"Why are you wearing my clothes?"With an uncharacteristically high heart the man replied in a scratchy, squeaky voice: "I am not Herbert. I am Helen. ...nd these are my clothes. Do you like them?"The man gracefully rose from the table. He loved sunny, shining mornings like this. His brawny, hairy arms bulged forth from a sleeveless, ankle-length floral print dress several sizes too small for his bulky frame. The man's feet, narrowly squeezed into silver-accented women's sandals, lithely danced. "All right, all right. We'll probably be gone most of the day, so the sitter ought to be prepared for a fairly long job. And Glynn--"He ignored his sister's knee pressure and said, "Yeah, I know. Be a good little boy." He winced when Lorena kicked him on the shin, but stared down into his plate as if nothing had happened. Damn, he thought; nothing went right around the house any more. He wondered what the hell Lorena had in mind--faking a sitter so they could be together again, so they could. More

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