The Penny Pinchers Club (25 page)

“To my house so you can clean up and I can do a little interrogating myself.”

I gave him a look.

“That’s right—
interrogation
. My brief discussion with your sister while you were in that room was very revealing, as was that Toyota.” He braked hard at a red light. “You’ve been lying to me, Kat.”

“Don’t take it personally.”
I’ve been lying to everyone.

“First, let’s get you to my house and out of those clothes. . . .” He slapped his forehead. “I mean, into some
new
clothes while those wash. Also, after going through garbage, you kind of . . .”

“Stink?”

He shrugged.

Great. How positively, ultimately humiliating. So much for the dyed hair and polished nails and trying to impress the ex. Liam had seen right through me. Or, rather,
smelled
.

The implications of visiting the house of an ex-boyfriend to shower and talk while my husband was out of town were not lost on my tired brain. It had been dangerous enough agreeing to work for him and letting him set up a line of credit while telling Griff none of this. But visiting his home on a nonprofessional basis was one step over a very important line.

There were no showers on the first floor, so I followed Liam up the narrow stairs to a guest bathroom. He handed me a couple of towels and stood outside the door so I could toss him my sweatshirt and jeans; I hoped he wouldn’t be nosy enough to check the size on the waistband.

Warm water and soap were exactly what the doctor ordered. I shampooed and toweled off, feeling like a new woman. When I got out, I found a maroon terry cloth robe slung over the counter, along with a pair of socks. He’d come into the bathroom while I was in the shower and put them there.

This was wrong. Really wrong.

But if Liam shared my concerns, he didn’t show it. I found him in the kitchen wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans at the stove mixing scrambled eggs as casual as could be. Coffee was being brewed, a cantaloupe was sliced on a cutting board, and the sports section of the
Trentonian
was folded and propped up against the toaster. We could have been any other couple on a lazy Sunday, except I was married and he was not.

“A late brunch,” he said, smiling at my robe. “Feel better?”

“A thousand times.” I sat on a high wooden stool and took in the kitchen with its outdated cherry cabinets and oversized soapstone sink, a leftover from when this house used to work as a farm. This was going to be the biggest part of the renovation and one we planned on saving for this summer, when Liam could take off a month to spend at his family’s compound in Avalon.

He poured me a cup of coffee, adding a splash of milk and about three grains of sugar. “You remembered?” I exclaimed as he slid it to me.

“Hard to forget, Kat. I never met another woman who was so persnickety about her coffee.”

I had already noticed two cups in the sink from this morning. Also, a pink razor in the bathroom. Women were so crafty the way they marked their territory.

“But,” I said, “you
have
met other women.”

He turned off the stove. “You know me. I’m not the type to kiss and tell.”

“That’s a relief.” I went over to the drawer and took out two forks. Liam insisted on cloth napkins, instead of paper, which I found in a tidy stack in another drawer. A woman’s touch? Or had my ex, who’d been known to toss his old socks so carelessly that they could be found on light fixtures, changed his bachelor ways? Perhaps his neatness was Paige’s influence.

I set the thick pine table and Liam brought over the plates. We were working in perfect synchronicity until he surprised me with a pitcher of fresh orange juice and a bottle of champagne.

“To celebrate your emancipation,” he said, popping the cork, holding the bottle away from his body as the foam exploded over the rim. “Also, I thought it might be welcomed after the day you’ve had.”

The champagne was incredibly thoughtful and incredibly Liam. When we were dating, he was forever pulling rabbits out of the hat like this—roses sent to me at work for no reason, a private masseuse at my door after a stressful week. He’d spoiled me forever, I thought as he mixed the mimosas. I needed to make sure I didn’t slip into the shrewish habit of comparing him to Griff.

“To you!” He lifted the orange juice and champagne. “And what I hope will be the end of your trash obsession.”

If he only knew how fun Dumpster diving could be, I thought, taking a sip. It was delicious and swiftly intoxicating. In the course of becoming a Penny Pincher, I must have lost my tolerance for bubbly—a sad side effect.

Across the table, Liam was amused. “Your nose still goes red right away.”

“Pardon?” I put down my glass and, starved, took a bite of the eggs.

“Only with champagne, nothing else. One sip and you’re like Rudolph.”

“Oh!” I said, horrified. “That’s awful.”

“It’s not awful. It’s adorable.” Liam buttered his toast.

“I didn’t know.”

“Hasn’t Griff ever noticed that?”

“If he did, he never told me.” I delicately bit into a piece of melon. “Then again, it’s not like we drink a lot of champagne.”

I should have been more mindful. Liam took advantage of that thoughtless aside to probe into my affairs further. “Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that.”

Uh-oh. I pretended to become very fascinated with the china pattern on the saucer.

“Viv tells me that the way you ended up in Drummond’s trash is that you’re a . . . Penny Pincher.”

“That’s right. It’s a club. The Rocky River Penny Pinchers Club.” I figured if I made it sound as innocent as a book group, he’d let it drop. “Which reminds me. Have you considered bar iron penny nails in the wood floors? Very authentic for the time period.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He wagged his finger. “You’re not getting off that easily, Popalaski.” Holding up his hand, he ticked off the evidence against me. “You raid a Dumpster. You’re part of some coupon-clipping group that meets in the bottom of the library. You’ve traded your Lexus for a Toyota, and”—he frowned—“your husband doesn’t meet you at the police station.”

We regarded each other evenly in a match of resolve. Liam, an expert negotiator, would not be the first to declare uncle. That much I knew.

I said, “So?”

“So, you gave me the impression that you were happy.”

I poked at my toast, now dry and cold. “Look, Liam, just because I don’t guzzle champagne or go around burning gas in an M3 doesn’t mean we’re not happy. We’re regular people, Griff and I, and we have a daughter to put through college. So, yes, I’m on”—I rolled my eyes—“a budget.”

“You?” His shoulders heaved. “A
budget
?”

“Why not?” I dropped the toast on the plate. “For your information, I’m doing quite well. I’ve got my spending under control, I’ve got several thousand—
more
than several thousand—saved and, thanks to you, I’m starting my own business.”

“Congratulations. But I didn’t ask how your finances were going.” He paused, grinning. “I asked if you were
happy
.”

“
Of course
. Of course I’m happy.” Was it hot in here? It certainly felt like a furnace, I thought, loosening the heavy robe. I wanted to ask when my clothes would be out of the dryer so he could drive me to my car and I could be free of my second interrogation of the day.

Liam sat back, tenting his fingers, trying to decide whether to pursue this line of questioning further. “Then what about Griff?”

“Griff didn’t come to the police department because he’s in D.C. doing research for this book he’s writing on the Federal Reserve. I guess it’s kind of like an exposé of where they went wrong, if the Fed was responsible for the economic crisis, et cetera, et cetera.” I rolled my hand, figuring if I kept babbling he’d quit pestering me about my so-called happiness. “You understand. Business school stuff.”

“So, it’s more of an academic treatise than nonfiction for business travelers?”

“Strictly small university press.”

“You know, a small university press pays shit while a major publisher willing to promote a book that could get on the
NewYork Times
nonfiction bestseller list could help put Laura through NYU.”

“It’s not set in stone that this will be a small press book. For example, it won’t be if Griff snags an interview with Hunter Christiansen, though that’s a long shot. The man hasn’t given an interview since he stepped down as chair of the Federal Reserve and, apparently, has decided to publish his memoir posthumously. Super secretive. I don’t know if you know about this Christiansen . . .”

“Actually, I talked to him just last week.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “Get out.”

“No, really. I tapped him to be on this Wharton alum board I oversee. Hunter’s a great guy. He got a bum rap back when he was at the Fed.”

“That’s what Griff thinks, too.”

“Then we agree on something. I mean, besides . . . you.”

My fingers drifted to the opening in the robe that, having loosened for air, I now pinched a little tighter.

“I don’t want to make this awkward,” he began, fiddling with his spoon. “But, I can’t help but feel somewhat protective of you, Kat. You were my first great love, the woman I was sure I’d raise a family with and sit with on the porch to watch the sun set in our golden years.”

I swallowed back a torrent of emotions, thinking of how many hopes he’d invested in me—and how I’d dashed them on that beach in Avalon. Now was not the time to break down, not while we were alone and I was so vulnerable, as Viv had wisely noted.

“Liam . . .”

“Please. Let me say it and then I’ll shut up. The thing is, I may be totally off base, but I sense a sort of dissatisfaction inside you, like life didn’t turn out the way you expected. Maybe as someone who feels the same way, I can sense disappointment and regret in another person, especially in someone whom I once loved and of whom I remain very fond.”

I was silent.

“I just want you to know that you will always have my love and respect, Kat. As a friend, if nothing else. And also that I’m here for you as a shoulder to lean on when those days—or nights—get dark. I mean that.”

He dropped the spoon and reached out his hand.

I took it.

We regarded each other. Old friends. Former lovers. Once almost husband and wife. I’d seen him, heard him, felt him hold me in my dreams. Maybe I
had
made a mistake. Maybe Griff had been a convenient diversion that I, in my early twenties and immature, had used to escape the adult world of marriage, kids, and responsibility that came with committing myself to Liam. If I’d been older and not so alarmed by the prospect of ending up in suburbia raising the next generation of little Novaks, Liam and I might have had a happy, productive, loving marriage.

Maybe he was my soul mate after all.

“Thank you,” I said, gently removing my hand. “I may take you up on that offer someday.”

“I hope you do.” He exhaled and got up from the table, taking his plate and mine. “In the meantime, why don’t I put in a call to Hunter, explain who Griff is, that he’s coming from a friendly position, and see what he says. I happen to know that despite Hunter’s reclusive nature, he’s mellowed recently and has been talking more about getting his side of the story out in the open.”

The buzzer for the dryer went off. “That would be awesome if you could swing that,” I said, going down the short hall to get my clothes. “You really think he’d change his mind?”

Liam turned on the water and threw a dish towel over his shoulder. “You never know. He might be ready. Like everything in business—or in life—it’s all about timing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

But Liam already knew that I did.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“
Listen up, people.” Sherise clapped her hands so we’d settle down. “We have a lot to go over today and not much time ’cause I have to leave early. Final job interview in NYC!”

A “whoo-hoo!” went up from Opal and we all gave Sherise a round of applause. Sherise was one of two contenders for a lucrative financial planner position with a major Manhattan bank. If she got the job—and how could she not?—it was guaranteed that she’d be moving out of her parents’ house in Rocky River and into an apartment of her own by the first of June, right around the corner.

“Sex in the city, baby.” She raised her fists. “I am sooo ready.”

Opal and I exchanged wordless understanding. To be young and smart and in the city with no children and no responsibilities aside from pleasing a boss and getting to work on time. Girlfriends. Shopping. Nights on the town. The two of us sighed in envy.

“But before we start talking about what’s on sale this week and what coupons are hot, I need to first welcome back a very important member of our group.” Sherise waved to Steve, who shifted in his chair. “It’s good to see you again, my friend. We missed you.”

“I’ll say. There was no one to piss off.” Wade slapped him on the back. “Just a bunch of girls.”

Libby gave him a sharp nudge.

“Yeah, well.” Steve bowed his crew-cut head shyly. “You knew I couldn’t stay away for long.”

Opal said,“And you brought company.” She nodded to the woman nervously holding his hand. Viv.

That’s right, my sister, she who once claimed to be allergic to the ink used in printing coupons, had begged Steve to take her to a meeting. Hello? What was I, chopped liver? I’d been going to these meetings for months and not once had she so much as hinted for me to let her tag along.

Steve said,“I always knew I’d be glad when Wade finally got busted for raiding other people’s trash. But I had no idea why.”

Steve and Viv bumped noses, Eskimo kisses, and Libby stuck her finger down her throat in a pantomime gag.

“Anyone else have other big news to report?” Sherise looked around the room, where we sat in our semicircle munching on popcorn Opal had brought from home. “Not that anything can quite compare to finding true love.”