Intoxia

By K.S. Hayden

The second installment of the Journeys Series tells the story of Julianne Gray, a small town girl enchanted by the lights of the big city. Desperate to leave her simple past behind, she embarks on a tempestuous journey to find the love of her life; risking everything in the process. Not your typical love story, Jules will take you on a roller coaster ride of emotion and suspense!

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.S. Hayden
• Release date: Apr 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311137395

K.S. Hayden

Karen S. Rodgers (pen name, K.S. Hayden) is a small town gal from Meadow, Texas who spent 18 years wishing and trying to get out into the big world. She then spent 27 years finding herself in the city. Now she is back in the same small town with a million stories to tell; realizing her dream of becoming a writer.In addition to several published short stories, Karen is currently in the process of writing and publishing the Journeys Series; a compilation of novellas and novels. The first installment of the series, Eleven, was released in February of 2013. Its release has garnered several 5 star reviews.More recently, Karen has adopted the pen name, K. S. Hayden. The 2nd Installment of her series, Intoxia, was released in December of 2013. This, along with future installments of the Journeys Series, will be published under her pen name.Ms. Rodgers writes in a deliberately descriptive style which pulls the readers into her stories. By the time you finish reading one of her works, not only will you have developed vivid imagery of her characters through her fluidly eloquent style of characterization, you may quite simply find them unforgettable. Her works are inspirational touchstone reads. They resonate deeply with readers who have experienced life challenges and heartbreak.Karen spent two decades working in the medical field. She became a housewife and stay at home mother at the age of 41, allowing her to pursue her goal of becoming a published author. In addition to her short stories, novels, and novellas; she has authored a cookbook, Cooking With The Carpenter's Wife, also available on Amazon. Her husband, James Houston Rodgers, is a carpenter who is self-employed in the remodeling industry. They have one son, James Jaxson, who shares his mother's imagination and loves to tell stories of his own. Karen also enjoys her full-time adventure of homeschooling Jaxson.

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INTOXIA (Journeys Series II)

By K. S. Hayden

Copyright 2013 by Karen S. Rodgers

Smashwords Edition

Contents:

Chapter I Do You Take This Man…

Chapter II To Have and To Hold

Chapter III From This Day Forward

Chapter IV For Better or For Worse

Chapter V For Richer, For Poorer

Chapter VI In Sickness and In Health

Chapter VII To Love and To Cherish

Chapter VIII So Long As We Both Shall Live

Chapter IX ‘Til Death Do Us Part

Chapter X Forever and Ever, Amen

Chapter I

Do You Take This Man…

Have you ever ended up exactly where you had planned, then realized it was the last place on Earth you wanted to be? It happened to me on December 22, 1990—my wedding day.

The auditorium of Sunset Church of Christ was decorated like a Christmas wonderland; pine trees and boughs, twinkling white lights, poinsettias, and glittering red accents—everywhere!

My mother had pushed the boundaries of decorum to the borderline of what we like to call Texas tacky. I had done whatever I could to restrain her exuberance with the décor. Yet I knew my friends, and anyone else in attendance who really knew me and my mother, realized this was all her doing.

All that mattered to me was the man standing tall in full Marine Corp dress blues, facing the auditorium with his gloved hands folded in front of him. This day would be validation for all the times my schoolgirl friends and I had dreamily rummaged through the pages of bridal magazines, oohing, ahhing, and wishing. And I was standing right in the middle of a dream come true.

I had been unusually calm prior to the wedding. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind I would be marrying the man of my dreams that day. In fact, my bridesmaids and sisters kept asking if I was nervous. Nope—cool as a cucumber. No jitters. No nerves. No worries.

I was the picture of composure—all smiles.

So why this—why did I feel the unexpected, sudden urge to escape? I stood at the altar after calmly walking down the aisle. My father had completed his required task of duly giving me away. No tears. Not even a smidgen of a lump in my throat.

We reached the part in the ceremony when the pastor instructed us to face each other and join hands. I smiled at my oldest sister, the matron of honor, as I handed her my bouquet. The time had come to recite our vows.

I turned to face my groom. He took my hands in his.

That was the moment of impact.

The feeling rushed through my entire body in a heated wave. It almost knocked the wind out of me. My stomach knotted and beads of sweat began to flush my upper lip and forehead. My throat tightened. I could hear my muffled heartbeat thumping in my ears. I could no longer feel my feet.

My body swayed ever so slightly. I tried to concentrate and steady my balance on the four inch, white leather pumps.

Although I was holding onto his white gloved hands in a death grip, I could not look into his eyes. Instead, my head turned toward the back of the auditorium. My gaze swept from side to side, searching for an open door.

I wanted to run.

Mechanically, I repeated the obligatory vows in a mumbled sigh.

To have and to hold from this day forward; for better or for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish—so long as we both shall live.

For some strange reason, I recall the distinct smell of pine needles bringing me back into the moment. I focused my sight on the lights of the garish, lavishly adorned tree twinkling behind my groom.

What was happening? What was I doing? I felt paralyzed. Run. Run. Run!

I closed my eyes, choking back the sense of panic that was overwhelming my entire being.

The preacher proclaimed, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Charles Tyler Mabry, the third. What God hath joined together let no man put asunder. Trey, you may now kiss your bride.

It was done. My respirations were short and quick. One deep breath—exhale. I felt the blood drain from my face as Trey placed his hand behind my head to kiss me. There was a strange numb tingling in my hands. My vision began to blur and all I could see were fuzzy little white dots, like a television screen of a channel that had gone off the air.

The last thing I remember is thinking, What have I done?, as my body slumped and fell to the red carpeted stairs of the altar in a thud.

Chapter II

To Have and To Hold

I woke up in the church parlor surrounded by my frantic mother and bridesmaids fanning me with wedding programs. Everyone was quite relieved, except for me.

Oh, my goodness! Did you not eat anything before the wedding? my mother reprimanded, I told you to make sure you had something on your stomach! You scared everyone half to death!

One of my sisters offered me a sip of water and said, You just vapor locked, Honey.

She didn’t vapor lock! She’s not a car, you know. She got the vapors! There is a difference, my friend Roxy said with a laugh.

I sat up and looked around, Where’s Trey?

He’s out in the reception hall entertaining your guests. Come on and pull yourself together. We need to get the rest of the pictures done so we can serve the cake. Everyone has already waited long enough. After all, it is Christmas weekend and I’m sure your guests are ready to get home to their families. Come on, now, coaxed my mother as she helped me to my feet.

Roxy inquired, Are you sure you’re okay? You took quite a fall, girl.

I’m fine. Just let me catch my breath, I answered, standing and attempting to straighten the skirt of my bridal gown.

What the hell happened? You seemed so calm before the wedding, she asked.

I don’t know. I guess my nerves just kicked in being in front of everyone. Good grief, how embarrassing. I can’t believe I passed out. I’m not sure what happened. I don’t really remember.

But I did know. I did remember.

Trey was so sweet. He swept you up in one fell swoop and carried you into the parlor. At least the photographer was able to get some good shots of that. It was quite romantic, actually, now that I think about it, my mother described.

Mother! I was unconscious! They took pictures?

Oh shush. It will be a good memory in the years to come. Now pull yourself together. We have a reception to attend and I’m sure Trey is worried sick about you. Come on, she reassured, guiding me into the reception hall with her hand on my elbow.

As I entered the reception hall, I was greeted with sighs and a round of applause. I think I may have actually blushed. But it was hard to tell since nearly all the color had previously drained from my face. I would have to talk with the videographer and make him promise I would not end up on a wedding blooper reel someday.

Trey made his way through the crowd and approached me with a rather disingenuous grin; feigning concern.

I sensed his disapproval as he embraced me and said through still smiling, clenched teeth, I can’t believe you passed out at our wedding.

I patted him on the shoulder and answered, I know. I’m so sorry, Trey.

Are you okay now? Is everything okay?

Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I guess I was just a bit overwhelmed. That’s all.

I still couldn’t manage to look him in the eye. Why was I feeling this now—today, of all days? Prior to what had just transpired at the altar, there had been absolutely no doubt in my mind that Trey was the love of my life. But as soon as I came to myself, I knew something had changed.

I felt different now. It wasn’t the fact that I had just acquired a change of name. I had a nagging feeling in the pit of my gut that I had just suffered a change of heart. And it had happened too late.

My mother perused the crowd excusing the incident as a sudden onset of stage fright or a bad case of nerves. I even overheard her informing one of her friends that I must be on my monthly.

You know, she always gets this way when she’s on her period, she explained with a wink, you can always tell when it’s her time of the month—flighty, moody, and ready to pass out at the drop of a hat!

Oh, great! Why did my mother have to do that? It seemed she enjoyed talking about my female trouble issues in public a little too much. She always blamed my snaps at her on my hormones. But, I didn’t have to be on my period for her to annoy me. That could happen on any given day of the calendar. It was not unusual for us to be at odds with one another.

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to throw a little bit of humiliation her way in return, so I called across the room, Mom, don’t worry. I’m not on my period today! I manipulated my birth control pills to make sure of it. I probably just suffered from a lack of oxygen due to all the candelabras you insisted we have lit at the altar.

The room erupted in laughter as my mother quickly turned red with embarrassment. She knew how to push my buttons. I had definitely developed the propensity to push hers in return. My father’s laugh was the loudest one of all. He was absolutely delighted any time my sass trumped my mother’s.

Julianne! my mother petulantly replied in a huff.

My new husband quickly reprimanded, Oh God, Julianne. Really! Why must you always sink to her level? Please, at least try to show some restraint and a little bit of class. Don’t attempt to be as crass as your mother. It’s not very attractive, darling.

Well at least my mother is sober! I shot back at Trey, in rebuttal.

It was a cheap shot that probably would have been better left unsaid. I hated it when I opened up my mouth and my mother came out. Trey was already on edge because of his mother’s state of inebriation. Plus, he was incredibly disappointed that his father had made no effort to attend our nuptials. His parents had been divorced since his early childhood and due to their acrimonious disdain for one another, his father had been a scarce presence in his life.

Trey sarcastically snapped at my comment, Thanks a lot. I’m well aware of the fact that my mother is already sloshed. Thanks for pointing that out. This is really turning out to be quite a day to remember, Julianne.

My mother and Trey were the only two people to call me by my full given name. Mother, in her colloquial Texas drawl, always managed to drag it out into four syllables, Joo-li-AY-unn.

Trey, on the other hand, just enjoyed the formality of my full name. I have to admit it did sound rather sexy when he annunciated it in his deep, baritone voice. Women, including my girlfriends, swooned at the sound of his rich vocalization. In fact, that had been one of the first things I had noticed about him.

We had met in the summer of 1989. It was a warm Friday evening in Lubbock, Texas. My girlfriends and I had decided to meet for live music and drinks at the Depot Beer Garden; the place where anybody who was somebody went on a Friday night.

When we arrived around six that evening, the place was already buzzing. Walking into the colorful crowd of single people vying for attention was similar to walking the runway of a peacock beauty pageant. After all, it was the tail-end of a decade that was known for everything being big and vibrant.

Making our entrance through the South side gate, we meandered through the pavestone walkway and finally found a spot on the West side of the courtyard. There was one table with five chairs. Luckily, there was enough room for two to sit on the brick ledge that surrounded the area where the band would set up. There was just enough space for the seven of us.

We were also fortunate to be in an area where our drinks would be served. That way, we wouldn’t have to force our way through the crowd and stand in line at the cabana. It was the perfect spot for people watching; more specifically, man watching.

Across the crowded, outdoor patio, there was one particular individual that stood out. A rather tall man with an attractive smile, enjoying a frosty mug of beer while entertaining the group surrounding him with some witty anecdote. A round of boisterous laughter broke out around him, causing me to look in his direction.

At that moment, he took a sip from his mug and happened to look in my direction. He held my gaze as a broad grin flashed across his face.

He was a good-looking man, to say the least. At six-five, his stature towered above the crowd that surrounded him. His hair was a light brown with golden streaks that shimmered in the waning sunlight of the garden. The fade cut of his hair was fresh and stylish.

Tall and fit; the sculpture of his muscular build was enhanced by the rich tan of his skin, which darkened in the bend of his well-defined arms. His long legs were cut and equally tan.

I couldn’t see his eyes. They were hidden behind a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers. He wore a bright turquoise, Ralph Lauren Polo with a yellow insignia and heavily starched, denim walking shorts. The collar of his shirt was flipped up. On his feet were Cole Haan deck shoes, sans socks. A vintage Oyster Date Submariner Rolex accented the arm with which he held his mug.

The men in his group must have been reiterating the Bad Joke Friday entries from earlier in the day. Each break in the conversation would result in an outbreak of laughter. He would flash his pearly whites while emitting a low chuckle.

I continued to chat with my girlfriends and sip on a Cosmopolitan. As the band began to play, we had to lean in a bit closer in order to hear each other better. But every so often, something compelled me to look in the direction of the tall, handsome stranger. And nearly every time my eyes wandered in his direction, he was looking at me, as well.

Roxy caught us in mid-glance and inquired, Who are you makin’ eyes at, girl?

The tall guy over there, I answered, as I nodded toward his group gathered by the steps of the cabana.

Lilly Beth sighed and said, Now that’s a tall drink of water!

Wow! He’s quite a looker—and it looks like he’s looking at you, my friend, Eva, chimed in.

That’s Chuck Mabry.

My friend, Celeste, knew everyone. As a successful business woman, if she didn’t know them socially, she knew them professionally.

How do you know him, Celeste?

Oh, he’s a member of the Chamber. Our families know each other, but I see him all the time at Chamber meetings.

So what’s your impression? I prodded.

Well, he’s certainly charming, but definitely not my type.

Oh, good grief, Celeste, Roxy interrupted, is anyone ever your type? You’re too damn picky for your own good. Don’t listen to her, Jules.

Celeste rolled her eyes and curtly replied, I’m not that picky. I just have standards.

Yeah, they have to be perfect. Sorry, sister, but a perfect man doesn’t exist. Why don’t you introduce him to Jules? Hey—you know him! suggested Roxy.

I’m not a matchmaker, Rox. If Jules wants to meet him, she can do it herself. Really—I don’t know him that well. He’s just an acquaintance. In fact, he’s rather aloof.

Truth be told, Celeste was probably attracted to him and wanted him for herself. It would have been more honest had she admitted she was attracted to him, but he had never bothered to pay her any attention. She had approached him several times at the Chamber meetings, but was unable to find the nerve to engage him in conversation. Had she met him in a board meeting, she would have had more confidence in introducing herself. But she was never quite able to assert herself in social situations.

Terrified of rejection, Celeste stated about nearly every man, he’s not my type, or came up with a mile long list of their obvious physical faults. In this case, her only option was him not being her type—unless one could find fault in looking like Adonis in the flesh.

Unlike Celeste, I was never intimidated by the thought of approaching someone to whom I was attracted. I didn’t fear rejection. In my opinion, it was more rewarding to take the chance. If you didn’t give it a go, you would never know!

It was that philosophy that had enabled some very interesting, significant men to come into my life. In each and every instance, it had been the look that had drawn them in. This was a technique I had skillfully mastered since the age of eighteen.

I could always sense a man’s interest by employing my three-to-five second rule. If there was a particular man I found to be attractive, when he looked my way, I would hold his gaze for three seconds. The numbers would be slowly recited in my head; one thousand-one, one thousand-two, one thousand-three. Then I would look away for five seconds; one thousand-one, one thousand-two, one thousand-three, one thousand-four, one thousand-five.

Slowly—ever so slowly, I would look back in his direction. If he was still looking at me at the end of the five count, I would flash a seductive smile his way. Hook, line, sinker—gotcha!

This Chuck guy had taken the bait! Now, it was time to start reeling in my catch of the day.

I didn’t put much faith in Celeste’s negative opinion. I decided to make a trip through the crowd to the other side of the courtyard. His group was situated directly in my path to the ladies room, so walking by him wouldn’t appear as a flagrant move on my part. I asked Roxy to accompany me. She was always good at striking up conversations and would be a good back-up in the event nerves got to me and I choked.

One of my other friends at the table, Raquel, raised her mug and said, Give ‘em Hell, Jules! Go get ‘im!

Raquel was always the life of the party—and usually started the party well before the rest of us. Out of the entire group of friends, she was always the least likely to be the designated driver of the group. But she was a loveable mess. We had been friends since the first day of high school.

I got up from my seat. Roxy and I left Celeste, Raquel, Eva, Lilly Beth, and Naomi at the table to be spectators of that night’s foray into the sport of dating. Naomi and Lilly Beth were the only ones of our group who had already been snatched up into matrimony. They were the fortunate ones who had met their soul-mates in childhood. The rest of us were like fresh meat dangling on a hook in a hungry mob of meat market customers.

It was a complex, but exciting, time in our lives. The future was as wide open as the Texas sky and our possibilities were limitless. We knew the possibility of our fortune lay in the potential of attracting the most successful, eligible bachelor. I had my sights set high. I was the small town girl whose eyes twinkled in the lights of the big city.

I was deliberate in my attempt to find someone who was unlike any of the guys I had known in my hometown. No more cowboys or farmers for me. Eighteen years of small town life had been quite enough. Clean-cut, tanned, preppy Chuck was looking like a mighty good candidate for taking me into the direction in which I desired to go.

Throwing a backward glance at my friends still seated at the table, I said, Wish me luck!

All of the girls sent me on my way with an abundant supply of encouragement, of course, with the exception of Celeste; who was rolling her eyes and slightly shaking her head. Oh, Celeste! We all loved her in spite of, and maybe because of, her quirks. There was a reason why she was the way she was. And it wasn’t like all of us hadn’t tried to help her. She simply failed to honor the good inside herself because she was too busy finding fault in everyone else. It was impossible for her to see that she was her own worst enemy.

Thankfully, I had taken the time to change clothes and touch up my make-up after work. I was wearing a body-hugging, solid white, tank dress and matching pumps. The dress had a low scoop neckline that showed off two of my best assets. Underneath, I wore a lacy push-up bra to make sure those best features didn’t go unnoticed. The high hemline of my dress and stiletto heels nicely accentuated my long, tan legs.

Dictated by the style of the day; my long, highlighted, chestnut hair was appropriately backcombed, teased, and lacquered into place. In West Texas, it was necessary to make sure your big hair was always wind-proofed. Sebastian’s Shpritz Forte never failed to do the trick. Not only was our hair untouchable—in most cases, it was immovable.

My vibrant green eyes were accentuated with shell pink, amethyst, and dark blue shimmering eye shadow. Black eyeliner was swept across my lash line in cat eye fashion with two layers of Maybelline Lash Out mascara in Very Black on my lashes. The inside of my lower lids were rimmed with Ocean Blue liner. The pearlescent fuchsia lip-gloss swept across my full lips made them stand out in contrast with the glow of my summer tan. Sparkly plum blush accented the apples of my cheeks.

Yes, dating in the late 1980’s was not a camouflage sport. It was full-on, contact, dayglow, look at me, Hello!

Roxy led the way as we slowly stepped sideways through the tight crowd. I always hated shimmying through crowds. It could be likened to running through a cop-a-feel gauntlet. It never failed—the smarmy men who, while strategically glancing backward, would accidentally step back, causing my boobs to brush against their backs. There were also the ones facing me who would gratuitously place their hand on the top of my hip, as if they were giving me a gentlemanly guide. Jerks! Such was the typical Friday night, happy hour obstacle course.

We moved slowly forward, edging closer and closer to where the tall stranger was standing on the ledge of the patio surrounding the cabana.

I could sense his attention—it was fixed on me. It took every ounce of control for me not to return his stare. But I diverted my gaze and instructed Roxy to keep moving forward to the restroom. It would give me the chance to check my appearance in the mirror before my introduction.

Roxy and I primped in front of the mirror.

You got my gloss?

Roxy bent over, pulling the right cuff of her pants up over the neck of her bootleg, retrieving my lip gloss. That’s one thing about Texas girls: if none of your girlfriends are carrying a purse or has a pocket, someone always has a boot.

I gave my lips one last swipe of the hot pink color and handed it back to Roxy. She touched up her lips and returned the gloss to her boot. We made our way back into noisy bustle of the patio.

We approached the end of the cabana and stood in line to place our drink order. When it came our time to order, the tall stranger leaned toward the bartender.

Without even looking at us, he instructed the bartender, Whatever these young ladies want, put it on my tab.

Roxy grinned and thanked him, then placed her order, Colorado Bulldog, double vodka. What’dya want Jules?

I didn’t acknowledge the stranger’s offer, but leaned in and requested a Cosmopolitan. I would use my opportunity to thank him as my opening line. I knew better than to waste the opportunity that was just handed to me.

As we picked up our drinks, I nodded to Roxy with a wink, Come on, let’s go thank him.

He looked over his shoulder with a flashy smile as he noticed us approaching him. Turning toward me, he placed his hand in the small of my back, guiding me into his circle of friends.

He was even better looking up close than from a distance. And, God, he smelled so good—like a subtle version of the men’s cologne counter at a department store.

He was about to invite Roxy to join us, but as both of us looked back in her direction, we noticed she had been distracted by some hot cowboy standing in near proximity to the band. Obviously, she was attracted to this guy. I could tell she was in full Roxy mode and giving him her trademark sideways glance.

Since your friend is otherwise occupied, would you care to join us? he invited.

His voice resonated in a throaty bass. His diction was sharp and precise. No trace of a drawl! This was not