Olive holds her hands up. “Okay, okay. I guess you are right. The ass it is, then.”
“Speaking of ass,” I say, as we pull into the bar parking lot, “I think your boss is here.” I point at a stuffy-looking guy in a polo, leaving out the front of the bar. He aggressively walks over to a silver car that I assume is his.
Olive groans seeing him. “We aren’t even open yet. Why is he here? Hopefully he’s leaving.”
We watch him grab something out of his passenger seat, a file folder, and then stand by his car, like he’s waiting.
I park in a spot next to her purple car and she grabs her stuff, then turns to me. “Thanks again for this morning, I had a blast.”
“Me, too.” I smile at her. “I will edit the footage later and send it to you.”
She slides out of the car. “I can’t wait to see it. Everyone is going to lose their minds after seeing Mr. Purngast. He is literally so secretive, no one knows details about Freddie Finnely. Who knew Whiskey’s would be the thing to reveal his identity?”
“People will be lining up now to view the men’s bathroom wall,” I joke, knowing it’s probably true, though.
“Olive,” I hear the man bark out from behind her.
“Yes, Tripp?” she responds, still looking at me.
“I need to talk to you. Come to my office, now.” He sneers. “Quit flirting in the parking lot and do your job.”
I make eye contact with him, the furthest thing from a smile on my face. He has no right to talk to her that way and I would love to give him my two cents.
Olive gives me an apologetic look. “Gotta go,” she says quickly, and starts to walk away.
I continue to stare at this Tripp guy, his gaze never leaving mine. I can’t wait till she can take the bar from his grubby hands. He finally breaks our staredown, and turns to walk towards the bar, following Olive. One day I hope to give him what he deserves, but not while he owns the bar. I will play nice for her. For now.
Chapter 29
Olive
Once I get inside, I silently curse Tripp. If I didn’t have to play nice for the bar’s sake, I would have cussed him out vividly already. I feel like I am going to be up against a mountain by trying to get him to sell it to me instead of the investors. The B&B guy has come by nonstop, and I heard Mr. Cronline discussing with Tripp that there’s no need for him to fix up the place because it will be a “tear down” anyway. He just wants the land. I feel sick inside knowing that if he buys and demolishes the place, it won't only be me without a job, but also Rob. I know they rely on the extra income Missy makes bartending, too. They’ve been trying to save up money in hopes that they can start a family soon.
I unlock the office door for the first time today and look around to see that Tripp has removed all the photos off the lined walls. Where there used to be photos of Jane and me laughing during a karaoke night, singing Abba together on stage, or Jane and Seymour behind the bar, there are now blank spaces. There’s not a single photograph left.
I hear Tripp walk up behind me, and I turn around, demanding, “Where are the pictures?”
“Huh?” he questions, boredom evident in his response.
“The pictures that used to be on the wall.” I point to the blank spaces. He knows exactly what I'm talking about; he’s just playing coy.
He stares at me and takes a long sip of his coffee, enjoying that I’m riled up by this. “Oh, I took them down. They were dusty, and it was bad for my allergies. I kept sneezing while I was trying to work and it was distracting me. They are in the dumpster if you want to fish for them.”
“How could you throw those away? Your mom loved those photos.” I step closer to him. “Are you so unhappy with yourself that you want to make everyone else miserable, too?” My voice raises and I can't bite my tongue anymore. “You had no right, Tripp.” I push past him and grab a pair of disposable gloves from the prep station before I walk out the back kitchen door.
I hear him calling after me that “we need to have a talk,” but that can wait. My blood is boiling. Only Tripp can take one of the best mornings of my life and destroy my mood in seconds. I know that I shouldn’t let him get to me, but a person can only take so much crap before they explode. He knew exactly what he was doing when he took down the memories that I shared with his mother. It was a big screw you to me, a power move.
I make it to the large green dumpster out back and cringe as I take a peek inside. The trash hasn’t been picked up in almost a week, so it's full. The stench is overpowering. I slide the gloves on and pull my weight up over the side of the dumpster. I assume he must have just tossed the pictures in here this morning before I got back, because the photos were on the wall when I left last night.
I spot one small photo of Seymour in a wooden frame and lean over to grab it. Successfully retrieving it, I hold it under my arm and begin to search for the next one. I find two photos of Jane and me under a bag of sour trash, the frames sinking down between the crevices of the bags.
After spending fifteen more minutes rifling around the top piles of garbage, I realize if I want to find the rest, I’m going to have to go further into the dumpster. I crawl out so I can gently lay the three frames I found on the ground and then get back into the mounds of trash. I whimper as I push through the bags. Old coffee grounds and rotting leftover ham slide in between my shoes and after minutes of gagging, I realize I can’t do this anymore. I’m covered in trash and sweat is dripping down my back at this point. I climb out, defeated, and apologize to Jane in my head for the fact that I couldn’t find the rest of her photos.
Pushing open the back kitchen door, I see Tripp leaning out from the office in the desk chair. “How did it go?” He stifles a laugh.
I hold up the three frames I found and don’t make eye contact. “I’m going home to shower; I’ll be back before the lunch crowd.”
“Yeah, good idea, do that. You smell horrible.” He sneers as I walk past.
