My problem was handled. And that was it. My father and I understood each other. Aunt Sarah was less understanding. She had lived with us since I was ...en, since uncle Jonas had died sticky and black, waving his dead hand and trying to figure out how you spelled leukemia. She was tall like daddy, and they had the same eyes, but what looked kind on him looked sneaky on her. We’d existed peacefully enough for five years. Aside from her begging me to grow my white hair long, which my mother also. I pulled my T-shirt off, dropped it on the floor, and reached down to unclasp my bra. ‘Can I do that?’ I heard Sarah ask, her voice husky with emotion. ‘I never really had any practice with one of my own.’ I stepped closer and felt warm fingers purposefully caress my breasts before grasping the clasp. I giggled as I realized Sarah wasn’t exaggerating. I could think of half a dozen guys who would have had my bra completely off while Sarah fiddled unsuccessfuly with the clasp. At last, the bra. More

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