To become eligible to win, all you have to do is ask a question or leave a comment on all three days. One lucky reader who comments with their email address is put in a pot to win the book. However, they must sign up for our email updates prior to the author’s appearance.
When the women share their problems at their weekly crafting group, they decide to band together to take control of their finances. As they struggle to bring balance back to their checkbooks and their lives, they learn that some things in life, like good friends, are truly priceless.
There it sat, a Cloud Nine queen-sized luxury gold comforter with red ribbon applique and metallic embroidery. Forty percent off. It was the last one left. Tiffany Turner had seen it, and so had the other woman.
The woman caught Tiffany looking at it and her eyes narrowed. Tiffany narrowed hers right back. Her competitor was somewhere in her fifties, dressed for comfort in jeans and a sweater, her feet shod in tennis shoes for quick movement – obviously a sale veteran, but Tiffany wasn’t intimidated. She was younger. She had the drive, the determination.
It took only one second to start the race. The other woman strode toward the comforter with the confidence that comes with age, her hand stretched toward the prize.
Tiffany chose that moment to look over her competitor’s shoulder. Her eyes went wide and she gasped. “Oh, my gosh.” Her hands flew to her face in horror.
The other woman turned to see the calamity happening in back of her.
And that was her undoing. In a superhuman leap, Tiffany bagged the comforter
just as her competitor turned back. Score.
Boy, if looks could kill.
It would be rude to gloat. Tiffany gave an apologetic shrug and murmured, “Sorry.”
The woman paid her homage with a reluctant nod. “You’re good.”
Yes, I am. “Thanks,” Tiffany murmured, and left the field of battle for the customer service counter.
As she walked away, she heard the other woman mutter, “Little beast.”
Okay, now she’d gloat.
She was still gloating as she drove home from the mall an hour later. She’d not only scored on the comforter, she’d gotten two sets of towels (buy one, get one free), a great top for work, a cute little jacket, a new shirt for Brian, and a pair of patent metallic purple shoes with 3 1/2 inch heels that were so hot she’d burn the pavement when she walked. With the new dress she’d snagged at thirty percent off (plus another ten percent off for using her department store card), she’d be a walking inferno. Brian would melt when he saw her.
Her husband would also melt if he saw how much she’d spent today, so she had to beat him home. And since he would be back from the office in half an hour, she was now in another race, one that she didn’t dare lose. That was the downside of hitting the mall after work. She always had to hurry home to hide her treasures before Brian walked in the door. But she could do it.
Tiffany followed the Abracadabra shopping method: get the bargain and then make it disappear for a while so you could later insist that said bargain had been sitting around the house for ages. She’d learned that one from her mother. Two years before, she had successfully used the Guessing Game method: bring home the bargains and lull husband into acceptance by having him guess how incredible little you’d paid for each one.
She’d pull a catch of the day from its bag and say, “Guess how much I paid for this sweater.”
He’d say, “Twenty dollars.”
“Too high,” she’d reply with a smirk.
“Okay. Fifteen.”
“Too high.
“Ten.”
“Nope. Eight ninety-nine. I’m good.”
And she was. As far as Tiffany was concerned the three sexiest words in the English language were fifty percent off. She was a world-class bargain hunter (not surprising since she’d sat at the feet of an expert – her mom), and she could smell a sale a mile away.
Great as she was at ferreting out a bargain, she wasn’t good with credit cards. It hadn’t taken Tiffany long to snarl her finances to the point where she and Brian had to use their small, start-a-family savings and Brian’s car fund to bail her out.
She’d felt awful about that, not only because she suspected they’d never need that family fund anyway (that suspicion was what led to her first shopping binge), but because Brian had suffered from the fallout of her mismanagement. He’d had his eye on some rusty old beater on the other side of the lake and had been talking about buying and restoring it. The car wound up rusting at someone else’s house, thanks to her. Even the money they’d scraped together for her bailout wasn’t enough. She’d had to call in the big guns: Daddy. That had probably been harder on Brian than waving good-bye to their savings.
“Tiffy, baby, you should have told me,” he said the day the awful truth came out and they sat on the couch, her crying in his arms. She would have, except she kept thinking she could get control of her runaway credit card bills. It seemed like one minute she only had a couple and the next thing she knew they’d bred and taken over. “I thought I could handle it.”
It was a reasonable assumption since they both worked. There was just one problem: their income had never quite managed to keep up with the demands of life. It still didn’t.
She sighed. Brian so didn’t understand. All he did was pay the mortgage, utilities, and the car payments. He had no idea how much it really cost to live. First of all, they had to eat. Did he have any idea how much wine cost? Or meat? Even toilet paper wasn’t cheap. And they had to have clothes. She couldn’t show up at Salon H to do nails in sweats, for heaven’s sake. What woman wanted to go to a nail artist who looked like a slob? Food and clothes were the tip of the expense iceberg. Friends and family had birthdays; she couldn’t give them IOU’s. And she had to buy Christmas presents. And decorations. And hostess gifts. Now it was June and soon there would be picnics at the lake and neighborhood barbecues. A girl could hardly show up empty handed. Then there were the bridal showers to attend, and baby . . . No, no. She wasn’t going there.
After the great credit card clean-up the Guessing Game method lost its effectiveness and she’d had to retire it. Hiding her purchases worked better anyway . . . .
She should take it all back. Brian probably wouldn’t get that excited about the shoes or the dress anyway. Just show up naked. That was what her friends always joked. Even naked she couldn’t explain about the new charge cards. Not these days.
Her best bet was to get home before Brian. She could make it. Her foot pressed down harder on the accelerator. She wouldn’t buy anything more all month, and she’d take back the shoes. But the dress- fifty percent off, for heaven’s sake.
Just get home and ditch the stuff. Then you can decide what to do. She roared off the exit ramp then turned right onto Cedar Springs Road. Ten more minutes and she’d be in Heart Lake Estates. The finish line was in sight.
Oh, no. What was this behind her? Her stomach fell at the sight of the flashing lights. Nooo. This was so unfair. Yes, she was going fifteen minutes over the speed limit, but she had an emergency brewing here. And thirty was too slow. What sicko had decided you could only go thirty on this road anyway? It was probably someone who had no life, nowhere to be, no husband to beat home.
A conversation started at the back of her brain.
Brian: Hey, I beat you home. Where were you?
Tiffany: Just out running some errands.
Brian: What’s that piece of paper in your hand?
Tiffany: Ummm.
She could not, COULD NOT get a speeding ticket. They couldn’t afford it.
Heart thudding, she watched as the policeman got out of his patrol car. He was big and burly. Big men loved sweet, little blondes with blue eyes. That had to work in her favor. She saw the wedding ring on his finger. Darn. It would have worked more in her favor if he’d been single.
She let down her window and showed him the most pitiful expression she could muster. “I was speeding, I know, but pleease don’t give me a ticket. I haven’t had a ticket since I was eighteen.” Actually, twenty, but close enough. Parking tickets didn’t count. Neither did citations for running stop signs. “I promise I won’t speed again. Ever. If I come home with a speeding ticket . . . ” And a trunk full of shopping bags. She couldn’t even think about it. She might as well throw herself in the lake and be done with it.
The officer regarded her sadly. Good, she’d won his sympathy. She looked back at him with tears in her eyes.
“Lady, you were going twenty miles over the limit. I can’t not give you a ticket.”
What? What was this? “Oh, God, please.” Now she opted to shed the tears. They were just wasted sitting around in her eyeballs. “My husband will kill me.” How was she going to pay on her credit card if she had to use the money for a stupid speeding ticket?
“Don’t worry,” said the officer.
“Yes?” He’d had a change of heart. She was saved! Long live blonde.
“They take Mastercard at the courthouse. May I have your driver’s license and registration please?”
Tiffany’s jaw dropped. “What kind of sick thing is that to say?”
“License and registration,” he prompted.
She fished them out of the glove compartment and handed them over. “I’m so not buying tickets to the policeman’s ball,” she sniffed.
“We’re not doing one this year,” he said, and walked back to his car.
# # #
Rachel finished up in the classroom. Then she went to pick up the kids from Aaron’s office, where they were getting their semi-annual check-ups. The sun was shining and the lake was looking especially idyllic, ringed with evergreens and cozy houses. Colorful bundles of blooms erupted from the heart-shaped hanging flower baskets along downtown Lake Way. Late afternoon snackers gathered at tables outside the Sweet Somethings bakery. Funny. It didn’t look like the end of the world.
She frowned, listening to the mini-van’s stumbling motor. It would have to go to the car doctor while she still had a hope of paying for repairs. Maybe she’d let the thing die. Heart Lake was a small town and the kids could bike everywhere. So could she, come to think of it. Great for the thighs, and think of the money she’d save on gas. Go green.
She stopped by the Safeway on her way to pick up a take-and-bake pizza for dinner. No pop though. Aaron had always been adamant about banning soda pop from the house – bad for the teeth. Allowing Claire and David to drink it would be a small, inexpensive way to enjoy a bit of parental one-upsmanship, but Rachel wasn’t about to play that game. Aaron was right about the pop, and when it came to the children, one of them had to be a team player.
Of course, she didn’t get by with only purchasing what she’d come in for. By the time she was done, she knew her grocery bill had sneaked up an extra forty dollars. Oh well, she thought fatalistically, they had to eat.
Dan the checker had just finished ringing up her purchases when her friend and next door neighbor, Jessica Sharp, pulled her cart up behind Rachel. Jess was in her early forties. She had short, dark hair, which she kept cut in the latest style, the kind of face that turned heads, and a great, curvy body, which she tended to view as overweight. She drove a red Volkswagon convertible, bought fresh flowers every week, and got her hair and nails done regularly. She didn’t work and she didn’t worry about money.
At least she never used to. Rachel had sometimes envied her friend’s easy life, but not so much now, not with the troubles at her husband’s bank, which had gotten bought out by a bigger bank. Her husband’s job was in jeopardy and Jess was about to join the end of the world club. Today she was wearing a black, ribbed sleeveless Tee, jeans, and red flip-flops decorated with poufy red flowers. She also wore dark circles under her eyes.
“Any news on Micahel’s job?” asked Rachel.
Jess shook her head. “I used to think no news was good news. Silly me. Waiting is killing us.”
“Waiting only starts the dying process,” Rachel said glumly. She pointed to the wine bottle in Jess’s shopping cart. “If that’s for craft night on Friday you’d better get more. After this week I’ll probably inhale an entire bottle single-handed.”
“I hear you,” said Jess. “And don’t worry. I’ve got something special in mind for Friday. I’ll stock up on chocolate, too.”
It would take an entire vat of chocolate to raise her endorphin level, Rachel thought as she left the store. She turned onto Deerwood Avenue where Aaron had his dental office. Before he moved in with Misty the lingerie model he brought the kids home after their checkups, but that changed in a hurry. Misty didn’t like Aaron coming by the house without her. Misty was smarter than she looked . . . or at least she had good instincts.
The children were already finished with their check-ups and hanging out in the waiting room when Rachel arrived. As always, the place smelled faintly of chemicals. Lately, it seemed to Rachel that it smelled like money, too. This was probably simply her imagination getting fired up by the sight of the expensive new carpet and freshly painted walls. Light green. Between the walls and the turquoise glass window in the door, she always felt like she was underwater when she came in here.
“Hi Mom,” ten-year-old David greeted her. He was a cute boy, with Rachel’s long legs. Once he grew into his feet he’d probably tower over both her and Aaron. The basketball court was already second home to him and he could dart around anyone in his way like he had wings on his feet, but at home he tended to trip over everything. Right now he was smiling and clutching a new game for the Wii Aaron had recently given the kids. “Look what Dad gave me.” He rushed to show her, nearly stepping on the toes of a harried looking businessman in a nearby chair. “Sorry,” David muttered as the man frowned and pulled his feet under his chair.
Rachel looked at the expensive prize and smiled around gritted teeth. “That was nice of him.” She supposed she should be grateful that at least this time Aaron hadn’t given their son some gadget that would require the frequent purchase of batteries.
“Can I go over to his house and play it?”
Of course, Aaron had opted to keep the Wii console at his place even though David and Claire were only over there every other weekend.
“I’ll bet you have homework,” Rachel said.
David’s smile evaporated.
Thank you, Aaron, for making me the meanie. “I tell you what,” she said. “You get your homework done, then I’ll run you over to Dad’s. He can take you to school in the morning.”
Now David was beaming. He gave her a kiss and said, “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”
Yes, she was. Aaron was the faux best.
Twelve-year old Claire sat slumped in a chair and had yet to surface from behind a copy of People. She had the same dark coloring as Rachel and big, brown eyes, and she’d inherited Rachel’s full lips. But, much to Claire’s dismay, she had inherited her father’s nose. It was a little long, but it wasn’t a bad nose, really. Still, it wasn’t a Miley Cyrus nose, which, for Claire, meant it was ugly. Rachel knew her daughter would grow up to be striking, and she assured Claire of that practically on a daily basis, but motherly assurance was a very small shield to carry against peer-driven standards of beauty.
“What did Daddy give you?” Rachel asked her. Why did she ask? Did she really want to know?
Her face still buried behind People, Claire produced a gift certificate to The Coffee Stop from her hoody pocket and held it up.
Her daughter was barely communicating, and behind that magazine hid a scowly face. Something had put Claire in a funk and Rachel could already guess what it was. The threat of braces, which had been looming on the horizon, had finally materialized. “It looks like several Vanilla Chai smoothies for you,” she said, using her un-phased mother voice. She stepped up to the reception window where Aaron’s young receptionist Liz sat, smiling politely. Polite was the best Liz could give Rachel since the divorce. This hardly came as a surprise. Aaron would, of course, have posed as a long-suffering husband whose wife didn’t understand him.
She smiled back just as politely. “Hi Liz. Can you tell Aaron I’m here?”
“He’s finishing with a patient. I’ll tell him.”
Rachel nodded and sat down in a chair next to her daughter. She gave Claire a playful shoulder nudge. “So, are you reading about me?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Lame, Mom.”
Ah, the love. If she hadn’t been twelve, herself, once, she’d have been offended.
“How did your checkup go?”
Claire shrugged. “It sucked.”
That said it all. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want braces.” The words came out, powered by misery. A hand went to Claire’s eyes to swipe at fast-forming tears.
“Oh, baby,” said Rachel, putting an arm around her. “I know you don’t.”
“Tell Daddy I don’t want them,” Claire begged. “My teeth aren’t that bad.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Rachel promised, more to make her daughter feel better than because she thought it would do any good. Braces were, after all, the American way.
Claire nodded and wiped away more tears.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel could see Aaron approaching. He was forty-four, tall and broad shouldered, with wavy dark hair salted with a hint of gray to make him look both distinguished and trustworthy. He was walking proof that looks were deceiving.
“How about you two go wait in the car?” she suggested to the children. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Okay. Bye Dad,” called David, bouncing out of the room, completely clueless to the unfolding family drama.
Claire stalked out after him without a word to her father.
“She’s happy,” Rachel observed.
“We really need to get her into braces,” he said. “It’s time. I can set up a consultation for you with Rencher for next week if you like.”
Rachel was aware of Liz, sitting a few feet away from them, pretending to work. “Let’s talk.” She took Aaron’s arm and pulled him out the door onto the second floor landing. “This is not good timing for me.”
He frowned. “Rachel. This is our daughter.”
She felt a sudden need to kick him in the shin. “I’m glad you used the word ‘our’. Does that mean you’re going to take care of this expense?”
His frown deepened. “Of course I’ll pay my share.”
“Your share always seems to be smaller than mine.”
Now he stiffened and looked down his nose at her. “Is that so? Need I remind you who got the house?”
“And all the bills to go with it,” she retorted sweetly.
“Between what you make and the hefty amount I give you,” he began.
“Hefty?” she said with a snort. “Oh, please.”
“Rachel, can we stick to the subject?” he suggested in a pained voice.
“I am sticking to the subject. I can’t afford braces. I’m not getting hired back next year.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
For a moment he almost had her convinced that he was sorry for her, but then she remembered whom she was dealing with. Aaron was only sorry because he suspected her problems meant he’d be asked to step up to the plate and help more. When it involved parting with large chunks of money for anything that wasn’t his idea and that didn’t directly benefit Aaron Green, his heart went into lockdown and his wallet slammed shut.
“We’ll work something out,” he assured her. “I’ll talk to Rencher about setting up a payment plan.”
“For who?”
Answer either of the questions below in the comment box to become eligible to win a free copy of Small Change on Friday!
Title: Excuse Me, Your Life is Waiting!
Recent Comments