The Penny Pinchers Club

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  “And, with Laura moving out to go to college, you’ll need the money.” She opened and closed the linen closet, took one glance at my mess of poorly folded towels, and said, “It’ll help if you clean the place out a bit, remove some of the clutter.”

  We walked down the hall, past the line of framed photos, snapshots of our family life. I didn’t dare look at them in case they made me cry. Again.

  “Coffee?” I suggested, heading toward the kitchen.

  “Kat.” Elaine slid an arm around me. “Maybe it’s too soon. You two have been separated for only weeks.”

  “I know. But . . . it’s what he wants.”

  “Yes, but is it what you want. You love this house. Sure, it’s nothing special.” She frowned at our old blue linoleum counter with the chipped corners. “But, you know, it’s your home.”

  I dumped the old grounds into the trash and put in a new liner. “Griff hates Jersey. The only reason he ended up here was because he followed a girlfriend. Then he met me and I got pregnant and we were stuck.” I poured in the water and flipped it on. “Stuck. Twenty years, stuck.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  Get a condo like Beth Williams and stock shelves at Wegmans, I thought.

  “You have money saved, right?” she pressed.

  “I did. I had $13,000,” I said, opening my bare cabinets, searching for cookies or anything to put out with the coffee.

  “What do you mean you had $13,000? Don’t tell me you spent it?”

  “All of it.” Aha! An unopened box of Girl Scout Thin Mints. How did I miss those? “Every last penny just like that.” I snapped my fingers.

  Elaine slapped her cheek. “After all those months of coupon clipping and no cable and foraging through Dumpsters, you’re telling me you blew through it.”

  I handed her the plate of Thin Mints and took a bite. “It was easy. I forgot how easy it was to spend money. And how much fun.”

  She took a cookie but didn’t eat it. “What did you buy?”

  “A second chance.”

  There was a knock at the door and Elaine and I looked at each other. “Griff,” I said, going to get it. “He knocks now.”

  Sure enough, it was Griff, in a white shirt and jeans, too together and relaxed for my own liking. Did he have to look so fit and happy? “Hi, Kat.”

  “Hi, Griff.” I waved him in. “It is your house, too, you know. For a while.”

  Elaine tensed. “Hi, Griff.”

  “You’re looking good, Elaine.” He bent over and brushed her cheek with a gentlemanly kiss. Not even I had gotten so much as that. “Are we ready?”

  She patted her briefcase. “Have all the paperwork right here.”

  The moment I’d been dreading had arrived as we sat down around the kitchen table and Elaine distributed documents for us to sign. “You know, this is gonna sound dumb, but these are simply your agreements with me. Should you at any time choose to change your mind for whatever reason, you can. I will come over and rip that ‘For Sale’ sign out of the lawn myself, faster than you can—”

  Griff reached over and took her hand. “It’s okay, Elaine. I think Kat and I are agreed. Aren’t we, Kat?”

  Because Elaine was there and he wanted to be polite, he turned and smiled, the first smile he’d given me since the night he left. I wanted to freeze the moment, frame it to put with the other family photos in the hallway so I’d have it forever when he was long gone. “Yup. We’re agreed.”

  Elaine sighed and took out her pens. I’d never met a Realtor so unhappy to sign on new clients. I pretended to listen to her go through the agreement, about the 7 percent and if we’d found a buyer and not her and blah, blah, blah. At one point during her little spiel, I looked over at Griff and he seemed dazed, too.

  Finally, it was over and we were able to sign. First Griff, then me, then Elaine. And then it was over.

  Elaine stood and shook our hands, as if we’d achieved something miraculous. “Oookay,” she said, snapping up her briefcase. “I guess I’ll be going then.”

  Griff shoved his hands in his pockets. “There’s a little matter I’ve got to discuss with Kat.”

  I said, “I’ll walk you to the door, Elaine.”

  “Nope!” She backed up. “I know where the door is.” She practically did the four-minute mile to get away from us.

  When she was gone, Griff motioned for me to sit. “So,” he said, clasping his hands,“how do you feel about selling the old homestead?”

  I loved the way he called it “the old homestead,” like it was some rambling ranch out west and not a crappy aluminum-sided colonial in Jersey. “I think it sucks. However”—I nodded—“I think it’s necessary.”

  “Why? Because we need the money?” Thankfully, he didn’t add, because we’re getting a divorce.

  “Partially.”

  “Because we don’t.” He grinned. “The movie rights to my book on Hunter Christiansen have been sold, Kat. Six figures.”

  I blinked. What normal theatergoer would see a biography on the crusty former chairman of the Federal Reserve? And what studio would pay six figures for it? “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Hollywood’s hot for Hunter. And I gotta say, it’s nice to have money for once.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “But you might know about this.” He reached in his back pocket and unfolded a glossy photo of a house I knew well. It was in Rocky River’s old historic section, at least two hundred years old, with stone walls and four fireplaces.

  “That’s the old Mansfield place,” I said, practically drooling. “I love that house.”

  “Do you?” His eyes twinkled. “Good. Because I bought it.”

  I didn’t dare breathe.

  He added, “For you.”

  “What?” My throat felt tight. “You bought it for me to live in? Alone?” It was an awful thought, me rambling around in that big old house.

  “No, not alone. With me.” He slid his hand over. “If that’s okay.”

  All I could do was stare at that hand. It didn’t seem real. Not his hand. Not this moment in our kitchen with this fantastic house in front of us.

  Not him asking if he could stay with me. I didn’t dare hope or presume. The possibility was too fantastic. The likelihood that I’d misunderstood too devastating.

  “Griff . . .”

  “I’m so sorry I overreacted like that, Kat. It was just that there’s something about Liam that . . .”

  I threw an arm around him and kissed him. Hard. “I don’t work for Liam anymore.”

  “I know. He told me.” Griff played with my hair. “He called last week and came over to my office. We kind of cleared the air.”

  Oh, to have been a fly on the wall that day.

  “So I’m assuming yes on the house . . . because I put in an offer.”

  “That’s too bad.” I went to the drawer in the kitchen where we kept the take-out menus until we quit doing take-out since it was too expensive. “Because I put in an offer, too.”

  I handed him the printout from the Internet. Griff leaned over and studied it like it was a rare piece of parchment.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s sixteen acres in Vermont. Woods. Mountains. End of a dirt road. No running water. No electricity. I bought it for you because this is what you want.”

  “With what money?”

  I shrugged. “Kind of amazing what you can scrape together when you put your mind to it. At least enough for a deposit.” No point in telling him now that it was the money I’d saved on contingency, for a divorce.

  “The Penny Pinchers. You blow me away. I ...” He took another glance at the paper, this time picking it up and laughing. “So now we have to choose between the house you love and the seclusion I crave. It reminds me of that O. Henry short story.”

  “‘The Gift of the Magi.’” I pushed the two photos positioned side-by-side. “Except not even the Gift of the Magi are free.”

  “Nothing�
�s free, Kat.” Griff kissed my neck. “Not even love. Sometimes that costs most of all.”

  Maybe, I thought to myself. But not nearly as much as a divorce.

  TOP FIFTEEN DOS AND DON’TS FROM THE PENNY PINCHERS CLUB

  1) DON’T go grocery shopping with your husband.

  2) DO vacuum the back and underside of your refrigerator once a month and disconnect the icemaker if it hasn’t already stopped working.

  3) DO share high-speed Internet with your next-door neighbors (with their permission).

  4) DON’T buy a durable item when it’s brand-new (except for mattresses, swimsuits, and underwear). Shop for used items at flea markets, thrift stores, or yard sales.

  5) DO knit quick and easy hats and socks from unraveled sweaters.

  6) DON’T buy gas in the afternoon on warm days. Buy it in the early morning, when it’s colder—and thicker—in the ground, to get more bang for your buck. Also, always keep your tank more than half full.

  7) DO place all “phantom” appliances—TVs, DVRs (total energy hogs), stereos, and microwaves—on power strips that are easily turned off at night. Replace all bulbs in the house with five-kilowatt CFLs—compact fluorescent lights.

  8) DON’T pay for curbside trash service; you’ll save $600 a year by recycling and composting instead. Shoot for one bag of trash a week to be taken to the local dump.

  9) DON’T pay for expensive name-brand cleaning products. Remove shower mildew with a mixture of water and bleach for pennies instead of spending $4 for mildew-removing products.

  10) DON’T wash dishes by hand. Use the dishwasher instead, but use only one half of a dishwashing detergent tablet per load.

  11) DO store batteries in the refrigerator. They last longer there.

  12) DON’T watch TV. TV creates artificial wants.

  13) DO save empty plastic liners from cereal boxes to use later as free waxed paper. Also, they make excellent lunch bags.

  14) DO shop the warehouse stores with a frugal girlfriend and split up bulk buys.

  15) DON’T get divorced if you can help it. Saving your marriage can save your IRA.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Like many of us, I’m the daughter of parents who grew up in the Depression and who tried to teach me how to shop for groceries, clip coupons, save leftovers, find the best deals, and, most important, save money. Did I listen? Hah! Therefore, I owe much of this book to them. And all I can say is that I, like most Americans, am finally learning their generation’s lesson the hard way.

  From a more practical point, there were several websites and blogs I visited that offered excellent budgeting tips: betterbudgeting.com, frugal-families.com, usesupermarketcoupons.blogspot.com, and cou ponmom.com to name a few. The Web is filled with hundreds of resources and coupons and upcoming store fliers and I relied on them to show me the way.

  In addition, I owe a huge debt of a different sort to my editor at Dutton, Erika Imranyi, who patiently guided this book back on track with her smart, insightful comments, to my former editor, Julie Doughty, who applauded the idea, and to Dutton publisher Brian Tart for being his usual supportive self. My agent, Heather Schroder, as always, cheered me on.

  Finally, I picked up many tips from our fantastic backbloggers at The Lipstick Chronicles (thelipstickchronicles.typepad.com), where I blog with Nancy Martin, Elaine Viets, Kathy Sweeney, Harley Jane Kozak, Michele Martinez, and Lisa Daily. That blog is a wealth of fun and information. But mostly fun. Stop on by.

  Also, thank you, Charlie, Anna, and Sam, for respecting my closed office door. Fred, not so much.

  I never get tired hearing from readers. Please email me at write sarah@aol.com or contact me through sarahstrohmeyer.com. You never know—I just might have a lead on a good deal.

  Thanks for reading!