Chuck watched Olive and Trevor from a distance. They seemed to be getting along rather well despite the fact that Olive had wanted nothing to do with him. In the last fifteen minutes Olive had gone from walking away from him—looking very angry—to the two of them lingering at the counter, speaking in a seemingly friendly manner. She had even served him a piece of pie. It was all rather confusing.
Being the optimist she was, Chuck saw these actions as proof that this mysterious man could not possibly be as terrible as Olive described him to be. So when she saw Olive slip into the kitchen, her curiosity finally got the better of her and she excused herself from Ned and Emerson and went over to say hello. She was determined to give this man a chance, but when she met the man named Trevor Trask, she found that to be nearly impossible.
"Hello." She said brightly, taking advantage of an empty stool beside him. He turned to look at her and Chuck couldn't help but be surprised; somehow she hadn't noticed it before, but on closer inspection she saw he was quite ugly, definitely not someone she thought Olive would go for. Not that she thought Olive a snob, but that he was just so unusual looking—with his meek appearance, rail thin frame and greasy hair—that it was hard to ignore. "My name is Chuck, I'm a friend of Olive's" She jerked her head toward Olive, who was now busy in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess Ned had left behind. "I hear you're an old friend of Olive's too." She nodded, prompting a response, but he simply stared back at her, his dark eyes blank and unblinking.
"Yes." He finally said after an extended silence.
His eyes swept over her and Chuck was quite revolted despite herself. She had wanted to give this man the benefit of the doubt, but something about him she found unsettling and his smile was neither friendly nor genuine. Suddenly Chuck understood why Olive was repulsed by him. "I see." Chuck smiled weakly. "I hear you knew her back when she was a jockey."
"That's correct." He answered, returning his gaze back to the piece of pie on the plate in front of him. He picked at it methodically with his fork.
"And that your father owned the track she trained at?"
"Yes he did."
"Did you ride horses too?"
"No." He turned looked at her once more, and for the first time he said more than three words. "They're horrible, stinky animals. Plus they sleep standing up…..that's weird." His beady eyes squinted and his nose crinkled as if he had smelled something foul. "They kick too."
"I would probably kick you too if I was a horse." Chuck thought, her confusion growing. She could see how someone like Olive could get past the superficial—after all love was supposedly blind—but for Olive to have loved a man who seemed to revile horses was made no sense at all. So with a smile she excused herself to the kitchen to talk with Olive. "Hey," She walked up to Olive and gently grabbed her arm as she wiped down the floury mess from the countertop. "Did I miss something?" She asked incredulously, flicking her eyes toward Trevor.
"What do you mean?" Olive asked, swiping the rag back and forth erratically. Her voice was strained—tense and definitely irritated—and everything about her seemed flustered. It was apparent she was not happy about the situation. This confused Chuck even further.
"I don't understand. One minute it seems like you'd rather be raked over hot coals then see this guy. Now you're all chummy?" Chuck reached out to place a comforting hand on Olive's shoulder, but Olive dodged it and began scurrying around the room, tossing dirty dishes into the sink.
"I wouldn't exactly say that."
"You served him pie. Tart apple—the best of the day. That's chummy in my book."
"That doesn't mean anything. That's simple Pie Hole ettiquette. I'd treat any customer the same way." She called over her shoulder, slamming a bowl into the sink. "Give 'em the best pie ya got--there's no chumminess implied. None."
"Olive, you're avoiding." Chuck warned. "You can't bottle things up, it's not healthy."
"I'm not bottling. There is no bottle and nothing to put in said bottle."
"What would you call it then?" Chuck asked, still watching as Olive whipped about; it was clear something was bothering her, and after a minute Chuck thought she understood. "Wait a minute. Is this that whole—bam!—thing?" She whispered, making a fist. "Are your feelings are back again?"
Olive came to a sudden halt. "No—no." She insisted, shaking her head vigorously. Her whole face drained of all color at the mere mention of it. "No."
"Well, that's' good." Chuck looked back towards the counter where Trevor was still eating his pie, unaware they were talking about him only a few feet away. Just looking at him was enough to make Chuck's stomach turn. "So why is he still here then?"
"Well, I can't exactly kick him out." Olive leaned against the wall, craning her neck to look at him through the kitchen window. "He sorta needs someone to talk to right now."
"Is something wrong?"
"He's sick."
"Sick?" Chuck replied. He looked rather healthy to her, but she supposed it was impossible to tell just on appearance alone.
Olive nodded solemnly. "He told me the whole story. He was driving through town for an experimental treatment when he saw me on the street. That's how he found me. Anyways, he said he wanted to reconnect with me before he….before he….before…."
This was a most unexpected turn of events, and immediately Chuck understood why Olive had a change of heart towards the man named Trevor Trask—why she had even served him tart apple pie. No matter how much Olive detested him, her heart was too big to deny him in his time of need. And since Chuck had much experience with death and reconnecting with loved ones, she too now felt a sadness for the strange man.
"It's fatal?" Chuck asked, already anticipating the answer. Olive simply nodded, confirming her suspicions. Chuck was moved by the genuine sadness in Olive's eyes. "I'm so sorry."
"That's alright. I'm fine." Olive shrugged, and Chuck found it hard to believe everything was fine, but wasn't willing to argue about it. Olive had been through enough. "Oh, look—he's done with his pie. Maybe he wants another piece."
Olive scurried out of the kitchen and Chuck followed. She stayed a few feet behind, watching from a safe distance where she wouldn't intrude, nor feel Trevor's creepy stare. She watched as Olive served Trevor another piece of pie, smiling with a smile so tight and forced that her face squished up into bizarre caricature of itself. She was obviously uncomfortable, and Chuck went over to lend her support. When she approached the pair she heard a strange sound—a jumble of indiscernible words said in a rhythmic fashion that was barely audible above the other noises around her. It took a minute to realize that Trevor's lips were moving.
"What's that you're saying under your breath?" Chuck asked.
"What?" Trevor's head snapped up and for the first time Chuck saw a real emotion register in his eyes. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.
"Oh, you noticed the mumbling." Olive said, plopping a dollop of whipped cream on top of his pie. "I'm sorry, I mean the chanting."
"Chanting?"
"Trevor here is a Buddhist. He does these chants. He says it helps keep him spiritually clean and centered. Does 'em all the time—ever since I've known him."
This was yet another unexpected turn of events, and Chuck was now even more taken aback by the mysterious man. He was quite the puzzle indeed.
"You're Buddhist? That is so interesting," Chuck leaned forward, feeling a renewed interest in him. "I've always wanted to know more about the religion." Her eyes searched his face, and she saw a strange flicker in his dark eyes—a look that said leave me alone—but Chuck pressed further. "I read something about it years ago, and I can't remember, are their four noble truths or five?" Trevor said nothing and began to dissect his newest slice of pie, his fingers drumming against his fork. Chuck still was undeterred, after all she was used to his seeming indifference to talk to her. "And then there was the whole Noble Eightfold Path and," She paused for a moment. "I never really understood—is enlightenment the same things as nirvana?"
Trevor put his fork down and looked at Chuck once more. His eyes were still dark and threatening, but he was smiling cordially. "Those are all very important questions." He said and stood up abruptly. "Which we can discuss later—I must be going." He glanced down to where a gold watch rested on a delicate wrist. "I forgot have a treatment to go to."
"Oh—of course. That's more important."
For the first time Chuck suspected the smile on Olive's face was actually genuine as she smiled goodbye and watched him walk to the door. "Bye Trevor." Olive called cheerily, as if her words could will him faster out the door.
As soon as the door to the Pie Hole swung shut behind him, Olive came back to life. The spark in her eyes was sparkling, the spring in her step was springing—it was like a weight had been lifted from her tiny shoulders. But as Olive was grinning, Chuck was brooding. There was something strange about the man called Trevor Trask. Yes, his appearance and manners were alarming enough, but it was something more—something intangible—that bothered Chuck. Yes, she understood why Olive wanted nothing to do with the man…but the bigger question was what in the world made Olive fall head over heels for him in the first place.