Where the grass grows bl.., p.1
Where the Grass Grows Blue, page 1
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.
After navigating her way through a labyrinth of opulent stores and high-end dining establishments, Penny finds the exit to the parking deck, praying she can remember where she’s left her SUV. After several fruitless trips up and down the long, narrow rows of minivans and overpriced coupes, she resorts to using her key fob. With unsteady hands, she presses the emergency button in hopes she’s close enough to set off the alarm. If ever there was an emergency, this is it. Her car horn screeches only two rows away.
Once she unlocks the door, she jumps into the driver’s seat. Clutching her purse, which contains the little blue box without the white bow, she begins shaking with fear, as if a poisonous snake is slithering around, trying to escape its leather confines so it can strike, injecting her with its venom. But in this case, it will sink its sharp fangs of truth into her crumbling heart, which will be more destructive than what any neurotoxin can foment. It’s no use trying to avoid the inevitable, so Penny rips off the bandage and faces the ugly truth.
“Wow.” She gasps, looking down at the bracelet, which is stunning—a real showstopper. One could not wear a piece of jewelry like this without the whole world taking notice, marveling at its beauty and insane cost. Penny would never wear such a garish display of diamonds. Simplicity is her style trademark, as she opts to wear only her engagement ring with a thin plain band resting below, one set of diamond studs her in-laws bequeathed her on the eve of her wedding, and one bracelet, the one her husband did give her.
Lifting the bracelet from its box, she allows the precious stones to encircle her wrist. The coolness upon her skin causes it to prickle, and the fine blond hairs on her arm stand at attention. She admires its beauty while noting how heavy twenty carats of diamonds feel. Right now, it’s hard to fathom that something so simple as compressed carbon could also be the demise of her marriage, her life, or worse, the lives of her children.
Once she clicks the double clasp into place, she lifts her hand parallel to her face, inspecting the bracelet. The bracelet dangles, creating a gap so large that she can fit most of her left hand through it. Her mouth begins to water, and she swallows hard, trying to suppress the warning sign that her stomach is about to betray her. Knowing her lunch from Henri’s is ready to reappear at any moment, she lowers her wrist to end the excruciating suspense once and for all. As she fears, the twenty carats of diamonds slip effortlessly from her wrist, falling into her lap. Nothing stops their short journey down. Obviously, this piece of jewelry isn’t hers.
“Dammit,” she whispers, resting her head on the steering wheel while the grandiose display of affection remains untouched in her lap. The dreaded waterworks she’s kept at bay release. However, these tears are not just from grief but anger as well. Once again, Penny’s been let down by yet another man, an all-too-common occurrence for her. Though she’s never believed in fairy tales—growing up with an alcoholic father will steal any childhood fantasies
After twenty minutes of sobbing alone in her car in the parking garage of Phipps Plaza, Penny pulls out her cell phone. It’s time to call for emergency backup.
“What?” a woman answers curtly.
“Dakota?” Penny asks timidly.
“Of course it’s Dakota. Who else could it be? You called me,” Dakota teases. She’s Penny’s closest confidant in the Peach State. Their husbands, who graduated together from Westminster, introduced them when Penny moved to Atlanta from Nashville. They vacation together each summer as couples, going to the Crenshaws’ Sea Island cottage every Fourth of July. Since their children are close in age, they’re more like siblings than friends.
“Hey,” Penny says, trying to sound casual to her best friend. “Could you do me a favor? I’ve lost all track of time today, and I’m stuck in traffic. There’s no way I can pick up Sammy by two. Maybe grab him for me?”
A long pause follows. “Jesus Christ, Penny, what’s wrong?” Dakota asks.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You’ve never been late for anything in your life, let alone for pickup. What’s going on?”
“Please grab Sammy for me,” Penny asks and clears her throat. “And if you don’t mind, could you pick up Trey and Drew too? Maybe keep them until dinner?”
“Dinner? You’re scaring me now.”
“Dakota, I need you to get the boys,” Penny repeats slowly. “Please take them to your house, and I’ll call you later.”
Penny Crenshaw never passes her duties of being a mother off to someone else. In their eleven years of friendship, Penny is the one in the front of the school pickup line, filling her SUV with other children if another mother finds herself in a jam. Every afternoon, like clockwork, she’s painfully punctual. Dakota, on the other hand, has used her as her personal carpool chauffeur, never once batting an eyelash when a Brazilian wax or blowout appointment is running late.
“I’m on my way. Tell me where you are,” Dakota demands.
“No. The boys. Please get the boys,” Penny says, her voice cracking.
Another long pause follows. “One Mississippi,” Dakota says in a robotic voice. “Two Mississippi.”
Dakota’s counting in a bid to suppress the slew of F-bombs ready to come pouring out of her mouth. The tactic was recommended by Dakota’s husband in hopes that it would curtail the use of his wife’s favorite word after their three-year-old daughter, Kadyn, blurted, “Fuck me,” in front of a class full of impressionable toddlers last month when she spilled paint down the front of her Hannah Kate jumper. Naturally, the entire class began parroting what she said, to the horror of her preschool teacher, who had never witnessed anything like it in thirty years of teaching.
“Three Mississippi.”
The family had made phone calls and sent multiple emails and letters of apology to the teacher, the director of Northside Methodist Preschool, and its senior minister, trying to clean up the mess.
“Four Mississippi.”
Instead of the customary three Mississippis most people use in an attempt to calm down, Dakota’s husband recommended that his wife count to at least ten, since she needed more time than the average person to contain her emotions—or her tongue.
“Five Mississippi.” Dakota’s voice trembles.
Penny senses she’s becoming more agitated with each reference to a state she has nothing in common with, since she’s a “damn Yankee and proud of it!” She’s about to break.
“Oh, fuck it. I’ve got the boys,” Dakota blurts. It’s surprising that she’s lasted this long, as she rarely gets past three. “Just text me when you get wherever you’re going so that I know you’re safe.” This time, Dakota’s voice is the one that’s quivering, and it has nothing to do with the three additional children being dumped on her with no warning.
With her boys safely in her best friend’s hands, Penny begins her journey toward home in Atlanta’s bumper-to-bumper traffic, readying herself to face Teddy. Though Phipps Plaza is only a few miles as the crow flies from her house, at this time of day, it can take twenty minutes by car.
Navigating her oversize SUV down Lenox Road, through a sea of BMWs, she tries piecing together what her husband has done, thinking of all the places he could have taken this other woman, the one with the much larger wrist than hers. Because Teddy controls his work schedule and is constantly traveling, it isn’t a huge shock that he could carry out an affair. Maybe there’s a standing date for them at the St. Regis in Buckhead on Thursday mornings, when Penny runs her usual ten miles before meeting up with her nonrunning friends after their Atlanta Lawn Tennis Association, or ALTA, matches for a quick lunch. The Caroline Astor suite is just the spot for sipping champagne and nibbling on ripe strawberries in bed. Perhaps they had a secret rendezvous in Napa, sampling the finest wines at the French Laundry before taking respite in a cozy cabin at Meadowood. In January, he traveled to California without her to meet with some car developer who had the idea of battery-powered cars. Or worse, she fears, Teddy whisked this woman away to their family cottage on Sea Island, where she decorated and shared so many memories with him and their boys. Now she remembers his sudden impromptu visit to their second home in late February, the worst month of the year to visit the island. The thought that this other woman joined him on his golf sabbatical causes her stomach to churn.
But the details of Teddy’s potential affair aren’t what’s ripping Penny up inside. This isn’t the first time she’s suspected unfaithfulness on her husband’s part. Whispers have swirled about it for years, but she’s ignored the talk because there’s never been any hard evidence supporting it. No, this is about her children and what will happen to them as a result of Teddy’s reckless actions. Because divorce has never been an option for her, Penny turned a blind eye to the sad state of her marriage. A stable home with two loving parents, something she’d been denied as a child, was what she wanted to give her children. So hell-bent on keeping her family together, she’s adopted the strategy of “not poking the bear” as it pertains to her husband. She learned that punishing lesson from her childhood. But Teddy isn’t a monster. On the contrary, he’s mild-mannered, even if he has a wandering eye. But now that eye has done more than just wandered. It’s bought some woman a very large piece of jewelry.
When Penny finally arrives home, ready to face the bear, her husband is packing up his car. Judging by the scene, she realizes the management at Tiffany & Co. has probably called their “special” client, warning him he should seek cover for the colossal screwup they’ve created. Steering her SUV down the long, winding pea gravel driveway, she knows that their brick traditional, with its blue-gray slate roof, will never look the same again. Though the house itself was never to her taste, she happily went along with her husband’s whims as he painstakingly oversaw every detail. He gave her custody of its sprawling grounds, and that was all she wanted. The flower beds, trees, and hedges are hers alone. Every free moment she can spare away from her boys has been spent here, sometimes with them next to her in a Moses basket, sleeping while she worked.
As she pulls in next to the garage, the row of large scarlet azaleas she planted eight years ago—for no self-respecting Georgian would have a yard without the Southern staple—causes her throat to tighten. Mid-April, and they’re in their blooming glory. The groundskeepers at Augusta have nothing on her. She fears that all her blood, sweat, and a couple of tears spent creating this outdoor masterpiece is now for naught.
“Going somewhere?” she asks, rolling down her window and trying to steady her trembling hands.
Without so much as a passing glance, Teddy throws his satchel into the trunk of his car before slamming down the lid. “I don’t want to talk right now.”
The curtness in his voice causes Penny’s pulse to quicken. Resisting the uncontrollable urge to hurl his love trinket into the back of his thoughtless head, she closes her eyes and says, “I went to Tiffany’s today. They gave me a bracelet.”
“I told you I’m not doing this right now,” Teddy says, opening his car door and still refusing to make eye contact.
Exiting her car, Penny reaches for his arm. “I think we need to talk. Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding.”
