Because Thanksgiving had been so late this year, it was only a few days later that I brought up the subject of Christmas cards.
“Isn’t it a little early?” Wills asked. He’d had to go in to work for a few hours earlier in the day, but when he arrived home, he’d showered, changed into more casual clothes, and we had dinner—open-faced sandwiches of leftover turkey, stuffing, and gravy, and baked potatoes and a spinach salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing.
“Not really.” I hated waiting until the last minute, something Tim had encouraged. He had insisted I had the nicest handwriting of all the boys, and the job of signing the cards for our clients, Happy Holidays from your friends at 3F Corporation! had fallen to me. Tim felt 3F, which stood for Fun, Fun, Fun was innocuous enough that
