I WAS SHOCKED TO LEARN WHO DID A HUGE HOLE IN OUR BACKYARD AND WHY WHEN WE RETURNED FROM VACATION.
Karen had a stomach virus and we had to cancel our beach excursion. After we got home, I wanted to collapse on the couch, but I decided to check outside first.
Then I saw it. Large pit on our lawn.
What’s this? I mumbled, approaching the edge.
A shovel, water bottle, and other rubbish were at the bottom. I almost called 911, but then I had a wild idea. Imagine if the digger knew we were leaving and was returning.
Karen was pale when I looked. “Hi honey? Park the automobile in the garage. Act like we’re gone.”
She nodded weakly. Frank, say what you want. Going to lie down.”
I camped near a window and watched the night. Hours passed, and I was about to abandon up when a shadow jumped our fence.
The figure crawled toward the hole and fell in, racing my heart. This was my chance.
I snuck outdoors with my phone to call the police. As I reached the pit, I heard grunting and metal hitting ground.
“Hey!” Shining my phone’s spotlight down, I shouted. “What are you doing?”
The digger squinted at the brightness. My jaw fell. It was George, who sold us this house last year.
“Frank?” he inquired, similarly shocked. “Why are you here?”
I live here, remember? What are you doing in my yard at midnight?
George frowned. He emerged from the hole ashamed. I’ll explain. Please refrain from calling the police.
I crossed arms. Start talking.”
George sighed. “My grandfather owned this place. It was just discovered that he hid something valuable. I believed I could find it while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to dig for treasure?” What I heard was unbelievable.
“I know how it sounds,” George said. But it’s true. Look, I’ll negotiate. Dig with me and we’ll split what we discover. Fifty-fifty.”
I should’ve declined. Must have contacted the police then. But George’s eyes—desperation, hope, maybe both—made me hesitate.
“Fine,” I said. “But we finish and fill this in, treasure or not.”
George nodded eagerly. “Deal.”
We dug for hours, sharing stories between shovelfuls.
“What exactly are we looking for?” I asked, wiping sweat off my brow.
George shrugged. Not sure. Anything—cash, jewels, etc. Grandpa was bank-phobic.”
Through digging, I found more about George. He lost his job and his wife had cancer. “This treasure could change everything for us,” he continued.
I nodded, thinking his comments were important. “Life is funny. One moment you struggle, the next…
George answered, “Exactly,” with hope.
We kept working, grateful for the cold night air. Every now and then, one of us would hit something hard and freeze, hearts racing. It was always another rock.
“So,” I replied, attempting to keep the conversation going, “tell me about your grandfather. Why did you believe he’d hide something?
Breathing, George leaned on his shovel. My grandpa was a character. Always complaining about the government and banks. He told stories about hidden wealth and hiding places.”
“You believed him?” Kindly, I requested.
A bashful George smiled. “Not initially. But then I found his old journal. It had mysterious notes and property sketches. One page showed a large X where we’re digging.”
It sounded intriguing. “What could it be?”
“In my wildest dreams? George answered, “Gold coins or rare jewels,” beaming. But honestly, I’d be satisfied with anything now. A few thousand dollars would help us.”
Nodded, understanding too well. Yes, I understand. Life is pricey now.”
We settled into digging and conversing. George explained his job loss and the company’s sudden downsizing. I talked about Karen and me, our house finances, and our future plans.
I felt a connection as we worked. Two guys from different backgrounds were united by the chance of backyard treasure. A bit crazy, yet kind of beautiful.
“You know,” I remarked, stretching my back, “even if we don’t find anything, this has been… Sort of fun?
George smiled after being startled. Yes, hasn’t it? I appreciate Frank not calling the police on me.”
We chuckled as the music boomed through the night.
But as the sky brightened, hope evaporated. Digging halfway to China yielded just rocks and roots.
George slumped on the hole-side. Honestly, I thought… I was confident…”
Felt for him. Hey, it was worth a shot, right? Come, I’ll drive you home.”
After a few shovelfuls of dirt, we gave up and jumped into my car—George had taken a cab to my house. We thought during the silent drive.
A woman ran out the front door when we arrived at George’s residence. Must be Margaret, I thought.
“George!” she wailed. Where have you been? I’m sick with worry!”
George got out of the car like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I’m sorry, honey. “I was just…”
Margaret narrowed her gaze at me. “Who is this?”
Stepping forward, I extended my hand. “I’m Frank. We bought your previous house last year.”
She recognized, then blushed. “Oh no. George, you didn’t.”
Head hanged, George. I’m sorry, Maggie. Honestly, I thought…
Margaret faced me. “Sorry about this. My husband has a wild theory about buried treasure.
It’s not crazy!” George objected. “My grandfather—”
“Your grandfather was a storyteller, dear,” Margaret replied gently. Remember what the lawyer stated regarding his estate?
George looked dejected. “But I was certain…”
I felt like I was disturbing a private moment. “No harm done. We’ll just tidy up the yard.”
Margaret nodded vigorously. Of course. We’ll cover everything. I apologize again.”
“No need to pay,” I said, “the exercise will do me good. Also, my wife and I have been discussing about a pool—maybe now is the time!”
Margaret giggled, and George grabbed my arm as I left. I thank you, Frank. For everything.”
I squeezed his shoulder and grinned. Do not mention it. Call me if you want a beer.”
George looked astonished, then thankful. Yes, I’d enjoy that.”
I was disappointed but connected as I drove home. The desperate hope of George spread.
I found Karen awake, looking better but bewildered. Where have you been? What happened to our yard?
Sitting next to her on the couch, I told her everything. At the end, she shook her head yet smiled.
“Only you, Frank,” she kissed my cheek. “Only you would spend all night digging for treasure with a stranger.”
A laugh. “Maybe I found something after all.”
An eyebrow lifted by Karen. “Oh?”
“Not gold or jewels,” I said. “But a reminder that sometimes the real treasures are our connections. We share stories.”
Karen grinned despite rolling her eyes. “Even you find that cheesy.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Why not invite George and Margaret over for dinner next week?”
Karen was startled, then reflective. “You know? It sounds wonderful. Fix that hole in our yard first.”
Groaned, but couldn’t argue. Walking out to assess the damage in daylight made me happy. Life had unexpected adventures, but not always buried gold.
This is sometimes enough to treasure.
Inspired by true events and people, this work is fictionalized for creativity. To preserve privacy and enrich the story, names, characters, and facts were changed. The author does not imply any resemblance to real people, events, or places.
Fin ! ====================================================================================================================================================
I Left the Bartender a 50% Tip, More than Generous — But She Thanked Only My Husband
====
We weren’t planning anything fancy that night—just a quick beer and dinner at a spot my husband, Sam, liked. Neither of us was in the mood to cook, and since he visited this place often with his friends, it seemed like the perfect low-effort plan.
“Molly, let’s go out for dinner,” Sam said. “I don’t want to cook, and you’re lounging on the couch, so I know you don’t want to either.”
I laughed.
“I just can’t be bothered tonight,” I said. “It was such a long and hectic day at work. There’s a restructuring coming, so everyone’s tense and constantly on edge. It’s been rough.”
“Then let’s go out. Get some food, some beer, and maybe a few dance moves in,” he said.
“I’ve got cash, honey,” I said. “I’ll cover tonight, no problem.”
Sam squeezed my knee as he drove.
“Just that… Skye is the new bartender,” he said offhandedly, referring to the woman working Thursday nights. “We’ve got to make sure to leave a good tip. She’s just starting out, and I don’t want to look like a cheapskate, especially because I’m here so often.”
I smiled at that. I’d been in the service industry for years. Tips mean everything, especially when you’re new. Even now, as the manager of a restaurant, I remember the days when I struggled to get my nightly tips to make ends meet.
No problem, I thought. I’d take care of her.
Or, at least, that was the plan.
When we arrived, we slid into two barstools. The place was buzzing, but nothing overwhelming, just a typical night at a friendly spot. As soon as the bartender approached us, things felt… weird.
She was polite to Sam, overly polite, but she didn’t so much as glance at me.
“What can I get you, hon?” she asked him, a big, flirty smile plastered on her face.
I watched her carefully as Sam ordered a couple of beers. She was beautiful. Her winged eyeliner was perfect, and she had a cute little nose.
Immediately, my guard was up.
I chimed in, asking for a burger and fries with extra onion rings on the side. But guess what? She didn’t even blink in my direction, she just scribbled it down as if I were invisible.
“Anything else for you?” she asked my husband, her voice sugary sweet.
I tried to shake it off. Maybe she was nervous or just having an off night. And because Sam frequented the place, maybe she just gravitated toward him because he was a familiar face.
But throughout the meal, the pattern continued. She only checked in with him, asking how his food was, if he needed another drink. When our plates were almost empty, she popped back yet again.
“Need a box for that?” she asked, pointing at my plate but only directing the question at my husband.
My plate was still half-full. What the hell?
Each time, I answered anyway, but she never really looked at me. Honestly, I got nothing more than monotone responses and fleeting glances, while my husband got smiles, jokes, and playful little laughs.
“Wow, okay,” I muttered. “This is supposed to be date night, Sam.”
My husband watched me take a sip of my beer. He was completely oblivious. He was enjoying himself.
“She’s just trying to be nice, Molly,” he said.
I rolled my eyes but let it go.
For now.
The food was good, and our glasses stayed full. Granted, it was because Skye was interested in my husband, but I told myself to focus on the fact that at least I didn’t have to wait for my meal or refills. She did keep checking on us. Well, on Sam, not me.
“Don’t you just love this place, babe?” Sam asked, stretching his arms out. “I always feel at home here. There’s something just so friendly and comfortable about the whole place.”
“I wonder why…” I said sarcastically.
“It’s the people,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm. “They’re always the good sort, and nobody gets wasted and performs outrageously. And… the service is always good.”
“I’m sure they are,” I said. “You’re a regular here, so I guess they pay extra attention to you.”
He beamed at me as if it were the biggest compliment to him.
When the bill came, it was around $60. I counted out $30 for the tip—50%, more than generous. I folded the cash neatly under the check.
My husband gave me a questioning look.
“Are you sure, Molly?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, tucking the money in place. “You said you want to leave her a good tip, right?”
He smiled and shrugged.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
The bartender returned, collected the bill, and cashed us out with quick efficiency.
This girl would do well in a casino, I thought to myself as I watched her long fingers move between the notes. She would move chips around seamlessly.
“Time to go, honey,” I told Sam, who was leaning closer to Skye.
He nodded and took the last swig of his beer.
But then, Skye got on my nerves once more.
She gathered the money and the check and looked right at my husband, her back almost fully turned to me, and spoke in the sweetest voice.
“Thank you so much for doing that! That was really, really wonderful of you, Sam. I appreciate you so much.”
I froze.
My jaw tightened, and I could feel the heat rising in my chest.
My husband gave her a polite nod, already slipping his jacket on. Meanwhile, I just sat there, staring at the back of her head. She was less than ten inches away from me, close enough that I could reach out and tap her shoulder.
I didn’t.
Instead, I leaned forward, close enough for her to smell the beer on my breath.... (continue reading in the 1st comment)