the past few months.
Everyone except—
“It’s great to have you back,” Sheryl says. “Come on in. We should be done with the breakfast rush soon.”
She sees me look at the Operation Butterfly poster again.
“Isn’t that awesome?” she says. “Allie has done an amazing job running it. She’s had the sign-up board in different areas around town, like the library and the Historical Museum. The response from customers, the staff, everyone has been incredible. I hope you liked all the gifts.”
“Y-yes,” I stammer, though I’m still baffled.
“Liv.” One of the servers, Tucker, puts down his tray and comes to envelop me in a hug. “Lady, we have missed you.”
Sheryl brings me a cup of tea, and I sit at the counter, feeling like I’m in the middle of a celebration as word spreads of my arrival and the staff comes by to greet me with hugs and warm wishes. Everyone is happy to hear I’m finished with chemo, and they all ask when I plan to come back to work.
I hedge my answer with a “Hopefully soon” comment, but I need to talk to one person before I do anything else.
“Is Allie here yet?” I ask Sheryl, after the wait and kitchen staffs have returned to their duties.
“Yeah, she’s in the office.” Sheryl turns to pour a fresh pot of coffee into a silver carafe. “She and Brent have been great, though I’m sure she’s missed having you around too.”
Though I’m not so sure about that, I climb off the stool and head through the kitchen to the office. The door is half-open, and I knock before pushing it open farther.
Allie is working at the desk, her head bent and her long red ponytail falling over her shoulder. She glances up. Her eyes widen.
“Liv.”
“Hi, Allie. Can I come in?”
“Um, sure.” She stands, running her hands over the front of her purple apron. “I mean, of course. Come in.”
She waves for me to sit down. I close the door and lower myself onto the sofa.
“I didn’t know you were planning to stop by today,” she admits, her gaze touching briefly on the blue scarf wrapped around my head before she glances away.
“I didn’t either.” I twine my fingers together, my earlier anxiety returning full-force. “I…I saw the posters out in front. Operation Butterfly?”
“You found out.” Allie gives me a tentative smile. “I hadn’t yet figured out the big reveal, but I was thinking maybe we’d hang a bunch of paper butterflies from the ceiling and have a surprise party when you were done with the treatments.”
“You did all of that?” I ask. “Operation Butterfly was your idea?”
Allie nods, though a flash of shame passes across her face. “I wanted to do something for you, and I knew a lot of people had plans to bring you meals and were offering to help with the kids and stuff. But so many of our customers and other business owners were asking me what they could do to help, so I thought I’d recruit everyone to send you some happiness.”
A knot of emotion tightens in my throat. “So the butterfly gifts are…”
“From everyone.” Allie sits in the chair opposite me. “I had people sign up for delivery on certain days, so that you’d get the butterflies throughout the week. The only rule was that the gifts had to be anonymous to make the mystery of it fun for you and the kids. But I have been keeping track of who gave what, since I knew you’d want to send out thank-you cards once it was all over.”
I manage to smile through a sudden blur of tears. “Allie, I don’t know what to say. The butterfly gifts have been incredible. They’ve been such a bright spot in our week…Nicholas and Bella couldn’t wait to get home from school to see if one had been delivered. They’re all over the house now. It’s like being surrounded by love.”
“Good.” Allie looks pleased. “If it made things a little easier for you, then that’s the only thing that matters.”
“But it’s not the only thing that matters to me,” I tell her. “I love the gifts. I love what you’ve done, what everyone has done for us. But I also love you. And while I’ve missed so much about working at the café, I’ve missed you most of all.”
Intense sorrow fills Allie’s blue eyes. She pushes to her feet and turns away from me. When she speaks, her voice is choked with emotion.
“I’m sorry, Liv.”
“When I was first diagnosed, Brent told