Sacred Time Read Online Free PDF

you.”
    But I’d heard my mother say that, because of my aunt’s situation, any favor you accepted obligated you tenfold. That’s why I wasn’t allowed to tell her when we took alterations to Koss’, where steam from the pressing machine smelled of wool and yeast and starch.
    â€œGirls,” Aunt Floria told the twins, “why don’t you go and play with your cousin?”
    Bianca and Belinda—one year and one day older and heavier than I—took me into their bedroom, where we played the tickle game on the floor. You won if you didn’t flinch while your toes or nipples got tweaked, or while you got tickled behind your knees or between your legs. In the months since we’d invented the game, we’d become bold. Stoical. I tickled Belinda, who then tickled Bianca, who tickled me.
    When Belinda got both of us to laugh, she yelled, “I win.”
    â€œNice girls don’t play tickle games.”
    â€œDo so.” Belinda crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.
    â€œSister Lucille says,” I lied.
    â€œSister Lucille doesn’t know.”
    â€œShe knows.” What I didn’t tell the twins was that Sister Lucille said boys’ hands did the work of the devil. Whenever Sister spotted a boy with his hands in his pockets, she’d smack his palms with her wooden ruler—one smack for each wound of Christ. If Sister found out about the tickle game… Sixty smacks. At least sixty smacks with her ruler. Sister Lucille also said waiting for chocolate was excellent training for waiting for heaven. Since Advent-calendar chocolate was the best chocolate in the world, Sister Lucille had told the class, “By not letting yourself have everything you want right away, you save up ten times that much in heaven.”
    Belinda pointed at my legs. “Sister Lucille says you got skinny legs.”
    â€œHe does not have skinny legs,” Bianca defended me.
    â€œSkinny legs,” Belinda hollered. “And it’s my turn to play with him.”
    â€œNo, mine.”
    â€œMine. Anthony, tell Bianca you’re my brother.”
    â€œNo, he is my brother.”
    I watched them closely, trying to figure out whom to favor this time.
    â€œMine.”
    â€œNo. Mine.”
    Often, they clung to me like that, fighting to impress me, to be my favorite, till I said I liked one of them better. Then they’d fight each other. Over me. I didn’t like that adoration, but it was better than having both of them clobber me. To distract them, I pulled Frogman from my pocket. “Look. He can swim.” I showed them the baking soda inside his leg. “If we put him into your tub—”
    â€œBut we have a rabbit in the tub.”
    â€œA new rabbit. A boy rabbit.” Belinda gripped my hand. “You want to see? Papa bought him for me.”
    â€œPapa won the rabbit,” Bianca corrected her. “My rabbit.”
    â€œNever mind her.” Belinda pulled me toward the bathroom, where a rabbit crouched in the tub, eyes pink and scared.
    â€œDon’t touch him.” Bianca was right behind us. “He’s my pet.”
    But I was already stroking the white pelt between his ears, whispering, “Hey there, rabbit, hey—”
    â€œHe’ll eat your finger.”
    â€œDoes not,” Belinda said as I snatched my arm away.
    Bianca clicked her shoe against the side of the tub.
    â€œStop that. It annoys Ralph.”
    â€œHis name is Malcolm.”
    â€œYou cannot give Papa’s name to a rabbit. You have to call him Ralph.”
    â€œMalcolm.”
    â€œRalph.” Belinda clutched the fur behind the rabbit’s neck and heaved him into her arms. “Ralph likes to read comic books with me. You want to read comic books, Ralph?”
    Prior to the rabbit, two painted turtles had lived in the twins’ bathtub. My mother said they couldn’t grow like regular turtles because their shells