Keep me warm

by Jude Ouvrard

  Keep Me Warm

  By

  Jude Ouvrard

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Keep Me Warm

  Prologue

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgement

  Who is Jude?

  Copyright © Jude Ouvrard 2016

  Published by Jude Ouvrard

  The right of Jude Ouvrard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted

  By her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. License Notes: This novel is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This print may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Cover Artist: Ashley Michel

  Editor: RE Hargrave

  Other Books by Jude Ouvrard

  Under the Sun

  Wonderland

  Lost Dreams

  Ophelia

  Body, Ink, and Soul

  Music, Ink, and Love

  Not Afraid to Love you

  Safe to Love You

  Beneath the Stars

  Keep me warm (coming soon)

  With time, we heal.

  But never forget.

  Prologue

  Sitting in the back of a cab on a cold, starless night after an amazing night with my friends, I see flames leaping from a roof down the street and the flashing lights of firetrucks. Checking our location, I try to convince myself the chaos is far from my place, but the closer we get, the harder it is to breathe. My chest aches and my mouth is dry. In actuality, we’re very close to my home.

  “This can’t be real,” I mumble to myself.

  When we reach the last corner, a police officer asks the cabbie to stop. Panic and agony build in me at an unreal rhythm. There’s no more question as to whether it’s my home, our building, on fire. I jump out of the car and run toward the scene, but am held in place by two strong men. Though their hands are keeping me in place and they’re talking to me, I don’t hear anything.

  “My husband and my son are in there. My husband... my son... please. Hurry!” I yell at them urging them to get my family out. Pushing their hands away, I try again to run inside to get them myself. My life is in there. My whole world. “Gabe? Brock!” I pray calling upon all the Saints, and God.

  “Ma’am, you can’t go inside. It’s too dangerous.”

  Crying, hurting, and looking everywhere around to see if they’ve made it out, I don’t see them. I don’t. The firefighter is trying to bring me to the ground. I’m kicking, pushing, and punching, though; there’s nothing stopping me while I yell, “A boy and a man from apartment four, on the second floor.” Pushing myself from the ground with my legs, once more I’m trying to run away.

  “Ma’am, you can’t go in there.” Another man has joined the first, and together, they drag me out of the danger zone.

  “Where are they?” When his face falls, void of all emotion, I know how bad my life has just gotten.

  Chapter ONE

  It’s been a year since I lost myself.

  My name is Adele Gordon, and I’m trying to find my way again. Some days I fear I may not find that woman ever again, though.

  The days have gone cold again. Winter is coming and I’m not looking forward to it. Cold makes everything harder, including fighting to keep warm and chase the nightmares away. Will they ever go?

  So many things changed in an instant. Everything changed during my battle to survive mentally at a psychiatric institute, and the fight to build myself up again. Starting life over from scratch, from the clothes and furniture which had to be replaced to salvaging my mental health, has not been easy.

  My reality is not a dreamscape nightmare, but a real one. Surviving the death of my future, the love of my life and my soul, is the worst nightmare anyone can encounter. I go to bed every night freezing and alone, and wake up the exact same way.

  There is nothing left in this world to keep me warm.

  Yet I fight, in hope of someday finding my way.

  Chapter TWO

  Trapped in the flames of our apartment, my son and husband died while I was out with my friend celebrating the last of her bachelorette days. Partying like never before, we had so much fun that night—so much fun while my boys were dying.

  Waking up from another nightmare to my own screams, my body shakes in the cold air enveloping me while I claw at my chest, gasping for air. Each night I try to save them in my dreams, and fail every single time. All I wish for are a warm bath and a delete button to my brain, but I don’t have either one. If only I could forget the last twelve months. It almost feels like my heart is being torn in two. A searing pain which burns through every single vein and nerve.

  Now I live in a small studio, with used furniture given to me out of pity. Everything was lost in that fire. We hadn’t had insurance. Part of moving on was needing to get a job and hoping for the best.

  “What kind of job experience do you have?”

  “None. I was home, raising my son.”

  Following my admission would come the inevitable sigh or the end of the interview, always. Nobody wanted to hire me. Nobody except one of the downtown hotels.

  I’ve been cleaning rooms for months now, working long hours to pay rent and most of my bills. Those damn bills. There are days where I don’t get to talk to anyone. It’s a solitary life which allows me to be lost in my thoughts most of the time.

  “How are you doing, Adele?” Mom asks every two days, when she calls on me.

  “I’m hanging in there.”

  “You’ve gained weight again.”

  I know I have, but I don’t have the willpower to eat healthy. When those are the words I keep hearing, sometimes I’d rather be lonely.

  ★★★

  I’m turning a room, fixing the bedsheets, when the guest enters the room. I hate when this happens. It’s always embarrassing for us both and I never know what to do with myself. Hide, leave, or continue my job.

  “I can come back later if you would like, sir,” I offer, my voice a notch above audible.

  The man turns around, sipping on his cup of coffee and looks at me. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be out in five minutes.” His handsome smile turns into a frown. “And, please, don’t call me sir. It makes me feel old.”

  When I think about it, he looks a tad older than I am, not much more. From where I’m standing not a single grey hair or wrinkle is noticeable on him. His clothes appear to be of good quality and trendy; I hate my maid uniform. The peach color makes me look sick. “I’m sorry, s–I’m sorry,” I stammer. Come on, Adele, get it together.

  Groaning with impatience, he searches through a pile of documents. “It’s never good when I leave for a marketing meeting without all my prep work in hand.” The guest laughs at h
imself before taking another sip of his coffee.

  “Marketing, I used to hear all about it.” I try to block the memories as much as I can, then wish I hadn’t said anything.

  “Used to? You have me curious? Have you worked in marketing before?” The way he’s scratching his scalp, he must think it doesn’t make sense for me to be working here if I know marketing.

  Before explaining myself, I take two deep breaths, helping my mind stay calm and in control. “My husband was. I mean, he had just graduated and gotten a job.”

  “Which company does he work for?”

  “He... he doesn’t work anymore. He died.” My voice breaks while I keep my eyes fixed on the bed. Crying in front of a guest would be unprofessional. I must be strong for the sake of my job, because losing it would be a disaster. Going back to nothing is not an option.

  “Oh. Ma’am, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up for you.”

  “It’s okay. It’s been a year already. I have to get used to it some time.” How am I ever going to get used to it? I miss him and my son more every day, but I can’t stop people from asking questions. The simple sound of my words makes me cry on the inside.

  Sadness appears in his eyes as he gets closer to me by taking few short steps. “We never get used to losing someone. We can learn how to live with it, though. Was it cancer?”

  His question takes me by surprise. “No, a fire. Both my husband and son were taken from me that night,” I say with tears in my eyes. Rubbing them, I try to reclaim my control because there is no way I’m crying in front of a stranger during work hours. Ignoring him, I focus on my breathing. I must not cry, I must not cry.

  Papers land on the bed beside me startling me, but that’s nothing compared to the strong arms wrapping around me and holding me against his chest. I feel little; my body trembles with the rush of emotions.

  “You’ll be okay. Keep your head up,” he murmurs against my hair. “You’re still here. I know you miss them. It’s okay to miss them, but don’t forget that you’re still here.”

  Alive.

  As wrong as it is, this feels good, being wrapped in these strong arms. A small reprieve, I’m reminded so much of Gabe. It’s not him, though. “I’m sorry. You–you have a meeting to attend.” I push away drying my tears on the fabric of my uniform. “You’ll be late, and I will, too. I can’t lose my job.”

  “How much do you make in a day?”

  “What?”

  “How much do you make in a day?” Speaking louder this time, his voice rebounds in the room.

  “Sixty dollars.”

  Retrieving his wallet, he hands me a hundred dollar bill. “Tell your boss you’re sick and go home. Take the day off.”

  I don’t want his pity. “I can’t accept that.”

  “You can.” Without giving me a chance to argue, the man places the money into my hand and closes my fingers so they hold the precious piece of paper prisoner. “I’ll cover for you if you want, but you’re going home now.”

  Standing there with the money in my hand, I want to go home, but can’t. “This isn’t right,” I cry.

  “Look, I’m—the owner of this hotel is a friend. I’ll talk to him. Just go home and rest. You need it. I’m sorry for intruding in your personal life.”

  “Thanks, but you don’t have to do this.” My voice has dropped to a whisper by this point. That always happens when I cry, my throat gets so tight no sound gets through it.

  “That’s true, I don’t have to, but I choose to.” Giving me a smile, not a happy smile but one which says sorry, he knows he has a point.

  “Thank you.” I fix the rest of his bed then thank him again.

  “Have a nap, get a massage, do something to feel good today. A manicure, maybe?”

  Chuckling over his words, I can’t remember the last time I spent money on sweet things for myself. It’s nothing but a dream to me. “Oh, sir, I haven’t had extra money to spoil myself in a very long time.”

  “We’re back to sir, now, ma’am?”

  Blushing, I shake my head, embarrassed. “It’s a habit. I’m sorry.” After collecting my things from the room, I approach him to shake his hand.

  Taking care, he reaches for my hand and doesn’t hesitate to give me another long hug.

  The thing is, I don’t let anyone hug me like this, but this doesn’t feel strange or cold. It feels like one human being caring for another. It’s honest, and I appreciate it. Putting on a brave face, I dry my tears again then leave with my cleaning equipment, which I return to the employee room. After reporting in sick, I grab my purse and head out into the cold.

  The cold is something I’d never minded, until that night. My body reacts to the icy, real coldness now. When the warmth of love disappears before your eyes, up in flames, that coldness takes over. It hasn’t left me since losing them.

  It’s still early; I have the rest of the day to myself and one hundred dollars in my pocket. To face the weather, I buy myself a coffee and some soup before heading home. The warm drink and meal comfort me, makes me better for a moment.

  My eyes heavy, I fall asleep on the couch enveloped in a wool blanket my aunt gave me. It’s ugly and old, but damn, it’s so warm. I sleep for hours. There is nothing I need more than sleep, besides my boys. Every day I pray, hoping for them to return—even though I know they won’t.

  A sure fire way to break a woman who is a wife and a mother, is to take away what gave her those titles. A skeleton, a shadow, an empty box... I’ve lost everything.

  Including myself.

  A dreamless nap finds me waking up well-rested. Small snowflakes dance down from the sky outside the window. Still wrapped in my blanket, I shiver at the sight. I’m not ready to face the winter, but I don’t have a choice unless I move south. I can’t, though; there hasn’t been a week when I haven’t been to the graveyard. It’s too soon for me to move away.

  I’m not letting go. Mom thinks I should try, but deep down, I’m not ready. I haven’t said goodbye yet, and I don’t intend to. I’ll see them again. Right now, my life is all about missing them and the plans we had together. The haunting memories lingering in my mind all the time, every day, are what hurt the most. I expect with time it will be easier; although, after a year, the pain has subdued little.

  With a sigh my thoughts drift to the man I’d met today. Some people have more goodness or angel-like powers than others, he was one of them. What he’d done for me was unexpected, overwhelming, and touching. If I ever see him again, I’ll have to thank him. I never have time to rest these days.

  Chapter THREE

  A month later I’m working, humming a Sinatra song as I enter one of the many rooms on my cleaning rotation. Facing the mirror at the entrance, I watch my hips sway with the song playing in my mind. Silly woman. Cleaning hotel rooms isn’t the most entertaining job in the world, so I make the best of it. A little bit of dancing here and there isn’t going to hurt me. The complete opposite, it makes me smile. Something I don’t get to do often. Even seeing the unwelcome curves of my tummy area, I smile. My body has changed, just like my life. I don’t do much nowadays outside of work, and part of my coping mechanism when alone with my sorrow has been indulging in sweets.

  Everything looks untouched in this room, but I clean it anyway. That’s my job. While I keep cleaning rooms until I’m done for the day, my thoughts wander through my memories.

  “Mommy, why are you always cleaning the apartment?”

  “Because...” I sigh. “Mommy loves it when it’s so clean it sparkles. The house smells fresh and there’s not a single spot of dust. Your father says it’s my obsession.”

  “Obsession?” He looks confused.

  “I love cleaning too much.” I laugh but he frowns.

  “I hate it. If I had more money, I would pay you to clean my room.”

  When I leave the hotel by the employee door, I recognize the generous man from a month ago walking toward the main entrance, talking on the phone while hurrying insid
e. Did I clean his room today? I wish I knew. I want to thank him again for that day off. My boss never mentioned anything, and not an hour went missing from my paycheck. I’d gotten well-paid to sleep that day.

  He doesn’t see me since he’s concentrating hard on his phone. Who would remember the maid at a hotel anyway? I might have pretty eyes, but I don’t stand out. The circles under my eyes do, and so does my muffin top. Like my mom told me few days ago...

  “It’s a cycle. You don’t get enough sleep and work long hours, so when comes the time to eat, the faster the better, plus the quality of what you’re eating is not the greatest.” She pauses to gauge my mood. “All those intentions to cook good meals disappeared the moment your life became about you.”

  I hate to say this, but she’s right. I don’t care what I eat and it’s starting to show. If the way I look isn’t appealing to me, then there’s no way it is to the people around me either. Not that I care much. Of course, I’d never have let myself go like this if I hadn’t lost the love of my life.

  Everything wrong in my life all goes back to the death of my boys. I can’t keep doing this to myself. They wouldn’t want me to suffer like this. No longer humming Sinatra, the tears are coming now, but I remind myself I’m walking on the sidewalk and don’t want to find pity in the eyes of whoever might see me.

  Walking faster to my car, I struggle to keep it together. I don’t want to cry today, I don’t. As soon as I’m inside and the car is started, I crank up the music then start to sing along in hopes of shaking my mind clear of things while driving.

  It’s working. I’m singing my heart out, and laughing even, which doesn’t happen too often. When I park by my apartment building, my friend is waiting for me, which is unusual.

  “Hi, Adele. Are you in the mood for a manicure and pedicure? My treat.” Her fingers crossed, she gives me a ridiculous smile.

  It’s obvious she wants me to go. My plan was to go home and relax, but how am I supposed to say no to her? “Can you give me two minutes to change?”