Mists of The Serengeti by Leylah Attar

Author:Leylah Attar [Attar, Leylah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mists of the Serengeti
Publisher: Pitch73 Publishing
Published: 2017-01-28T18:30:00+00:00

NIGHT DESCENDED AROUND us with flat and complete blackness. The moon hung above, but not a single dot of light flickered on the horizon. Yellow-winged bats flitted off to meet the darkness as Jack stoked the fire.

“We’ll set off for Magesa in the morning,” he said. “Once we find Furaha, we can come back for the car with a mechanic. Hopefully, the phone will pick up a signal too.”

“Have you ever been? To Magesa?” I rinsed out our dinner plates and sat next to him.

“I haven’t been to any of the places on Mo’s list.” He was sitting close to the flames, his face toasty and warm.

“They’re all so different—each town, each village. I never know what to expect.” Night eyes glittered around us. A porcupine? A mongoose? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I felt completely safe with Jack.

“You miss home?” he asked.

“Yes. And no.” I shifted on the mossy log we were sitting on. “I just bought my first home. I miss that. I miss its worn, honey-hued walls. The sound of the river as it flows by. I miss my little book nook. The sheep-dotted hills. Fields of lavender. June roses tumbling over the fences. Small, wild strawberries growing through cracks in the flagstones. I miss the church bells, the tall, elegant spires. It’s home, you know? We traveled a lot when I was younger. I’ve looked for a place like that my whole life, a place that spoke to my soul.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Jack turned to me, elbows resting on his knees.

In the silence that followed, I smiled ruefully. After Sarah, he had vowed to never ask another woman to live on the farm with him. And I had just ensured that even if he changed his mind, that woman wouldn’t be me. We both had places of permanence that we weren’t willing to give up.

“And Africa?” he whispered, staring into the flames. “What do you think of Africa?”

I will always think of you when I think of Africa.

“It’s beautiful and heart-wrenching. It heals you, it destroys you. It’s the place that claimed my sister.” And my heart.

The fire threw our flickering shadows against the tree trunks. The heat of the day had dissipated, and our breaths were turning to vapor.

“We should turn in,” said Jack. But neither of us moved. Because there was only one tent, and it had been flashing in our faces all evening, like a big neon sign on the Vegas strip.

I went in first, while Jack secured the fire. It was a fair-sized tent—until Jack entered because everything just seemed to shrink around him. I closed my eyes and huddled under the blankets as he slid in, next to me. I kept my back to him, but the air-inflated mattress shifted under his weight, so I ended up clinging to the edge, to keep from rolling toward him. I really was on a slippery slope when it came to him.

“Rodel?”

“Yes?”

“If you dig your nails into the mattress any harder, you’re going to rip a hole through it.

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