Felicity Found (Rogue Series Book 6)

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “What brings you and your children to Porto?” Carmen asks.

  “Just a quick holiday. It’s such a beautiful city. Are you here for work?”

  “I am,” Carmen admits. “There are some very good art galleries here and I have a small sculpture exhibit that opens tomorrow.”

  “Congratulations,” I tell her, and everyone raises a glass to her with well wishes. “I’d love to come by if you don’t mind.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’d love it. You all, of course, are invited.”

  In response to more questions from the group, she explains her artistic style and intent. I’m fascinated by the feminism inherent in her work and listening intently when my mobile chirps. Slipping it out of my bag, I try to view the incoming text without seeming too rude. It’s Conor, finally responding.

  I’m counting the minutes until I see you and the babies again, honey.

  The smile that flashes across my face is so wide it hurts, but in the best way possible.

  When I look up, I see Boris is watching me.

  “Felicity,” he says thoughtfully. “That means happiness, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  “And are you, then?” Johan asks.

  I glance over at my beautiful babies and think about the fact that my husband will be here soon. “I am,” I say. I haven’t always been, and I know I won’t always be, but I’ve found a key to happiness. It’s as simple as just giving myself permission to struggle, because, eventually, I know I’ll succeed.

  Talk flows easily among us, even when Romeo wakes wanting to nurse. They’re a smart, cultured group and there’s no topic that doesn’t have everyone contributing. When Romeo is satisfied, I let Isabel hold him until he falls asleep. Ella soon wants her own late-night snack and the routine is repeated, this time with Geoffrey getting the honors of holding her.

  When I later climb into bed, it’s with the certainty that all that I went through, as painful as it was, has gotten me to the place I am now: wiser, more appreciative, and, yes, happy.

  41

  Conor

  It’s been twenty-four hours since Felicity left with the kids. Twenty-four hours of misery. I’m forcing my way through the minutes, spending all my time at the studio and doing what she said I’d do: focusing on the music. What else am I supposed to do? I’m so anxious I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. I feel like Danny Boy always looks, with his perpetually bouncing knee and inability to stop biting at his cuticles.

  I was sure to tell Gavin that he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about and that he should save his relationship advice going forward. He tried to talk with me about it, but I’m not interested in rehashing what could very well be the end of my marriage.

  We’re just tinkering at this point. The album, The Point of No Return, is done. It will not include the song I wrote about my father. Unlike Gavin, I don’t invite attention into my personal life, and if that song were to be released, fans and media alike would tear it apart and want to know everything about the subject that drove me to sing and write the first song to appear on a Rogue album.

  I did share it with my parents, though. Yesterday, after Felicity left, I had to get out of the house. It was suffocatingly silent without her and the babies. A visit with them was overdue, so I dropped in and got the same delighted reaction I always get from them. My father has been taking a regiment of drugs meant to help with his memory. It’s not clear yet whether they’ll help stave off the inevitable, but he was in a good way when I saw him.

  My mother was pleasantly surprised when I agreed to stay for dinner. I’m ashamed to admit that my visits are never very long. I’ve always got something else to attend to. Or I did. Before I realized how quickly things slip away when you aren’t paying attention. After dinner, we had coffee and biscuits in the sitting room and I mentioned that the album was just about done.

  “And? Will it be another chart-topper?” my father asked.

  “Who knows, Da. That’s never a guarantee.”

  “I’m sure it will do just as well as the others,” my mother said. “You’ve certainly put your time into it, haven’t you?”

  “Eh, yeah.” I was put off by this comment. There was a tinge of recrimination to it.

  “Just, you know,” she continued, “every time we see you or hear from you, you’ve just been in the studio. And Felicity says the same thing about you, that you’re very . . . dedicated.”

  “Ah, leave the boy alone,” my father said with a laugh. “He’s got to do that thing with the guitar that makes all the girls scream. It’s only his job, lovey.”

  I laugh weakly, thinking of how absent I’ve been—not just to Felicity but to my parents. “So, I wrote a song that probably won’t make it to the album, but would you want to hear it?” I suggested it so they might understand that even when I’m not with them, I’m thinking of them.

  They both agreed, and I ran out to my car to grab the acoustic guitar I always keep there. In case of a guitar emergency such as this, of course.

  My performance brought them both to tears, though my father did the male thing of trying to cover it up by blaming it on a sudden coughing fit.

  “You all right, Da?” I asked, trying to hold back a smile. In what was only a brief moment, he met my eyes and I saw everything I’ve ever wanted from him: admiration, respect, love.

  “I’ll get a glass of water,” my mother said and jumped up.

  “That’s no knickers-dropper,” Da said when my mother was out of earshot. “But it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard you do, Son.”

  “I appreciate that. I hope you don’t mind that I’m not ready to release it—”

  “Oh no, no. You do what you feel is right. I understand entirely.”

  “Having second thoughts? Or should I call it millionth thoughts?”

  I’m startled from my reverie and turn to see Martin staring at me. He’s been hassling me for over a week now about how I keep wanting to change bits here or there on the album. This is the first album where he’s had a forceful impact. He’s come into his own as a bass player and has ridden the wave of inspiration like the musician he finally realizes he is. After so many years of taking a backseat to Shay’s direction, he’s found his groove. He’s clearly ready to launch this album into the world so he can see if his contribution has made a difference to our fans. I’m certain it will. A confident Martin Whelan is a very good thing for Rogue.

  “No, not really,” I say. “I mean, we could—”

  “Con, it’s ready,” he says firmly. “You and Gav have done your magic. Shay and I have done ours. We made it all work together. It’s done.”

  I nod and know he’s right. But I also don’t know what I’ll do once we let the album from our grasp because it will be months before the tour starts. In between, we’re all supposed to separate to do our own things before returning to Dublin to plan out the videos, media appearances, merchandising, and tour. What will I have during that brief down period? I honestly can’t say whether I’ll have my family—not the way I want them.

  “Besides,” Martin says and claps me on the back, “Sophie’s been trying to arrange our celebratory dinner for days and days now but keeps having to put it off because you can’t quite stop playing with the album. Take pity on her, if nothing else.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I’ll do it for her.”

  “And, I’ve got Lainey here. Wanted her to be part of the dinner. But if we push it off much longer, she’ll have to go do her own work.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m going to do one more listen, then that’ll be that.”

  “You know that Gav left? Shay and Danny Boy left? All the crew is gone, man,” he says. “Go home to your wife and kids already.”

  He doesn’t know that my wife and kids are a long way from home. But I put on my best smile and promise that I’ll head out soon. I watch him go and then settle in at the soundboard. Just then, my mobile phone sounds and I grab it from my pocket, hoping to
see that it’s Felicity texting.

  Disappointment fills me instead. It’s Amelia. She wants to see if we can meet.

  Fuck off, I want to write back.

  She’s the cause of all my problems right now. Why would I want to meet with her?

  I shake my head and turn the music louder. The sound of my guitar in the song “Take It Out On Me” comes out of the speakers mounted in the corners of the small space. It’s Gavin’s song about his brother. It’s him finally finding both compassion and a connection with the brother he had never seen eye to eye with until they met at their estranged mother’s home late one night. It’s brilliant. I try to get lost in it, but I feel compelled to read Amelia’s text again. There was something in her wording I need to reexamine.

  Can we meet? I’d like to talk. And I have something for Felicity.

  What could she possibly have for Felicity? Why can’t she give it to her herself? Probably because Felicity no longer wants anything to do with her.

  Fuck. I realize I’m in a mood, ready for a fight. I text back.

  Tell me where and when.

  42

  Thankfully, the café Amelia has chosen is not in one of the trendier areas, meaning I probably won’t get overwhelmed by fans. It’s quiet at this hour, filled mostly with would-be writers lit by the glow of their laptops and using the free Wi-Fi. They’re all nursing a single cup of coffee that has likely long gone cold. Amelia is sitting at a corner table, watching me intently as I make my way toward her.

  “I got you a coffee,” she says, “but I don’t know how you take it.”

  I take a seat opposite her, ignoring the coffee. “Listen, I’m not here for a social visit. I only came here to tell you you’ve fucked up my marriage.”

  She sits back in her chair and examines me. “How so?”

  “Felicity. She’s gone. Took the kids and flew off to fucking Portugal because she couldn’t stand to be near me, not after what she knew about our little stunt.”

  ”Is this really a separation? Or is she just taking a moment away, perhaps to get her thoughts in order?”

  I squint at her. “You think you’re so bloody clever.”

  It’s quiet as she lets that hang in the air between us.

  Finally, I admit, “Yes, that’s exactly what she said it was. But for all I know, it’s the end of us. Maybe she’s using this time to convince herself to really walk away.”

  Taking a deep breath, she releases it with a noncommittal shrug. “I’m not going to try to analyze her—not anymore. I wanted to see you, so I could apologize. I’ve realized far too late that my willingness to skirt the rules of traditional therapy have created more harm than good. I never should have suggested what I did. I put you in a terrible position. Of course, you agreed to this. You only wanted to help your wife, the wife you told me you were terrified could be a danger to herself or your children. So, really, I understand your anger with me. You have every right to it.”

  This heartfelt mea culpa has taken the edge off my self-righteousness. I hadn’t expected her to so fully confess to these wrongdoings.

  “Well,” I say and hesitate. “I, eh, appreciate you saying all that.”

  She nods and we’re quiet.

  “But, you weren’t alone in this,” I admit. “I might have been easily convinced, but I also made sure you didn’t bail either. So, as much as I’d like to pretend it isn’t the case, I’m fully culpable in this thing.”

  Silence again settles between us. But it’s not uncomfortable. I think we’re both sitting with the idea that we’ve made the wrong choices, no matter our good intentions.

  “When does she come back?”

  “I’m going to her actually. She asked for two full days, so I’ll meet her there day after tomorrow.”

  “She took the kids, you said?”

  “Insisted upon it.”

  “That’s a good sign, I’d think.”

  My eyebrows go up in surprise.

  “Because she had been so overwhelmed by caring for them before, I mean,” she says. “I’d think for her to take them and be all on her own is a good thing. I imagine it will very quickly prove to her that she’s fully capable.”

  I nod. Despite everything, it feels odd that she knows so many intimate details about Felicity. It makes me want to level the playing field.

  “What is it that’s going on with you and Danny Boy?” I ask.

  “There’s nothing going on.”

  “No?”

  “You know that he leaves me messages now and again?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all there is.”

  “I understand why you wouldn’t give that guy a chance. I mean, his history? You know it all, I’m sure. He’s bound to fuck up again. And when Danny Boy fucks up, it’s spectacular. No, you’re right to steer clear of him. He’s a mess.”

  “He’s not,” she says in a rush. “He’s not and it’s unfair of you to judge him based on his past when he’s working so very hard to make a different future.”

  Now I lean back in my chair and smile at her. I was goading her into this very thing, into admitting that she feels for Danny Boy.

  Realizing what I’ve done, she smirks at me. “Now, look who's being clever.”

  “I can be. And I can fuck up, too. I’ve been lucky that I’ve gotten a lot of chances by the people I love. Danny Boy has come a long way in my estimation. He’d be fucking lucky to have you. But I do believe he should have the chance.”

  My words have a visible impact. She blinks back tears and looks away. “Well, I’m in no shape to attempt a relationship with anyone, let alone a former client.”

  “We all have our issues, don’t we? Doesn’t mean we should turn away the chance at love. At happiness.”

  I watch as she absorbs this for a minute.

  “That’s very kind of you to say,” she says, looking at me. “Thank you, Conor.”

  I nod. There isn’t much else to say.

  “Well, I won’t take any more of your time. But I hope you’ll do me a favor?”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  She pulls an envelope from her purse. “I apologized to Felicity when I saw her last, but it wasn’t everything I needed to say. I hope you’ll give her this for me?”

  I take the letter from her. “I will.”

  Standing, she looks down at me and smiles. “I saw a rare Ella concert vinyl on eBay. I can’t afford it, but I thought of you. It was a show done in Belgium in the late fifties. I’m sure you can find it if you do a search.”

  I’m touched by her thoughtfulness. And I already know that I will search for the vinyl. I’ll buy it and send it to her. Because even though this all got fucked up, she clearly was helpful to Felicity.

  “Thanks, Amelia. You take care.”

  “And you.”

  As I watch her go, my mobile buzzes. My hope that it is Felicity is rewarded with a video she’s texted of Romeo crawling. I smile and laugh, in love with how quickly he can move. I watch it five times before replying to the message with the truth. I cannot wait to see them all again.

  43

  Felicity

  The next morning, the kids and I take our breakfast in the back garden with our new friends, chatting easily until we all disperse with our own plans.

  Conor is due to arrive late tomorrow morning, so I have the day to myself. I don’t do much different than the day before, as we take a long stroll, sit on a bench or in the park on the grass for spells, and explore the neighborhood around us, ducking into art galleries, stopping for lunch with another grand view of the ocean, and window shopping.

  In the afternoon, we return to the apartment and I take a quick shower while the kids nap in their cots. I put on a simple short black dress that’s open in the back, perfect for the humid weather, and apply a little makeup. We’ll head to Carmen’s show after a light dinner with Duarte and Isabel. It’s funny that I feel so comfortable with this group. Their kindness has meant more to me than they could
ever know. I already know I’ll miss them.

  * * *

  Carmen’s art show is a wild success, and I’m happy that I helped her sell out her collection by buying two pieces. She works with alabaster, a material usually associated with Greek or Roman classics, but her pieces are modern depictions of women. The ones I purchase resonate with me beyond simply trying to help a new friend. One is of a mother breastfeeding a baby. She looks exhausted but also at peace. When I saw it, I felt like I was looking into a mirror. The other piece is of a little girl holding her mother’s hand. The mother is turned away, her face covered by her hair and the girl’s expression is one of complete surrender, as if even with her mother not focusing on her, she will follow her anywhere.

  I can’t stay long, even with Carmen eager to help with the increasingly fussy babies. I congratulate her, and we stroll back to the apartment with our art treasures. The walk settles them and they’re asleep by the time I join the group assembled in the back garden by the fire pit. Everyone is there except for Carmen, of course, and Boris who has been at the show since it began. We share a laugh over his obvious crush on her.

  “How much longer are you staying, Felicity?” Johan asks.

  “Just one more night after this.”

  I receive a chorus of playful boos for this. “The real world awaits, I’m afraid,” I say with a smile.

  “What do you do?” Hannah asks.

  “I do a mix of media strategies.”

  “For a company there in Dublin?” Duarte asks.

  “Yes, they’re based there. But it’s really a worldwide organization,” I say coyly. “What about you all?” I ask the group. “How long are you staying and where will you go from here?”

  I’m engrossed in listening to all their plans until I sense I’m being watched. I look up and realize he’s been there, in my peripheral vision for some time. He’s in the shadows of the doorway, but I can see his form and there’s no mistaking him. He’s six feet of calm, cool, and gorgeous. And he’s almost a day early. But I don’t care about that. I don’t care that he’s forced the issue and shown up before our agreed upon day. I’m too happy to see him.