THE morning sun was barely up when the door to Winifred’s tiny lavender-painted room creaked open and two heads poked through the gap. They were identical heads, same tousled curls, same mischievous eyes flicking left and right like nosy meerkats.

Ethan and Enoch, Aunt Gloria’s twin sons were up to their usual early morning antics. At twenty-one, they still acted like ten-year-olds whenever it came to disturbing their big sister’s peace.

Ethan nudged Enoch with his elbow, his grin spreading wide.

“Shh, you first,” he whispered.

“No, you!” Enoch hissed back, pushing him lightly into the room.

So they stumbled in together, tiptoeing barefoot on the tiled floor like cartoon...