Epilogue
EIGHT YEARS LATEREdie holds up the Washington Daily News so I can see the headline. “This one might be my favorite,” she says.
FBI HAS CAT SCRATCH FEVER, it reads.
“No way,” Tina shakes her head, her hair its usual vivid green. “MAVIS EVANS IN CATBIRD SEAT, HEADING NEW SUPE DIVISION AT FBI.”
“You guys, stop,” I beg them, as I gather the brunch dishes scattered everywhere.
Sunday afternoon brunch has become a sort of tradition at my house once we discovered that Griff had an incredible cooking talent. Today was quiche and homemade cinnamon rolls, followed by all of us loosening our pants after eating too much. Mostly every week the whole “team” gathers. Edie and Val, Tina and Shauna, Cassie and Griff, Fern and Marguerite, and of course, Mac. He’s the only one of us not in a pa
