Felicite Found (7 page)

View of Paris

Like a gentleman, Pierre opened the door for Félicité. She left the building, and he followed in step beside her. He watched Félicité gaze up past the buildings that surrounded them. He took in the moment of warmth she must be feeling right now. He desperately wanted to take her hand in his but didn’t. The problem was that confusion clouded his mind. And the worst part of the whole situation: he knew he was being an absolute jerk toward her by being so distant.

“It’s warm today.” Pierre glanced at Félicité. “Wouldn’t want the weather to ruin our day, right?” He nudged her arm with his elbow, trying to ease the awkwardness between them with some sarcasm.

“Right.”

They strolled through the smoothly paved streets in silence. Not talking brought an uncomfortable heaviness into Pierre’s chest. “What’re you thinking about?” he said to start up a conversation.

“I miss him—my dad, I mean. It feels like I have not seen him for a very long time. And, yet, I feel like I saw him yesterday.”

“Yeah, I understand. Even though I never knew my dad, I feel as though there’s always been some strange connection there. And I don’t mean in a biological sense—it’s deeper than that. It’s like something’s always there reminding me of him. Anyway, you’ll be back with your dad before you know it. And you know what?”

“What?”

“He probably misses you just as much. How could anyone in their right mind not miss you? Anyone who can put up with Pierre Rousseaux for a day must be pretty special.”

She blushed at his compliment. He thought it was cute.

They strolled at a slow pace set by Pierre in hopes that something around them would spark Félicité’s memory. They made small talk about the architecture and the people who walked hurriedly past them. 

“Why can I not understand what some people are saying?” Félicité motioned around her with her hand.

It dawned on Pierre how proper Félicité spoke—sort of strange, different but nice to hear.

“That’s normal. Paris always has lots of foreigners around.” He glanced around him, taking in the Parisian street. “Don’t worry. You probably don’t speak other languages.”

“True. But it is amazing to know so many different people come here.”

“Yep, Paris is an awesome city, for sure.”

After what felt like no time at all, they reached a huge garden. They continued to walk in silence until they found a bench. Pierre wiped some water off the bench from last night’s rainstorm.

“This is the
Jardin des Tuileries
. It’s one of my favorite places. My mom used to bring me here to play when I was a kid. Having
Musée du Louvre
so close was an added benefit for her.” He pointed left to where the famous museum stood. He kicked the gravel on the walkway with his foot. Little pebbles bounced across the path.

“Félicité, do you want to do something really fun?” He smirked.

“All right.” Her head quirked to the side with an uncertain expression blanketing it. “Is it going to get us hurt?”

“Oh, Félicité, where’s your sense of adventure?” He joked with her. “You’ll be able to see all of Paris with what we’re about to do.” He stood and pulled her up by both her hands. Pierre walked toward their destination without letting go of her cold hand. “You’re freezing!”

“I am a little cold,” she said with a shiver.

“I’ll buy you some gloves, but for now, I’ll keep them warm.” He bit his lip for what he had just said. This had never happened to him, and he had no idea how to handle the intense, bubbling feelings coursing through his veins.

They arrived to the destination: a carnival. He pointed his arm up to the feature that would offer Félicité the ability to see all of Paris—a gigantic Ferris wheel positioned on the north east corner of
Jardin des Tuileries
.

Félicité apprehensively scanned it up and down, rubbing her neck. “You expect me to get on
that
for fun?” Her finger pointed at it.

“It looks intimidating from here, but it’s amazing. And when you get to the top and look at the three hundred and sixty degree view of Paris, it’s totally worth it. And I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” He drew an “X” with his fingers across his chest and smiled. To show off the city he loved so much to Félicité was important to him, especially if it would help her remember something about herself.

“I will go on whatever this thing is, but I will not enjoy one minute of it.” She stamped her foot on the ground in protest.

“Let’s do it.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly. Part of him thought this was quite a romantic thing for them to do, but he had to remind himself that this was only for the purpose of helping her to remember something.

They waited in a short line and paid the fee for the ride. As the next white carriage neared them, Félicité’s face whitened as though she was going to scream or throw up or both. They sat on the circular bench. It jostled as the wheel proceeded to revolve. She nestled herself closer to Pierre, and his arm tightened around her shoulders.

“Félicité, look at the city. Isn’t it amazing?”

“It is breathtaking.” She sighed.

Pierre followed her gaze, looking in all directions, seeing the old buildings stretching out in all directions—the streets winding through them with no order as the wheel revolved down toward the ground.

“It will go up again, right? I want another look.”

“Yeah, we’ll go around a few more times. You’ll have plenty of time to get a good look,” Pierre reassured her.

“This is turning out to be fun after all, not as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

She turned in her seat to see everything. The Ferris wheel had revolved three times and was approaching their fourth turn. “I hope that we get to go another round. I want to see the view one more time.” She got her wish. The wheel stopped when they reached the top; the carriage swayed back and forth.

“It’s almost over,” Pierre said. People at the bottom were getting off their carriages now and filing off the platform. Félicité cuddled up against Pierre to enjoy the rest of their turn.

“What is that tower over there?” She pointed in its direction across town.

Pierre turned his head, tilting it toward Félicité. He wondered just how much she had forgotten. “It’s
La
Tour Eiffel
. You know how I told you that many people from all over the world come to Paris?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that tower is the main reason why people come.”

“It is strange that I would not remember something so beautiful.” Her head fell into his chest. “Can we go there sometime?”

“Sure
,
that’ll be our next date.”

Did I just say date?
Pierre thought.
Ugh.

His heart began pounding faster, and then he thought of something more beautiful than
La
Tour Eiffel.
The most gorgeous thing ever to grace this planet was cuddled up right next to him—Félicité. He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes so it wouldn’t obstruct her view.

The Ferris wheel reached the bottom. They exited the carriage and walked off the platform. They spent the rest of their afternoon at the carnival playing games, talking, and buying pastries from vendors. They even found a shop that sold gloves. A pair was purchased, and Pierre slid them on Félicité’s delicate hands. Despite the gloves, he still grasped her hand, holding it to his heart.

Manners

Over the next few days, Félicité was too tired or, maybe, too depressed to go anywhere. Since she remembered her name, nothing else had come back—no dreams, nothing. Once Pierre got home from school on a Wednesday night, he and his mom decided it was time for Félicité to get out of the flat. There were only so many books she could read until they knew madness would overtake her.

As they strolled down the streets—hand-in-hand—Félicité exclaimed, “What is
that
place? It looks like it would be interesting.”

Pierre laughed whole-heartedly as he took in the yellow arches forming an “M”. “That’s globalization at its finest.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, explanation: it’s called McDonalds, an American fast food restaurant.”

“America! I thought it was just the foreigners that were here, but now an American restaurant is here, too. That is incredible, just incredible.” She skipped over to the door.

Of all the things that could make her happy, McDonalds was it. Pierre shook his head, smiled, then jogged over to her. “Hey, wait up. I guess this means we get to eat good old Americanized processed hamburgers for dinner.”

Numbers of people were standing in line and many employees rushed around taking orders and preparing food. But most of the people were there to get out of the cold, holding paper cups of coffee in their hands.

“They get the food out so fast,” she said her mouth gaping.

“That’s why they call it ‘fast food’.” Pierre chuckled which resulted in Félicité punching him in the bicep.

A family of four with two children stood in front of them. The mom took care of the boy and girl. The one sprawled herself on the floor making groaning sounds while the boy leaned against the counter, eyes drooping.

The dad said to the employee, “I will have four Big Mac’s, four
French
fries, and four sodas.” He emphasized the French part of fries and laughed. The employee rolled her eyes as she told him the total for the food in English. Pierre grinned and continued watching as the dad attempted to figure out which bills and coins would be sufficient for paying for their meal. He complained under his breath. “Stupid money’s so confusing.”

The wife stepped in then. “You need to use this one and that one, okay?” She pointed to them in the process. “I seriously should be in charge of the money.” The food was on its trays, and the family searched for a table.

“That was entertaining.” Pierre laughed. In his mind, he thought of having a family of his own one day. Félicité was changing so many things about what he wanted out of life. “I should introduce you to what a Big Mac and
French
fries are. How’s that sound?”

“Great!” She took in the room, clapping her hands like a little girl about to eat a delicious pastry. It made Pierre snicker. “This is exciting to eat food from America.”

He ordered their hamburgers and paid. They sat and Pierre opened his hamburger and began eating it with his hands. Félicité grabbed hers from the tray and asked, “Do they have any silverware here?”

“I’m sure they do. Let me check.” Pierre got up and waited in line again for about five minutes—tapping his foot—and came back holding a white plastic fork and knife. He handed them to Félicité, wondering why she needed them. He slunk back down into his seat and lifted
his hamburger back into his mouth and took a bite. Half way into the piece, he watched Félicité cut a tiny bit of her hamburger and proceeded to eat it. His jaw dropped at the sight.

She continued in this manner bite after bite. She caught his blatant gawking, food still perched in his mouth. “What is wrong?”

He placed his meal back on the paper wrapping. “I’m fine. It’s just . . . I’ve never seen someone eat a hamburger with a fork and knife. You’re an interesting person, Félicité, maybe the last proper person in the world.” She glanced at the fork and knife in her hands and hunched over. “It’s not a bad thing. Really, you can eat it however you want to. I’ll probably be the one with ketchup all over my face, and you’ll be as perfect as you are now.”

“I have always eaten this way. I guess that I could try to eat the hamburger with my hands, and maybe I will get food on my face as you do right now.” She pointed to Pierre’s upper lip. He wiped the ketchup away.

“Oops, I guess that I already beat my record. But I don’t want you to go against your standards just to fit in with my bad eating habits.”

“No, I will but only with a deal.” She winked back at him, lips curving up.

“Okay, what’s your deal?” Pierre clasped his hands in front of his face.

“You have to eat your hamburger with a fork and knife.” She giggled. Her laugh sound
ed amazing, like a chorus of tinkling bells.

Pierre inflated his chest with air and nodded in agreement. “You’re on. Now hand me the weapons.” She passed the fork and knife to him. He began to cut his hamburger into pieces. She laughed at his efforts, watching the hamburger be ripped to shreds.

Just as awkwardly, Félicité tried to put the hamburger in her mouth but kept on getting ketchup all over her upper lip. Pierre stabbed at a piece of his meal and then cut it with the fork, eventually eating a mouthful. He noticed how hilarious it was to watch Félicité try to feed herself like that—funnier than a toddler feeding itself. He laughed, so she put it back down on the paper wrapping.

“I do not know how people feed themselves without a fork,” she said, pouting and folding her arms. “Actually, Pierre, maybe you should eat your food with your hands. You have mutilated that poor thing.” She pointed at the pile of bread, lettuce, and meat that had gone through a war with Pierre’s fork and knife eating technique.

“Well, you’ve got some ketchup on your nose. You didn’t do so well yourself.” He leaned back and mimicked Félicité by crossing his arms over his chest as she wiped the red smudge off. He lifted up a white napkin and waved it around in his hand. “How about we call a truce? I’ll never make you eat without a fork and knife, and I’ll never use a fork and knife again.” They both roared in laughter at his ridiculous remark.

They finished their “American” dinner and started their walk back to the flat, holding hands. Being with Félicité just felt . . . right. He knew he had to decide if he would let the cruel nature of his families past control his every move, or if he would take the chance at happiness with someone special—with Félicité.

As they paced the road, an awful image flashed through Pierre’s mind: he saw himself dead—blood pooled around him—on the floor of his apartment. An instant shudder quaked through his body; panic set in making his heart beat double time while sweat developed on his brow.

Without a thought, he let
Félicité’s hand fall limp to her side.