Where the Grass Grows Blue

Where the Grass Grows Blue Red Adept Publishing, LLC 104 Bugenfield Court Garner, NC 27529 https://RedAdeptPublishing.com/ Copyright © 2023 by Hope Gibbs. All rights reserved. Cover Art by Streetlight Graphics No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental. Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Where the Grass Grows Blue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author About the Publisher For my husband, Patrick, for always believing in me, and my children, for your love and support through this journey. Spring 2008 Atlanta, Georgia Chapter 1 Breakup at Tiffany’s “Good as new,” the young woman behind the Tiffany & Co. customer service counter says, handing Penny a three-carat emerald-cut solitaire diamond ring. Still warm from the steam, this classic yet understated stone—as much as a diamond that size can be—still takes her breath away. Other than her school ring, it was the first one she ever owned. Over the years, her husband, Teddy, made several attempts to trade it in for a much larger, more ostentatious one. Several of the Crenshaws’ friends around Atlanta had swapped their original engagement rings—small oval or marquise-cut diamonds adequate for a starry-eyed twenty-year-old to swoon over—for monstrous rocks adorned with halos of diamonds, enlarging the gem size by several carats in a perfect compromise for the jaded over-thirty crowd. It quelled their appetites for keeping up with the Joneses while putting a little spark... or rather, sparkle back into their stagnant unions. But Penny still loves the ring given to her in New Orleans all those years ago. “Thank you,” Penny replies, slipping it back on her finger. “I’m sorry it was so dirty. My son and I got a little carried away yesterday.” She spent the afternoon basking in the beauty of her backyard, making dozens of mud pies with Sammy, her youngest and most precocious child. Enjoying the invigorating spring air, they used Dutch clover and its ivory blooms as decorative touches for their mucky masterpieces. She forgot to take off her symbol of love, since it never left her finger, and it became caked with dirt. Her attempts to clean it with dish soap, water, and even Windex only made it worse. After her husband’s passing comment at dinner about how her diamond’s luster was gone, she decided to drop by Phipps Plaza to have it cleaned and its prongs tightened. “It’s no problem. We’re always happy to assist our customers,” the girl replies in a professional tone. “A ring like that doesn’t come my way every day. It’s gorgeous.” “Thank you,” Penny says, turning to leave the posh store. The Crenshaws’ three sons’ afternoon activities await. “Oh! Mrs. Crenshaw, I almost forgot.” The girl slaps her shiny forehead. “Your bracelet is ready. Our jeweler was able to repair the clasp quicker than he expected.” Penny turns around. “My bracelet?” “Yes. I was about to call your husband to tell him it was ready, but since you’re here, I’ll give it to you instead. And. Oh. My. God. It’s stunning. I thought your ring was something, but wow, this bracelet is beyond,” she gushes, disappearing beneath the mahogany-and-glass case before springing back up like a jack-in-the-box. With the aplomb of a game-show model, the girl reveals a black velvet box containing a breathtaking twenty-carat-diamond tennis bracelet. All that’s missing is a delicate flick of the wrist. “You’re such a lucky lady to have a man like this.” The blood drains from Penny’s face, and she must have a deer-in-headlights expression, because the Tiffany’s employee’s blinding smile fades. “Oh no,” the girl says. “Did I ruin the surprise?” Her youthful cheeks are now fire-engine red. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Crenshaw. I assumed you knew about the bracelet, since the clasp was broken, and it needed to be—” The girl purses her lips in a bid to keep her mouth from speaking. “Fixed,” Penny finishes. New jewelry doesn’t require repair. The girl snaps the top of the box back in place, and the pop startles both of them, breaking the awkward moment. After shoving the velvet box into a larger blue one, she tosses it into a Tiffany bag without bothering with the customary white bow. “Have a nice day,” she says, throwing the package across the counter and into Penny’s chest like a live hand grenade. “Y-You too,” Penny stammers, taken aback by the forceful throw. As she places the bag in her navy Tory Burch tote in an attempt to hide the evidence of her husband’s possible transgression, Penny’s throat tightens, and her eyes begin to burn. Before she can collapse into a puddle of tears, she musters her last bit of strength and forces her body through the heavy brass doors while ignoring her woman’s intuition screaming, This bracelet isn’t yours! Though Penny’s of average height, around five feet four, she possesses a bone structure that any ballerina would kill for. Her wrists and fingers are particularly slender. Because of her inability to procure jewelry that accommodates her dainty frame, she wears only one bracelet, a custom-made Cartier Love bangle given to her by Teddy when their oldest son, Trey, was born. If this extravagant bracelet is a gift for Penny, he would’ve remembered his beloved’s unique sizing requirements.