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No one could’ve asked for a better day for the Butterfly Fest. Warm but not too warm, with fat white clouds puffed up with charm, their scalloped edges awash in pale golden light. And then there were the butterflies. So many butterflies. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Their orange wings glowed in the brightness of the day, and they were absolutely captivating as they rested and refueled on delicate milkweed branches.
“Hmm.” Sam studied the patchwork animal in his hand, then glanced around the green, his gaze skipping from face to face, tent to tent.
There were many tourists among us, but he was searching for those I knew personally, closely. While I waited for him to finish his perusal, I bent down and patted Norman, who lay in the shade of the table next to my tennis shoes. I’d walked the Butterfly Fest 5K this morning without stopping once for a breather. In fact, I felt better than I ever had now that I was in my second trimester. Norman rolled onto his back, offering up his belly, and I laughed.
The stuffed animal Sam held was a patchwork duck. A crested duck, in fact. It was made of colorful fabric squares, some solid, others printed with clams, snails, shells, sailboats. On its head was a white faux-fur pom-pom.
I’d finished it only last night, one of many patchwork animals I’d worked on in the past month. For every one I made to sell, I made a bear to donate to the local hospital, for the kids who arrived there without a stuffed friend from home to keep them company, bring them comfort. A Junebear of their very own.
Sam laughed. “Is this based on Bettina? Did she see it yet?”
Across the green, the Happy Clams had set up a dunk tank. Five dollars a toss to see a fish, specifically a Bettina Fish, take a swim, with all the proceeds going toward their Mardi Gras float-restoration fund.
Sam had already easily identified the baby goose made of dandelion print that smelled of strawberries as Juniper, the lion that resembled Molly, the dog that favored Norman, the dark ostrich that was a dead ringer for Estrelle, the chicken that had been inspired by Cluck-Cluck, and the feminine octopus that represented Maggie. He’d been stumped only by the seal pup that reminded me of Dez. There were other patchwork animals on the table that didn’t represent anyone at all but were simply based on animals I’d noticed around town, like a pelican and a gecko. Then, of course, there were the patchwork butterflies. I hadn’t made a white iridescent butterfly yet. I was saving that project to make for my little girl, who was due in springtime, to always remind her to be true to herself, to trust herself, to accept herself just the way she was.
Nodding, I smiled. “Not yet. Do you think she’ll see herself in it?”
“Can’t see how she wouldn’t.”
I laughed. The duck was actually one of my favorites that I’d made, playful and quirky but still charming and adorable.
He glanced at his watch. “I should go set up.”
“Nervous?”
“A little.”
“You’re going to be amazing.”
“You’re just saying that because you love me.”
“While that is true, it has nothing to do with your talent.”
He’d been back in the studio for a month now, working on new songs, and had decided to test a few of them out here at the festival. It was a surprise performance—no one other than a trusted few even knew he was a singer-songwriter.
He bent down and kissed me. “I’ll save you a seat.”
As I watched him walk toward the makeshift stage, I thought back to the first day I’d arrived in town. A lot had changed in that time, yet a lot had stayed the same as well.
The church bell still tolled every hour from dawn to dusk. The Mermaids gathered in force after every storm. The Snail Slippers met every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in the square, with Bettina leading the charge. Estrelle wore all black.
Sienna was now baking at the bakery and hadn’t had a single mishap since starting work in the kitchen. In fact, she was flourishing there. Redmond and Javier had added another cockatiel to the family. Marvin. He hadn’t escaped once.
Dez had moved in with Carmella and had just closed on the private sale of his house. They were engaged but no wedding date had been set yet. He wanted a beach wedding behind the house they’d bought together but Carmella wanted a church wedding. I had the feeling she was going to win that stand-off. They had taken a lot of guff for going about life the wrong way around, moving in before getting married, but both laughed it off, just glad to be together at all.
Magpie’s continued to thrive. Titus had come out of retirement to work alongside Rose at the coffee shop and had convinced Maggie to expand the drinks menu. He was in charge of creating new flavorings, and his first attempt, a brown-sugar-and-cinnamon latte he’d named Sugar Pie, had been an instant hit.
“Estrelle tells me there’s an octopus over here with my name on it.”
I turned toward an approaching Maggie. She wore a Magpie’s T-shirt, denim shorts, and a big smile. All morning she’d been manning a coffee cart not too far from my booth, but currently sixteen-year-old Ambrose Symons stood there in her place, making a hot chocolate for Estrelle, who appeared to be giving him instructions on how to do his job correctly. Poor kid.
Ambrose was another of Magpie’s new hires. He’d been an excellent addition to the staff and even managed to keep focus whenever Candi Chitwood came into the shop wearing her crop tops, tank tops, or strappy dresses. A miracle, because Candi was always a sight to behold.
I worked at the coffee shop only once a week now, on Thursdays. The other weekdays I spent at Stitchery, learning anything and everything I could from Estrelle. Word had gotten aroundthat I repaired and restored stuffed animals, and I was already backlogged with the work that had come in. Estrelle and I had cleared a corner of the store for me to have a sewing space of my own. It was a full-time job in and of itself, but I loved every second of piecing back together something so well loved and full of memories.
Maggie dropped down in the seat next to mine and picked up the patchwork octopus on the table, her gaze flicking over the stitches, the fabrics. “Oh my goodness, Ava.” Tears filled her eyes as she lifted each of the eight arms carefully, lovingly. One was done in a dinosaur print, another patterned with coffee cups. There were tentacles of orange hearts with the wordCoastieon them, a nickname for the Coast Guard; flowers; hearts; black Converse sneakers; butterflies; and finally, a penny print.
“I need to buy this.”
