Around the gym they went, Jess sashaying for all she was worth, arms held gracefully to the side like a ballerina. She checked over her shoulder. They were all following her like so many baby ducks. “You're doing great,” she called. The children smiled. The parents watching smiled. She smiled.
And then something sneaked in front of her foot, something big and thick and pain inducing.
Down she went like a whale doing a belly flop, her startled “Oomph” ricocheting off the walls of the gym, and probably floating out the door for half of Heart Lake to hear. All her students stopped in mid-sashay to stare. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the incredulous gaping of the parents seated on the edge of the gym and Brenda Bletznik eagerly leaning forward in her seat, taking in every detail. She clambered to her feet and turned to see what had caught her so unaware. The stupid practice beam—why hadn't she noticed someone had moved it?
“Are you all right?” called Brenda.
“I'm fine,” she replied with a game smile. It was a lie. Her ankle was on fire and so was her toe, just like her face.
“We'd better move this balance beam a little bit.” If she wasn't in so much pain she'd have kicked it. “We don't want anyone else to trip, do we?” Not that anyone else would. She was the only klutz in the room. She picked up one end of the thing and heaved it out of the way. It fell with a satisfying whump, but the satisfaction only lasted long enough for Jess to remember that she'd have to move it back on the mat for the kids later. She returned to where her students stood gaping, limping as she went. Ow, ow, ow. She looked down. Her ankle was already swelling.
“Okay, everyone,” she said weakly, “we're going to sit down and stretch for a minute.” And while her little dears stretched, she crawled to the phone and called Mary Lou. “Can you come down here? I think I need help.”
She also needed Advil, ice, a doctor visit, and an Ace bandage. So far the queen of the gym was not having a very successful reign.
• 8 •
Warm air caressed Jess's face as she limped out her front door on Friday to go meet with Rachel and Tiffany. It wasn't their usual craft night. This gettogether was at Tiff's request.
The sky was blue, almost every flower bed in Cupid's Loop was in full, fragrant bloom and somewhere a robin was singing. It was, in short, a beautiful evening. The only thing marring it was Jess's uncertain future, she thought miserably as she made her way next door to Rachel's two-story colonial.
She diverted her eyes when she passed her little red Volk-swagen convertible, not wanting to see the For Sale sign in the window.
“You love that car. Are you sure?” Michael had asked her before finalizing the ad on Craigslist.
She'd steeled herself and said, “Yes. We don't need the car payments.” Her finance book had reminded her what pioneers crossing the desert learned when faced with a choice between keeping their possessions and surviving: lighten the load. She wanted to survive. Someday, down the road, she'd get another little red convertible. Meanwhile they had Michael's car and the truck, which was free and clear. How many vehicles did two people need, anyway?
“I feel awful, babe,” he'd said, like it was, somehow, his fault that she was being responsible and shedding financial deadweight.
She'd wrapped her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. “Well, don't. It's only a car. And if we find a buyer it will be one less headache.”
At least that was her story, and she was stickin’ to it.
Her feet disappeared in Rachel's shaggy grass as she crossed the lawn. Gardening wasn't Rachel's favorite chore and she had trouble keeping up with the rest of the block when it came to yard maintenance. Of course, it was nothing compared to the house on the other side of Rachel, which had been in foreclosure. That was fast becoming the neighborhood eyesore—not good for property values.
A large grocery bag sat on Rachel's front porch with some kind of dirt-encrusted plant bulbs inside. Maybe Rachel was about to change her ways and get in touch with her inner gardener.
Jess knocked on the door, and then let herself in. Rachel and Tiffany were already in the formal living room with glasses of iced tea.
“What happened to your foot?” asked Rachel.
“Occupational hazard,” said Jess. At the rate she was going she was going to have to find a new occupation before she killed herself. “What's with the bag on the front porch?” she asked, accepting an iced tea from Rachel.
“It's rhubarb,” said Tiffany. “Maude brought it to the salon to-day. We're supposed to split it three ways.”
“Never turn down free food. That's my new motto,” put in Rachel.
“Speaking of free things,” said Tiffany, “that's actually why I wanted to meet tonight. I want us to start being a money group.”
“What does that mean exactly?” asked Rachel.
“I'm not sure,” said Tiff. “I thought if we met every week and talked about what we were learning from all those books you got at the library it would …” She stopped and gave a little shrug. “I don't know. Keep us on track.”
“That might not be a bad idea,” Rachel mused.
“And maybe you guys can help me not spend money,” Tiffany said. She gnawed her lip, making Jess and Rachel exchange concerned glances. “My Diva on a Dime book is great, but she's not exactly around when I'm having a money problem. I need some-thing like AA that we could do here in our own neighborhood. I mean, Rachel, you're going to have to be on a budget, and Jess, if you don't move …”
“We'll be on the street,” Jess finished glumly. Okay, that was overstating it. They'd have her little paycheck and Michael's unemployment. But they weren't exactly going to be rolling in dough, and it was going to be a challenge to pay the mortgage and the bills on their new and unimproved income. “Why, oh why didn't we save more when we were making good money?” she lamented.
“The same reason I never squirreled away a nest egg,” Rachel said, with a shrug. “I thought I was doing fine.”
The three women fell silent. A faint kaboom echoed from the TV room as something blew up in the movie David and his friends were watching.
“It's not too late,” Tiffany finally said. “We can help each other. We've got the books. How about instead of doing crafts once a month we meet once a week and work on budgets and find ways to save money?”
“Design our own money class?” asked Rachel.
“And support group,” added Tiffany.
“All right,” Rachel said decisively. “I don't think any of us is going to inherit a million dollars in the next few months, so we'd better do what we can with what we've got.”
“Since you're the teacher, you can lead it,” said Tiffany. “Okay?”
“Me? I don't teach economics, you know. I teach grade-schoolers,” Rachel protested.
“Perfect,” said Tiff, undeterred by her reluctance. “That means you won't make it too hard.” Rachel still hesitated, so she added, “You don't have to be an expert, just keep us organized and on track.”
Rachel heaved a resigned sigh. “Okay. I'll see if I can pull something together for our first meeting.”
“Awesome!” cried Tiff happily.
“Goody,” said Jess grumpily. It had been hard putting her car up for sale. Somehow, in light of what was happening here, she suspected that, like the pioneers, she still had a lot of desert to cross.
The next Friday the three women reconvened at Rachel's house.
Jess's portion of the evening was fun as she had brought the ingredients for homemade bath salts, providing them with an inexpensive craft.
Rachel's contribution didn't go over quite as well. “Your spending personality?” Both of Jess's eyebrows rocketed up as she read the questionnaire Rachel handed her. “I don't know if I want to know mine.”
Rachel sneaked a look at Tiffany. Tiff was curled up in an easy chair, twirling a lock of blonde hair and scowling at the paper.
“You guys wanted to do this. Remember?”
“I didn't
want to do this,” retorted Tiffany.
“Look, we've all got leaky financial boats. If we're going to get to that golden shore of solvency we need two things: a better paddle, as in ways to bring in more income, and a way to plug the leaks.”
“I think right now I should work at finding a better paddle,” said Jess. “I've already got my car up for sale so that will plug a major leak.”
“Oh, your cute little car,” mourned Tiffany. “Gosh, that's so sad.”
“No, that's smart,” Rachel approved. “But look. If we don't get a handle on why we spend we're bound to keep springing leaks. At least that's what one of my books said.”
“That makes sense,” Jess admitted grudgingly. “It sounds like about as much fun as a mammogram, but let's do it.”
“We can start with me,” Rachel offered. “I'm a guilt spender.”
“How do you know that?” asked Tiffany.
Rachel could feel her cheeks growing warm. “Because that's what motivates where a lot of my money goes. Both Claire and David get an allowance, but every time they want money for some-thing I give it to them.”
“Maybe you don't give them big enough allowances,” suggested Tiffany.
Rachel shook her head. “That's not it. Deep down, I think I've known for a long time that I'm trying to buy my children's love.”
“They already love you,” Tiffany said.
Rachel found it suddenly hard to look at her friends. “I know they do, but I want them to love me more than Aaron. Pretty sick, huh? I mean, he is their father. But he's such a bastard. Somehow, it doesn't seem fair that he gets the same amount of love. So I've let myself get sucked into this sick bidding war that I can't possibly win.”
Tiffany heaved a sympathetic sigh.
“Someday he'll get what he deserves,” Jess predicted, and belted a pithy line from Jo Dee Messina's “Lesson in Leavin’.”
“Meanwhile, he's Mr. Popularity and I'm Meanie Mom,” said Rachel. “And I'm really going to be Meanie Mom when I break the news to them that we can't afford to go anywhere this summer.”
“We've got a great lake right here. Do you really need to go somewhere?” asked Jess. “How about planning a staycation?”
“Hmmm. I've read about those,” said Rachel. “But I never thought of trying one before.”
“I know what the diva on a dime would do,” piped Tiffany. “She'd make staying home like a camp and do beading and baking and fun stuff like that. I could come over and give free pedicures to Claire and her friends. We could have a girls’ spa day.”
“I like it,” Rachel said with a nod. “That takes care of Claire. Any suggestions on what can I do for David?”
“Let him camp out in a tent in the backyard and he'll be happy,” Jess assured her. “I'll even throw in a few tennis lessons with Aunt Jess.”
Rachel found herself smiling. She could do this. She'd save money over the summer and go into fall with a healthy bank account, which would be a good thing considering the lack of teaching positions posted on the school district's Web site. She suddenly remembered the looming orthodontist bills. Well, semihealthy.
“Look at that,” Jess was saying, “you've already saved a small fortune by not going on vacation. You can hunker down and pay the bills.”
“I need to find a way to bring in more money though,” said Rachel. She tapped her chin with her pencil. “Maybe I can find some parents who would be willing to pay me for tutoring.”
“You could do a get-ready-for-school program in August,” suggested Jess. “I'd have been all over that when Mikey was little.”
Rachel nodded and made a note to herself. “I like it. Okay, that takes care of me. Who wants to go next?”
Her friends fell quiet.
“You know, this doesn't work like in the classroom where you just keep your head down and hope the teacher doesn't call on you. We all have to take turns.”
“Okay, I'll go next,” said Jess in a resigned tone.
As they talked about Jess's expenditures, it was easy to see Jess did a good job of rationalizing whatever she spent.
“But I don't normally do that,” Jess excused herself. “I mean the work wardrobe—I had to have that. And we can't go in and see Mike's mom and not take her out to dinner.”
“Why not?” asked Rachel. “You could bring her something.”
“You know I don't cook,” Jess replied.
“The diva on a dime says you save a fortune by making food from scratch,” said Tiffany.
That went over like a failed soufflé.
“It's a great way to be creative,” said Rachel.
“You can't be creative in everything,” argued Jess.
“She's a rationalizer,” Tiffany said as she doodled on her paper. “Write that down,” she added.
Jess frowned and wrote.
And then it was Tiffany's turn under the microscope. “I already know,” she said in a small voice. “I'm a retail therapy shopper.”
With a little sob, she confessed her latest relapse. Soon she was spilling everything, from her other spending relapse to her concern that she couldn't give Brian the family they both wanted.
“Don't give up,” said Jess, handing her a tissue. “Look at me. I had a miscarriage, but now I have two great kids.”
Tiffany nodded and blew her nose. She smiled at Jess, trying to convey that she'd be fine.
Maybe they all would, because by the end of the evening Jess was smiling and Tiffany was looking determined. And Rachel was pumped. “Here's to small changes,” she said.
“They'd better make a big difference fast,” added Jess grimly.
On Monday Rachel took Claire to Dr. Rencher for a consultation and took her first step toward change. Braces were definitely in order. “Then let's get started,” she said to him after they'd finished the consult. “Bill Aaron. He's taking care of this.”
She left the office with a smile. Before yesterday she'd have sucked it up and paid her share (which, knowing Aaron, would have wound up being three-quarters of the bill). Not today. She had a new attitude.
And somewhere, a little gremlin was cowering.
Every Day, in Every Way, We're Getting Better and Better
• 9 •
It's going to take forever to pay off my credit cards,” Tiffany complained to Cara at the salon.
“So speed up the process,” said Cara as she swept a pile of hair from the floor. “Girl, you got a fortune in clothes hanging in your closet. Sell ’em on eBay.”
Tiffany looked at Cara as if she had suggested Tiffany cut off an arm.
“You can make money doing that. My sister in California is.”
“What's she selling?” asked Tiffany.
“Stuff she finds at garage sales. Last year she got all kinds of cool junk: Victoria's Secret powder, knockoff purses, Gucci sandals.”
Tiffany's eyes bugged. “Serious?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Gucci sandals at a garage sale—now, that was worth looking into.
“I'm thinking I might start an eBay business,” she said to Rachel later that day. “Want to hit some garage sales this Saturday?”
Rachel nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I haven't been to a garage sale in years. Sure, I'll ride shotgun.” She studied Tiffany a moment. “You're not a morning person. You do know you have to get up early if you're going to get the bargains, right? A lot of these start at eight.”
Tiffany set her jaw like a soldier preparing for battle. “I shop the Thanksgiving sales. I can do this. I'll be at your place at seven-thirty.”
True to her word, Tiffany was on Rachel's front porch at 7:28 on Saturday morning, clad in a top, jeans, and flip-flops. “Caffeine,” she mumbled. “We've got to hit The Coffee Stop.”
“Oh, no we don't,” Rachel corrected her. She brought Tiffany in the house and poured her a cup of coffee. Then she squirted in some chocolate syrup. “A poor woman's mocha,” she said, handing it to Tiffany. “No dribbling our money away anymore. Right?
”
Tiffany grunted and took a sip, then looked surprised. “You know, this isn't bad.” After consuming half the mug Tiffany's brain joined the party. “This is going to be fun,” she said as Rachel's minivan coughed its way down the street. She stopped talking and listened. “What is wrong with this thing?”
“Nothing that a good mechanic who wants to work for free can't fix,” said Rachel with a shrug.
“Maybe we should take my car,” Tiffany suggested. “It's newer.”
“Don't be a snob,” teased Rachel. “This one is free and clear.”
“Yeah, but will it get us where we want to go?”
“Of course.”
“Well, it better,” Tiff said, and downed the last of her mocha. “I've got twenty-five dollars to spend. I hope I can find something with it. I have to prove to Brian that this can work.”
“I take it he's not excited about your moneymaking scheme,” Rachel observed.
“He thinks I've found a new way to spend money. But you have to spend money to make money. Jess said that,” Tiffany added.
“A lot of people have said that,” Rachel informed her. “Let's hope they're right.”
Tiffany proved to be a garage sale power shopper. She had an eye for finding valuable trinkets and she was fast. She found a Lenox figurine for five dollars and beat a senior citizen to a jazzy, pink rhinestone clock.
Rachel felt the woman's scowl like a laser beam. Tiff was oblivious.
“Wow,” said Rachel, as they drove away. “You don't mess around.”
“This is business,” said Tiffany. She tapped the little clock thoughtfully. “But I may keep this.” Rachel frowned at her and she added, “Or not.”
Soon they were almost out of money and time, as Tiffany had appointments at the salon. “Okay, one more,” said Rachel, “then we'll go home. This should be a good one. It's right on the lake.”
She was right. She could tell even as they pulled up. The house was relatively new and not only was the garage open for business, the owners had spread some wares along the driveway, too. “Treasure Island,” Rachel predicted with a grin.
Small Change Page 8
