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half inch heel. Angela insisted on buying everything the
same, right down to the underwear, again a compromise, blacker and lacier than
Aggie’s initial choice.
    As she drove out of the remnants of Atlanta traffic and
headed west on I-85, Aggie wondered again what her sister was up to. She knew
Angela must have a plan, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be. Still the
outfit was nice. She’d take Andrew to a movie and dazzle him when she got home.
    “Dad!” Angela screamed out the window as the car pulled into
the driveway.
    Their father was picking up magnolia buds from the front
lawn. He stood up and dropped the kitchen tongs that protected his fingers from
the sticky cones.
    “Blossom!” he called out his old nickname for the slightly
older twin. He hurried to the passenger side of the car and pulled open the
door. Angela jumped into his arms and they danced around the front yard in an
ecstatic hug.
    “I’m here too, Dad,” Aggie reminded them.
    Still holding Angela’s hand, Gordon Trout turned to his
other daughter.
    “Peach Fuzz!” He opened his arms. Aggie stepped stiffly into
the embrace, then melted as her father’s free hand rubbed up and down her back.
    “I can’t believe you’re both here,” he crowed. “Let’s go
inside. I’ll get you a drink.”
    At sixty-three, their father was still in excellent physical
condition, his back straight and his hair a thick silver thatch. Aggie looked
at him proudly as he turned to lead them up the stairs to the front porch. Then
he stumbled and she glanced at her sister, who shook her head. He righted
himself and held onto the railing as he climbed the rest of the stairs.
    “Damn things,” he muttered, glaring at the stairs and
smiling at his daughters at the same time. “Always trip me up.”
    Inside, the house was immaculate and untidy at the same
time, spotless wherever their father hadn’t managed to drop something since
Mary had cleaned.
    “What can I get you girls?”
    “I’ll make a pot of coffee, Dad,” Aggie offered.
    Angela nodded. “I just want coffee.”
    “I’ll call Mary, then. I know she’ll want to come right over
and see you. She’s cooking a turkey.”
    “Thanksgiving at home,” Angela smiled. “What a treat.”
    Aggie glared at her sister behind her father’s back. This
sweetness and light bit was not Angela. The older twin smiled back as their
father left the room. Even her eyes were laughing, Aggie noted suspiciously.
Angela took a sip of coffee, her finger crooked in the air in a C.
    “I’m going to run over and pick Mary up,” their father
announced as he walked back into the room. “You girls make yourselves at home.”
    “We will,” Angela smiled. “Take your time.”
    After the door closed behind their father, Angela put down
her coffee mug and stood up from the sofa.
    “Time to get to work,” she announced as she dragged her
sister up by the elbow.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Let’s change while he’s out and we’ll try the twin thing
when they get back.”
    “I won’t let you be nasty to Mary.”
    “I like Mary,” Angela insisted. “I just want to see if we
still have the old touch.”
    Angela hugged her sister.
    “Please,” she begged.
    Aggie shrugged her shoulders and dislodged her arms.
    “Okay,” she sighed. “I just wish I knew what you were really
up to.”
    The two sisters walked arm in arm down the hall toward their
old bedroom, bags in hand. Angela went straight to the ensuite bathroom and
scrubbed the makeup off her face. Aggie opened the bags and pulled out the new
clothes. Within a minute, she was changed.
    “This is a nice outfit,” she commented as she turned in
front of the mirror. The gray pants hugged her hips then fell in a straight
line to the floor. The sweater clung to her breasts then draped softly. The crochet
flowers on the shoulders emphasized her straight posture, the reward of twelve
years of ballet.
    “You look good,” Angela commented as she emerged from