My goddaughter, Shari, owns The Berry Factory in Sacramento, California, and her mother, Joan, and I were helping with the Valentine’s Day rush. We’d dipped hundreds of berries, arranged gift baskets and packaged orders to be 36 around the country. By the end of the day, the two middle-aged women, Joan and I, were exhausted. But Shari didn’t seem tired. That was 37 Shari. 38 she was very busy, I’d seen her give away berries to everyone—parking attendants, mail carriers and hairdressers. “For me?” they would say, bursting into 39 . 40 a“thank you”, Shari took us out for dinner. But there was a 45-munite 41 at her favorite restaurant. “No big 42 . There’s an  other place just up the road,” she said, driving up there. This time we walked right 43 .When th  e waitress came to 44 our drink orders, Shari 45 into her handbag, pulling something out. “ I want you to have these,” she said, 46 the waitress a box of chocolate-dipped strawberries. “ She will love those berries!” I thought. 47 the waitress seemed very surprised instead. She only let out a “ thank you” 48 grabbing the box and rushing into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the waitress returned 49 our iced tea. “ I apologize,” she said. “ My best friend and I had 50 to send each other something every Valentine’s Day. But she 51 last year. I didn’t know how I’d 52 this day without her. Then you handed me that box.” “ I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Shari. “ It’s not much, but I hope you can 53 them.” “ Oh, I will,” the waitress said. “ See, every year we 54 sent each other the same thing: a box of chocolate-dipped strawberries bought from our favorite store, The Berry 55 .”
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