“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at Flore and Léon. “It’s just, I thought when I met you that you were his parents—”
“And thought we probably had Mathieu later in life,” Léon said.
“It caught me by surprise. And then I wondered how old his grandparents must be since you—”
“I can see the confusion,” Flore said. “Denis and Bridgette were quite young when they had Mathieu.”
Just then the oven buzzer sounded.
“Garlic bread should be ready,” Flore said and went to the kitchen.
“Can I help?” Lori-Anne said as she followed the older woman. “It smells wonderful.”
“Thank you,” Flore said.
“For what?”
Flore took her hands. “Since meeting you, Mathieu has been so happy. We haven’t seen him like this in a long time. He can’t stop talking about you.” She let go of Lori-Anne’s hand. “We just had to meet you.”
“I don’t know what to say. Except that he’s wonderful and that I’m in love with him.”
That put a smile on Flore’s lips. “I don’t want to put words in his mouth, but I’m fairly certain that he feels the same about you.”
The two women stood in the small kitchen looking at each other, a connection forming that would last decades.
“Welcome to our small family,” Flore said.
Lori-Anne hugged her. Although she had a family of her own, something about Flore and Léon made her feel not just welcomed, but special.
* * *
Shortly after eleven Mathieu drove Lori-Anne home after a wonderful evening full of good food and plenty of laughter.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” she said as they sat in the idling car in front of her home. “It must have been hard.”
“It was when I was young,” he said. “But now it’s been so long I don’t really remember them. I feel bad that they died so young, often wished they were still alive, but mostly they’re strangers to me now. It’s sort of sad.”
“I can understand that,” she said. “Promise me that you’ll never shut me out. Don’t ever be afraid to tell me anything.”
He took her hand. “Promise.”
“A few weeks ago, I thought my world had ended. But it was just starting. You’re the boy who saved my heart.”
“You’re the one who saved me,” he said. “I know it’s only been a short time, but I don’t know that I could love anyone more than the way I love you.”
Mathieu caressed the side of Lori-Anne’s face with the tip of his fingers, ever so gently, as if she were a porcelain doll that could shatter easily. In the reflection of her eyes, he saw a vulnerability that he would protect and a love he would cherish for a lifetime. Never had the complexity of true love weaved two hearts together so perfectly.
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Free Prequel Novella
Click on the link or book cover to get your free ebook.
https://francoisghoule.com/get-broken-hearts-for-free/
A coming-of-age story of love and heartbreaks
Fourteen-year-old Nadia Delacroix is so obsessed with the lead singer of the local school band Teen Spirit that she starts to alienate everyone. She becomes moody, dark, and uncommunicative, sending her parents into a frenzy as they try to figure out what’s happening with their daughter.
Caitlin Weatherly’s parents have fallen out of love. She blames her dad. She hates his new girlfriend. And she’s heartbroken watching her mother unravel. On top of that, she can’t make sense of her cousin Nadia’s infatuation with that singer. After all, the guy is a senior at their school, already has a hot girlfriend, and he doesn’t even know Nadia exists. But she won’t listen to reason.
Broken Hearts, a prequel novella to It Happened to Us, is a moving coming-of-age story that shows us that you can never be too young or too old to feel the joy and the heartbreak of love.
Grab your copy of Broken Hearts today!
Story behind We Became Us
I wrote the novella We Became Us because I felt Lori-Anne and Mathieu’s love story needed to be told, and it also helps us understand the devastating tragedy in It Happened to Us.
I also wrote a second novella, Broken Hearts, which explores the months before It Happened to Us, showing what their daughter Nadia and her cousin Caitlin were going through before that tragic day.
The two novellas complement It Happened to Us and together they form a trilogy that makes the whole story more complete.
Broken Hearts is best read after It Happened to Us.
I hope you enjoy them all.
Excerpt from It Happened to Us
ONE
March 29, 2012
12:59 p.m.
Mathieu Delacroix stared out the kitchen window into the backyard, something he’d done for years while he washed the dishes or finished a cup of coffee, but today wasn’t like any other day. The last time his life had changed this drastically, he was six and disco was all the rage. Now he was forty-one and pretty much listened to whatever radio station his wife or daughter picked. He was dressed in his best black suit, waiting for Lori-Anne to come down. Outside, the grey sky hung low and menacing. Fitting for a late March funeral.
Monday’s car accident had changed everything. How could it not? Things like this happened to other people. You heard it on the news but tuned it out. It was easy to dismiss. It wasn’t personal.
But this time it was.
The grandfather clock in the living room bonged the hour and he checked his watch. They were running late. His gaze shifted to the enormous bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase on the kitchen table. He couldn’t remember who had given it to them. The last three days had been a blur really, a nightmare that made his heart feel like it had been hacked by a butcher. He loosened the knot of his tie but his chest still hurt, his lungs struggling to draw in enough air. He grabbed the edge of the countertop and waited for the moment to pass.
Once it did, Mathieu took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. He drank half of it and poured the rest down the drain. In one swift motion, he hurled the glass across the room.
“What happened?” Lori-Anne said from the top of the stairs. “Matt? Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. I dropped a stupid glass.”
“Are you cut?”
“No, I’m fine. We should go.”
“Be down in a minute. Just need to put my lipstick on.”
Mathieu took his jacket off and put it on the back of a chair. Long ago he’d worn suits to work every day, but when Nadia was born he’d traded his dress pants and jackets for work shirts and carpenter’s pants. He’d once been a very good copywriter but he’d been happiest staying home to raise his daughter and work in his woodshop. Nothing beat the sweet fragrance of fresh cut oak or mahogany.
Mathieu rolled up his sleeves, took the broom and dustbin from the pantry, swept the debris off the floor and dumped the broken glass into the garbage can. He then stood by the patio door, wondering what he’d do with the massive swing set he’d built fourteen years ago. Nadia had spent afternoons playing on that thing, going up and down the slide, hanging from the monkey bars, asking him to push her higher and higher. At the top of the structure was a small tree house where she’d spent most of her childhood, imagining a boat navigating rough seas, an airplane taking her to faraway places, a spaceship exploring the
universe. She hadn’t played on it for years and now it just reminded him how quickly life can change.
The phone rang. He stared at it but didn’t bother to answer. Probably not for him. The only family he had were his grandparents, and he’d meet up with them at the funeral home.
He glanced at his watch. 1:06 p.m. They really needed to get going. He was about to call Lori-Anne when he heard heels coming down the walnut stairs. She wore a black pant suit and black boots, a matching clutch, no jewelry and no earrings. The only accessory was her two-tone round bracelet watch that she always wore. At forty-three, she was just as striking as when he’d met her twenty years ago. Her hair was shorter now, just down to her shoulders, a golden brown hinting at grey. But it was her piercing light green eyes that weakened him. That, and a laugh he’d always thought of as delicious, sweet, and tasty like dark chocolate.
“You look handsome,” she said. “I always liked you in a suit.”
“This is one suit I’d rather not be wearing. Who was on the phone?”
“My mom.”
“Checking up on us?”
“Worried about us.”
They stared at each other for a moment and then Mathieu turned away, swallowing a reply he’d later regret if spoken. He looked out at the silver sky.
“It looks like it might storm,” he said.
“I hope it holds until after the service.”
The service? He hated that word. It was a funeral, for god’s sake. “Rain seems appropriate.”
“I’d prefer not to get soaked when we go . . . when we go to the gravesite . . .”
For the first time since the car accident, Lori-Anne lost her composure. She rarely showed that side of herself. Lori-Anne often told Mathieu how hard her father had pushed her so that she, being the youngest and the only girl, would be as tough as her three brothers.
Surprised, Mathieu took a few quick steps around the kitchen table to hold Lori-Anne in his arms. The smell of her perfume reminded him of the backyard’s perennial garden he tended during the summer. It was still under a foot of snow.
“Sorry,” she said, pulling away. “I’m probably a mess. Let me fix myself.”
Mathieu watched her go into the powder room. He wanted a drink – a few shots of whiskey to get through the day. He went to the living room and opened the liquor cabinet. Just a shot. Half a shot. He could feel his breathing get heavier. He forced himself to turn away. To his right, a classic leather sofa showcased dark burgundy carved legs that matched the coffee and end tables, a décor that made the room feel pretentious and stuffy. He rarely spent time here, except when they entertained. And there hadn’t been much of that lately. Lori-Anne worked long hours and he was either in his woodshop or in the den, mindlessly surfing the net. Every now and again he tried to work on the novel he’d started years ago, but his writing had become rusty, his BA in English literature belonging to a past that no longer mattered.
His gaze wandered to the mantel above the fireplace where a picture of Nadia was nestled between an engraved china plate from their wedding and a huge candle that Lori-Anne liked to light in the evenings. Nadia had loved the sweet, wild berry aroma.
Lori-Ann had not lit the candle since the accident.
Mathieu took the picture in his left hand. It shook, just a bit. He stared at the photo as if he could will Nadia back to life. With his right index finger, he traced the contour of his daughter. She was five, top front baby teeth missing, wearing a pink sleeveless vest over a pink long-sleeved shirt. They had walked around Pink Lake in Gatineau Park that day, and Nadia found this huge log camouflaged by coloured leaves. She sat on the fallen tree and flashed him her best smile when he pointed the camera at her.
That toothless grin was a sprinkle of cinnamon over his heart.
Mathieu put the frame back where it belonged on the mantel. He took a step back, the sharp edges of memory raking his gut. His eyes began to sting.
The grandfather clock ticked away, each passing second a mockery. It stood tall and defiant by the archway, too big, its presence overwhelming, like his father-in-law. A wedding gift from Lori-Anne’s parents he’d never liked. When they got back from the funeral he would move it to the garage, until he could get GOT-JUNK to come and pick it up.
He’d toss out the furniture too. He could build his own. After all, he was a carpenter and people paid good money for his work. He could see a tall oak bookcase fitting nicely against the far wall, a couple of new picture frames of Nadia to hang on either side. One picture when she was a toddler and then a more recent one, to show the changes over the years. She’d started to look more and more like Lori-Anne, but with his blue-grey eyes. He was probably biased, like any parent, but Nadia had become stunning and he knew that boys must have noticed.
“I’m ready,” Lori-Anne said as she came to stand beside him. When she wore heels, they were practically the same height. “What are you thinking?”
Mathieu shrugged. “This room needs a change.”
“Really? Why?”
He took a moment. “Reminds me of my great-aunt Florence’s living room where kids weren’t allowed to go. She might have been my grandfather’s older sister, but they were so different.”
“I find this room charming, a touch of class inside our modern home,” she said. “But we can talk about it later.”
“Sure.” He glanced at his watch. “We better go.”
He locked the front door and they made their way to Lori-Anne’s Pathfinder.
“Guess the rain isn’t going to wait,” she said, feeling a few drops. She climbed into the passenger seat. “Did you bring an umbrella?”
He nodded and started the SUV. “Maybe if we’d gotten rain on Monday instead of snow and freezing pellets, you wouldn’t have had that accident.”
Lori-Anne turned to stare out the passenger window.
Great! He’d said the wrong thing, again. He wasn’t blaming her. It was just a statement he knew to be true, that if it had rained the accident wouldn’t have happened because she was a good driver. The word sorry was on the tip of his tongue, but he’d said it so much over the last three days because of their arguing, that it no longer had any meaning.
Mathieu pulled out of the driveway and headed for the funeral home. The silence was uncomfortable so he turned on the radio and was surprised to hear Live 88.5. That was Nadia’s radio station, not Lori-Anne’s. Their little girl had gone from Justin Bieber to Nirvana disciple in the course of a few months.
And now, she was gone.
* * *
Find out how the story of Mathieu and Lori-Anne concludes in It Happened to Us:
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Acknowledgments
It’s impossible to write without family support, and I’d love to thank my wife and daughter for letting me lock myself in my office night after night and weekend after weekend. I did come out once in a while so they wouldn’t forget who I was.
A special thank you to my editor Ethan James Clarke of SilverJay Editing. This story is better because of his wonderful suggestions.
Most importantly, I want to thank you for coming along on this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed this novella as much as I did writing it.
Until next time, take care.
Also by François Houle
Broken Hearts
It Happened to Us
Beautiful Midnight
The Little Lies We Hide
About François Houle
François Houle’s books can best be described as character-driven stories that explore the importance that love, family, and friends play in helping us get through the many imperfections and challenges that life has to offer. François grew up one of five boys so it’s no surprise that family is a strong theme in his books. A lot of his inspiration for his first two novels It Happened to Us and Beautiful Midnight and his two
novellas We Became Us and Broken Hearts came from the passing of his father in 2005.
François grew up in a small town outside of Montréal, moved to Toronto when he was ten, and currently lives in Ottawa. An avid reader from a young age, he tried to create a comic book when he was twelve, penned hundreds of song lyrics as a teenager, and wrote his first novel in 1985, a sci-fi influenced by the novel Dune. Several horror novels followed, and although none of these books will ever be published, they were important in his development as an author.
In 1985, at the age of 22, he graduated from college with a Programmer/Analyst diploma and then went into the ice cream business with his family, owning three Baskin-Robbins franchises for about 6 years. In 1991, he started his IT career, and from 2003 – 2017, he was a Certified Professional Résumé Writer and operated a part-time business writing résumés, which helped while his wife took a sabbatical to care for their two kids.
If you’d like to stay current with what he’s working on, please like his Facebook page and join his Insiders Group at www.francoisghoule.com.
Fun Facts About Me
I’m a big hockey and football fan.
I love alternative music (The Cure and Depeche Mode are my all-time favourite bands).
I enjoy woodworking.
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