“Smart man,” she teased. “Actually, I'd love it if you came. I want you to meet my friends.”
“I'll see you later, then,” he said.
Sure enough, The Red Hots were finishing up their second set when Chad made his way between the tightly packed tables in the dark little hole in the wall to where Rachel and Tiffany sat, nursing drinks. Actually, Rachel was nursing her drink. Tiff was already on her third.
He slipped into a chair next to Rachel and gave her a kiss and Tiffany pointed at him. “Oh, my gosh. It's … you.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed.
Tiffany's delicately penciled eyebrows took an angry dip. “I thought this was going to be just the girls,” she said to Rachel.
“I wanted to come by and meet Rachel's friends,” Chad said smoothly. “Can you make me an honorary girl for the night?”
“I guess,” Tiff said grudgingly. “It's my birthday,” she informed him. “We're celebrating. I thought it was just the girls,” she repeated, and frowned at Rachel.
The cocktail waitress arrived and Chad ordered a Scotch on the rocks.
“No more for me,” said Tiffany grumpily. “It's no fun to drink alone.”
“So, what are we, chopped liver?” Rachel retorted.
Jess joined them now, eyes shining. “Okay, guys, what do you think?”
“You're great,” said Tiffany. “An all-girl band, that's awesome. Who needs men?”
Okay, this was getting embarrassing. “She's having some problems with her husband,” Rachel explained to Chad. “She's not usually like this.”
“I'm probably going to be like this for the rest of my life,” Tiff said, gazing into her glass.
Jess ignored her as if she was a naughty child, instead turning her attention to Chad. “I'm Rachel's neighbor, Jess Sharp.”
“I've heard a lot about you. Both of you,” Chad added, including Tiffany.
“You'd better not break her heart,” warned Tiff. “She already had one man do that, you know. You're all bastards.”
“That is an opinion not shared by everyone at this table,” said Jess. “Not even Tiffany. Don't let her have any more mudslides,” she said to Rachel.
“I don't want any more,” Tiffany retorted irritably.
Jess ignored her again, saying to Chad, “I love the new color you painted the house.”
“Thanks.”
“My husband is the biggest bastard of them all,” said Tiffany, and downed the last of her drink.
The cocktail waitress arrived with Chad's drink. He paid and gave her a hefty tip, surprising Rachel. For a man who didn't have any money, Chad Alvarez was a big tipper.
Jess saw her bandmates starting for the stage. “I guess I'd better get back to work,” she said, rising. “Thanks for coming, guys.”
Chad stood, politely, seeing her on her way.
A moment later the music started again with Jess singing Alicia Keys’ “Everything's Gonna Be Alright.” “Want to dance?” he asked Rachel.
“Go ahead,” said Tiff, her voice dripping with resentment. “Have fun.”
“This really wasn't one of my better ideas,” Rachel said, once Chad had her in his arms. She looked over to their table. Tiffany was pouting now. Even pouting, she looked cute and a guy in a baseball cap and a Mariner's shirt was already pulling up a chair next to her. “She's not normally like this, really.”
“I understand hurt, don't worry. Everybody has to work through their shit in their own way.” He planted a kiss behind Rachel's ear, making her shiver.
She understood hurt, too. It turned a woman into a raging river of bitter tears. She didn't want to go there ever again. But where was this relationship taking her? She wished she knew. Then she'd know whether to bail out now or chance the rapids. Chad's arm skimmed her back, heating her skin. Surely, surely this was too right to go wrong.
Tiffany decided to stop being a pill. It was no fun being a pill on your birthday. Better to have fun. Break hearts. She clapped and cheered for Jess. She ordered another drink. And she danced. And danced. And danced. “You know,” she told her new number-one fan, taking his hat off and putting it on her head, “Tonight's my birthday and I'm all alone.”
“Well, I can change that if you want.”
“I don't know what I want anymore,” she muttered, punctuating her observation with a hiccup.
“Do you want another drink, birthday girl?”
“No, that's okay,” said Rachel, appearing out of nowhere and giving the guy the stink eye. “She's had enough to drink. It's time to go home.”
That was easy for Rachel, Tiffany thought as her friend hauled her off. Rachel had a home, with children. All Tiffany had was a house.
And it was dark and uninviting. No Jeep in the driveway, which meant she had no husband waiting to make up. She wished she'd remembered to leave a light on as she fumbled for the front hall light switch. There was something so creepy about an empty, dark house.
Suddenly she realized her house wasn't empty. A solitary figure was coming toward her in the dark.
• 22 •
With a shriek, Tiffany grabbed for the vase on the hall table. “Get back!”
“It's me,” protested Brian.
Now that he was closer she could see that it was, indeed, him. She turned on the light and replaced the vase and let out her breath, willing her heart to settle down. “I thought you were a burglar. What were you doing here in the dark? And where's the Jeep?” Maybe he'd thought sneaking into the house and scaring her to death would be cheaper than divorcing her.
“It broke down halfway here. I walked. I've just been sitting and thinking about what a jerk I've been.”
Those were good thoughts. And he walked here to get to her? Her heart melted. “You did?”
“I should have called you, but I wanted to talk to you face to face. Aw, Tiff.” He pulled her to him and hugged her. “I'm so sorry. God, I'm a bastard.”
His voice broke and that was all it took for her to burst into tears. “I thought you hated me.”
He picked her up and carried her to the couch, settling her on his lap. “You should hate me. I'm the one who walked out. It was wrong.”
“I don't blame you for wanting to leave me. It's all my fault we're not pregnant. I can't do anything right. I can't even have a baby.” Saying it out loud ripped her heart in two. “You don't have to stay with me.”
“Tiffy, I don't blame you that we're not pregnant, and I want to be with you whether we have a baby or not.”
She looked up at him, searching his eyes to see if he really meant it, and saw only truth there. She started to cry again. “I've been a terrible wife. I'm sorry I spent all that money.” Both times. “It's just that it … oh, I can't explain it. Somehow, filling the house with nice things, finding bargains— it made me feel good about myself. For a while, anyway.”
He heaved a big sigh. “We should have gone for counseling.”
“We couldn't afford it,” she said, her voice watery. Like they hadn't been able to afford fertility treatments. Except if she hadn't spent so much money maybe they could have at least afforded counseling. What a mess she'd made of things. She so wasn't ready to be a parent. She couldn't even fix her own life. What had made her think she could raise a child? This new thought put her in tears all over again.
“Don't cry,” urged Brian. “Oh, baby, I'm so sorry.” He kissed her and pressed his face to hers. She could feel tears on her cheek but she wasn't sure whose they were. Maybe it didn't matter. He moved her off his lap, then stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Let's go to bed.”
Bed, with Brian. That was what she wanted.
The next morning they lay spooned together in bed, talking like they had when their life was problem free. Funny, they still had trouble, but it felt like they were well on their way to fixing their biggest problem.
“I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you celebrate your birthday,” he said, and kissed her neck.
“You're here now
. That's all I care about,” Tiffany said. Coming home and finding Brian had been the best birthday present she could ask for.
“From now on, we need to remember we're in this for the long haul,” he said. “We're a team and we have to work together. If you want to buy something—”
“I'm done buying things,” she said firmly, cutting him off.
“We still have to live. So if you want to buy something we'll budget for it. We have to learn to stick to a budget, that's all.”
“And we have to be patient with each other,” she added, turning to face him.
“I can handle that if you can,” he agreed, wrapping an arm around her. “I don't want to lose you.”
He'd already lost the old, money-wasting Tiffany. She was history now. The new and improved Tiffany was so much better, and she was a keeper.
Tiffany was happy to announce that she and Brian were back together when Jess came in on Monday afternoon to get her nails done.
“I'm glad,” said Jess.
For a moment, Tiffany concentrated on the task of turning Jess's fingernails magenta while the music from Cara's favorite rock station and the chatter of the stylists as they cut their clients’ hair filled the silence. “I know I messed up. I can't really blame Brian for walking out.”
“The important thing is, he came back, and you two are hanging in there.”
“No matter what,” Tiffany said with determination.
“Does Brian still have his job?” asked Jess, looking at her with sudden concern.
“So far, but he's worried. So I'm going to keep paying off my credit cards as fast as I can and then we'll start putting money in savings for just in case.”
“I wish we'd done more of that,” Jess confessed. “When you've got it, it's so easy to spend it.”
“You had a lot of big expenses,” Tiffany said in her friend's defense.
“Some of them we made bigger than we had to.” Jess sighed. “You know, my daughter wanted a simple wedding. I'm the one who found ways to turn it into an event.”
“Weddings are expensive,” offered Tiffany.
“What does your diva on a dime say about them?” countered Jess.
“You don't want to know.”
“Oh, well. Too late now anyway. We've given our kids the best we could and I can't really regret that. Anyway, the bad times never last forever. It seems like the one thing I didn't learn was to be prepared for when they come,” she added grimly. “I've been pretty damned naïve.”
“At least you're doing something now.”
Jess sighed. “I am. And I'm cutting back more on my spending.” She bit her lip. “And boy, I hate to do this.”
Uh-oh, thought Tiffany, feeling suddenly sick. She recognized that guilty expression on Jess's face. She'd seen it on two other women's faces earlier in the day.
“I'm so sorry, Tiff, but one of the things I've got to cut is you.”
Of course, Jess had to do what was right for her, Tiffany told herself stoically. Too bad what was right for Jess was bad for Tiffany.
“I hate to be a ratty friend,” Jess hurried on, “but until Michael gets a job I can't justify paying someone to do my nails.”
“I understand,” said Tiffany. “You guys have to be careful.”
“So do you, which is why I feel like such a rat.”
“Don't,” said Tiffany. “I'll be okay. I've still got my eBay business. Anyway, isn't that exactly what you and Rachel and me are trying to do, find ways to save money?”
“It's easier to find them when you don't have to mess up your friend's budget in the process,” said Jess. She held up her hands, fingers splayed. “Oh, geez. As usual, I forgot to take out my charge card before you did this. You're going to have to dig it out of my wallet for me.”
There would have been a time in Tiffany's not so recent past that merely the sight of another woman's credit card would have filled her with envy and longing. Not today. In fact, not ever again.
Rachel was busy blogging when the doorbell rang. There stood Chad, looking cool in cutoff jeans and a print shirt hanging open over his bare chest, holding two bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade and looking like he belonged on the cover of one of her romance novels.
He held a bottle out to her. “Happy hour.”
She checked her watch. More like dinner hour. Where had the afternoon gone? “Come on in,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
“Always.”
“I'll make us a chicken salad,” she said. “Let me turn off my computer.”
“Were you trying to work?” he asked as he followed her to her office.
“No. Just putting some money-saving ideas on my blog.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, watching as she typed in her closing remarks. “What kind of tips have you got on there?”
“Come see for yourself,” she said.
He walked in and leaned over her shoulder, completely distracting her. Some perfumer should bottle that musky scent of hard-working man and label it Chad. “‘I am loving my staycation,’” he read. “ ‘So far I've been in a paddleboat on a lake’ ”—here he stopped to smile at her—“ ‘picked raspberries for jam, and have started drying lavender to make sachets for Christmas presents. My children will be home from visiting with their grandparents in two weeks, and then the fun will really begin because we'll be having Girl Camp, making inexpensive crafts, enjoying a home spa using home-made facial treatments, and watching movies. I can hardly wait.’ So your kids are coming home soon.”
“Yes,” she said, finishing the posting process. She was so ready to have them back, but she couldn't help wondering what that would do to her relationship with Chad. His tone of voice seemed to say, “The party's over.”
“I wish I'd had kids,” he said as they moved to the kitchen.
“You still could, you know.”
He shook his head. “At forty-three?”
“That's not old,” protested Rachel. If it was, old age was right around the corner for her. She took her teak salad bowl from the cupboard and salad makings from the fridge.
“No, but it's not exactly young for starting a family,” he said. He picked up the lettuce and began tearing it and putting it into the salad bowl. “Anyway, my sister and brother both have a couple of kids. That should be enough to meet my parents’ grandchild quota.”
Rachel pulled out a cutting board and set to work turning left-over chicken breast into bite-sized pieces. “I don't know. I think when it comes to grandchildren the quota is never filled. Do they wish you were married?” She felt a sizzle on her cheeks the moment the question was out of her mouth. Why was she asking questions that looked like she had a hidden agenda? Probably because she did. She was beginning to have happily-ever-after fantasies that featured Chad as the leading man. Maybe it was just as well she admitted it and he knew it. Then they could come to their senses and stop the madness.
“I think they have mixed feelings. Being good Catholics, they're not happy that I got divorced, but they've come to accept it.”
“So, you're not a good Catholic?” Not that it mattered to her. She'd wandered pretty far from her own faith.
“I'd rather be a good person,” he said. “It's not that I don't believe in God. I simply don't believe in making yourself crazy when you can't follow all the rules. You try your best and pay the price when you screw up. I screwed up, I paid,” he finished with a shrug.
Rachel stopped her cutting. “So, how do you feel about trying again now?”
He set down the lettuce, picked her up, making her squeak in surprise, and set her on the counter. “How do you think I feel?” he asked, his hands still on her waist. Then, before she could answer, he kissed her, pulling her in close to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him back and suddenly it was very hot in the kitchen. The lettuce went flying, and so did Rachel. Here was another way to enjoy your staycation. Go at it in the kitchen with a hot man.
They were creating enough steam to roast every ve
getable left on the counter and the ones on the floor when the phone rang. Who cared? Rachel raked her fingers through Chad's silky, black hair.
“Mom?” Claire's voice came over the answering machine. “What are you doing? Are you there?”
Rachel scrambled to disentangle herself and get off the counter, sending the salad bowl plummeting to the floor in the process.
“I'll get it,” said Chad, making it to the phone in two quick steps. He snagged it and handed it to Rachel.
“Hi honey,” she said, straightening her clothes.
“How come it took you so long to answer?” Claire asked.
Rachel felt a blush racing from her neck to her forehead. She bent to help Chad pick up their salad makings, which now lay scattered all over the floor. “I was busy making dinner.” He looked at her with a smirk and her face flamed hotter. “Are you having fun?” She sure was.
“No,” Claire said sullenly. “Grandma makes us go to temple. And I'm sick of museums.”
If Rachel hadn't been present at the birth she'd have wondered if this was her daughter. “Oh, honey, do you know how many people would kill to be having a vacation in New York and going to all those museums?”
“I like New York,” Claire insisted. “I just don't like museums. They're so boring.”
“Well, pretty soon you can come back home and be bored,” Rachel assured her. “Where's your brother?”
“He's at a baseball game with Grandpa,” said Claire. Her tone of voice implied that watching the Yankees play at Yankee Stadium was as big a drag as hitting the museums.
“So what are you and Grandma doing?”
“Nothing,” Claire said in disgust. “She said she's tired.”
Rachel couldn't help smiling at that. Having two active children visit for a month had probably seemed like a good idea at the time. “Well, text Bethany or ask Grandma if you can watch TV. That will make up for your boring day. And be a good sport and don't complain about the museums,” she added. “You don't have much time left.” Neither did she. Once the kids were home that would be the end of wild encounters of the close kind on the kitchen counter. Maybe it would be the end of everything. Once her children showed up Chad might not want to stick around.
Small Change Page 18
