunset at one of the ocean-facing bars is hard to top.”

  “I appreciate all the suggestions. I think, for now, I’m just going to settle in.”

  He smiles and takes his leave.

  Falling onto the bed, I curl up with a pillow. Duarte has left the terrace door open and I can feel the warmth and humidity of the afternoon, yet I’m shivering. Saying goodbye to Conor earlier runs on a loop in my head. The determined stoicism he showed was heartbreaking because I could tell quite clearly that he was torn to bits on the inside.

  I meant what I said, I’m not doing this to hurt him. I just need space. Is two days too much to ask after all that has happened?

  I suppose that two days plus taking the children out of country is a much more dramatic combination.

  Rolling over, I reach into my purse and find my mobile phone. Though we agreed not to talk until he arrives here in two days, I have no concerns with texting him.

  We’ve made it to our room. I think we’ll take a rest, then go for a walk along the water.

  He texts back right away, obviously waiting for this moment. Thanks for letting me know.

  It’s odd to communicate like this. It’s so cold. I miss him. I want him here with us. I want to explore the area together and make new memories. I want to forget the way he lied to me and manipulated me with Amelia. But I can’t.

  * * *

  The babies wake me twenty minutes later. The short nap was enough. I’ve been getting almost too much sleep lately. Time to get back into a healthy routine.

  Thankfully, Ella and Romeo haven’t woken in tears. They’re close enough on the floor in their car seats to reach out to each other. I lean over the side of the bed and watch them as they coo and squeal, using a language only they understand. They are the greatest blessings of my life. Being their mother has presented challenges I never thought I’d experience. It’s made me doubt myself and fall down in unexpected ways. But that was never because of them. It was always because I was overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions that were exacerbated by postnatal hormones. I know a large part of it all was brought on by the fact that I don’t have my mother any longer. Though I was an only child, my mother was a natural at taking care of babies. She was the one the neighborhood mums consulted whenever they had a question about how to get their child to nap or sleep through the night or eat something other than chips. I smile, thinking of her easy way with any baby she’d come across. She had such an impressive ability to soothe them.

  Once, when I asked her how she could manage to comfort a crying child so quickly, she said, “Because it’s not mine.”

  “What does that mean?” I’d asked.

  “When it’s your own child, you can’t help but live and die by every little thing. Your heart sings or crashes based on whether they are happy and content. You’ll see that when you have your own,” she’d said. “That nervous energy is bound to be picked up by the baby, making the soothing harder to come by. But when it’s not your child, you are much freer. You don’t transmit your worries the same way. So, I just do what I know eventually worked with you when you were only little.”

  I realize with this memory that my mother was the one thing I never really got into speaking about with Amelia. I imagine she would have pushed me to see that her absence had been having a profound effect on me, despite my denials. I even brushed it off when Conor suggested I was missing her especially now that we had the babies.

  It’s funny what the mind will do to itself. I wasn’t ready to think about her, to think about the f
act that she would never know my children, that I’d never have the chance to apologize for leaving and staying away, to say sorry for blaming her for so much. I went across the globe to get away from her, to find a life of my own, all because I wasn’t strong enough to do that in her presence. That was another thing Conor had suggested—when we were only teenagers—that I could make my own life in Dublin, that I didn’t need to leave. But I was too headstrong. Too invested in finding the easy out. A change of location meant I could move forward without looking back.

  I laugh out loud and both babies look at me.

  “Is that what I’ve just done now, sweethearts?” I ask softly. “Have I repeated the pattern of running away, but convinced myself this is the only way? Just because staying seems harder?”

  Ella does her thing where she works herself up into a cry. It’s her signal that she’s hungry. I get out of bed and quickly pull diapers and wipes from the diaper bag. I’ll change them both and then nurse. After that, we’ll all go out for some fresh air. It’s just what we need.

  40

  From the apartment, I’m midway to the two destinations I had hoped to view. I don’t mind the extra walking this will take. The afternoon is beautiful with clear skies and warm air. I push the double-stroller south along the esplanade toward Jardim do Passeio Alegre. Along the way, I keep to my side to give the joggers, cyclists, and skaters room to enjoy the wide path overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Both Ella and Romeo are facing out in the stroller and seem to enjoy all the activity around us as much as I do.

  When we get to the garden I was looking for, I’m overwhelmed by the romantic feel of it. It’s a mix of raked dirt paths, enough trees to offer relief from the heat, sculptures, fountains, gazebos, plenty of benches for relaxing, and even a bandstand that is currently being setup to host a philharmonic concert.

  It’s the kind of place Conor would love because even though it’s well planned, it also has untended trails that would be good for exploring.

  I have a small, thin blanket and I spread it out on the grass in front of the bandstand. Taking Romeo out of the stroller first, I then put Ella next to him, both on their bellies. Romeo’s already a pro at raising his head during tummy time but Ella is still strengthening the muscles she needs to be confident at this. As we listen to the musicians warm up their various instruments, creating an uncoordinated but enjoyable mix of sounds, I wonder what Conor is doing. He’s likely in the studio. I want to call him, to tell him to hop on a plane as soon as he can so we can enjoy this together. But I wonder if his hurt has turned to anger. I realize this dramatic gesture of taking the kids and leaving may have been the wrong thing. I was always accusing him of wanting to walk away, but in the end, I’m the one who walked away.

  A breeze sweeps by and I close my eyes and tilt my head back to enjoy it, taking in a deep breath.

  The realization of what he and Amelia had done to basically trick me into treatment was devastating. Not only did I feel betrayed, but it made me feel like this inferior being that had to be managed and manipulated. And it all came about at precisely the moment when I felt like I was getting a sense of myself back. It threw everything into question and I couldn’t chance falling down again. I needed to be free to think and be myself. I couldn’t do that with Conor by my side, clearly wanting desperately to fix things all over again.

  I watch as Romeo rolls himself over onto his back. He smiles at me and I squeeze his hand.

  “Well done, baby boy,” I tell him. He’s been able to roll over for some time now. Ella has been working up the rocking motion to follow in her brother’s footsteps but isn’t quite there yet.

  I’ve been trying to separate Conor’s intentions from how his actions made me feel. I have no doubt he thought he was helping, that this was a relatively innocent way to get me the guidance and support I needed. But there were so many lies around it and that’s a big part of what hurts. He lied by omission mostly when he didn’t tell me he had gone to see Amelia, when he didn’t tell me they had come up with this plan, when he didn’t tell me he knew all about her and Danny Boy, when he didn’t tell me he urged her to keep seeing me after that awkward dinner that almost drove her away.

  The orchestra begins in earnest now, complete with a conductor in tuxedo tails up front. I look around and realize I’m surrounded by others also enjoying the free concert. Ella perks up as the music plays, raising her head high to try to see who is making the music. I pick her up and hold her to me so she can see better. Romeo moves back to his belly and then goes up onto all fours, rocking his body. He’s been making this attempt at crawling for a while now, but the music seems to bring him new intensity.

  “Look,” I whisper to Ella. “Is he? Is he going to do it today?”

  Romeo keeps up with the motion for another few seconds, and then he’s off, crawling like he’s been doing it for months.

  “Oh my goodness!” I say with a laugh, thrilled.

  And then I realize I’d better set off after him before he gets too far.

  * * *

  We don’t stay long after that to listen to the orchestra. Though there’s still daylight left—the sun won’t set until almost nine o’clock—I want to take in more of the area. I push the stroller back toward where we started and once we are past the midway point, the waterfront avenue becomes Avenida do Brasil and the wide-open space is populated with large houses, beaches with cabanas, and cafés. It feels like a resort, especially when I choose a restaurant and am seated at an outdoor table overlooking the water. Romeo gets a high chair and I hold Ella. I eat ravenously. The simple soup consisting of potato, shredded kale, and pieces of spicy Portuguese sausage is the comfort food I’ve needed to stoke my appetite.

  I give Romeo bits of soft potato and bread while Ella nurses. As I sit there admiring the view, I realize the anxiety I’ve long felt in being able to care for these two has gone away. I had worked myself up from the start, so consumed by the worry that I wasn’t capable of handling their needs that I made it a reality. It’s like my mother said, my fears were transmitted to them and so we were all worked up into a state where it made every little thing more difficult than it needed to be.

  My poor mother. She never got over the fact that my father walked away from her. She spent her life assuming she had to conform to be whatever it was the man she was with wanted her to be. That desperation to please always ended up being too much and each new man would leave, too. She never felt comfortable in her own skin because of it. I wasn’t kind in my assessment of her, judging her harshly, and figuring I had it all sorted. But I lost myself just as she had, first in my marriage to Richard where I became what he wanted, and then after the babies came along when I couldn’t see who I was any longer. I lost the person I had reclaimed when I returned to Dublin. That was the person who boldly talked her way into a media position for one of the biggest bands in the world, and through hard work and determination managed to be successful at it. That person was the one who saw through Conor’s games and refused to let him keep on with them at her expense. That person was the one who took a giant leap in being with the vagabond rockstar because she wanted to follow her heart above all else. That person went fearlessly into motherhood, first with adoption, and then with the most unexpected but joyfully received surprise pregnancy. That person isn’t perfect, but she keeps fighting to get better and to move forward. I like that person.

  It’s time to reclaim her.

  * * *

  The sunset I watch from the Pergola da Foz, an expansive structure reminiscent of a Grecian style with its columns and gentle arches, is spectacular. It’s not just the beauty of the yellow orb lighting up the sparse clouds over the deep blue sea, but the sense of peace I feel. The kids are sleeping in their stroller beside me as I sit on a bench and watch the yellow sky morph into orange, then a rusty red, before fading to pink and violet. Before leaving this wonderful spot, I send Conor a text. It’s a video of Romeo crawling. I write a note with it.

  Can’t wait
for you to see this in person.

  I don’t get the immediate reply I expect and wonder if it’s because he’s angry that he wasn’t with us for this milestone of Romeo’s. Realizing I don’t have the power to change things at the moment, I get up and start to retrace my steps.

  * * *

  Back at the apartment house, I’m struggling to get the stroller over with the main door’s raised threshold without waking the babies when Duarte intercepts me. He leans down and gently lifts the front wheels.

  “Ah, they are precioso,” he says in a whisper, smiling down at the babies. “Did you have a good outing?”

  “We did,” I say. And then, because I’m feeling happy and grateful for his company, I go on to tell him of our little adventure.

  “That sounds wonderful,” he says. “I’m so pleased you enjoyed yourself. I must apologize in advance, but some of the guests are gathered out back. We have a fire pit, some wine. We’d love to have you.”

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “Just for a few minutes? I bet the children will sleep right through it. Please, I think you’ll like these people.”

  This man has been so kind to me that I can’t refuse his simple request. I agree, and he smiles and leads me to the back garden. He introduces me first to his wife, Isabel, who promptly coos over the babies and makes space for me and the stroller in the circle of chairs around the fire pit. Duarte then goes around and introduces me to the others, including Boris, a German university student and Johan, a young traveler from Switzerland. There’s a woman artist from Spain named Carmen, as well as two young couples: Hannah and Bryce from America and Armand and Geoffrey from France.

  I wave my hello and smile as Duarte introduces me as Felicity from Ireland.