Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Title
- Author’s Note
- Glossary
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Acknowledgments
Clare slid into her sleeping bag and lay on her back, thinking about the day. The pace at which the group walked had surprised her. They were fitter than she’d imagined they’d be. When they stopped, which happened frequently, it wasn’t to rest—not obviously, anyway—but rather to drink, snack or remove their boots and soak their feet in the rivers. Mostly though, her father and his friends paused to admire and discuss plants, trees, spoor and the views.
“Glad you came?” he’d asked that afternoon as he’d followed her across a plateau of restios that swayed lazily in the breeze.
“I am,” she’d replied, without having to think about it. “I think I can manage six days of this.”
Now, though, as she sat up and rolled her sweatshirt into a makeshift pillow, Clare was uncertain. She wasn’t afraid of sleeping outside but, ever since he had turned up on campus and insisted on taking her out to lunch, Derek unsettled her. She told herself he meant well and cared about her the way her parents cared about his and Faye’s son, Zach. They’d all been friends for so long, they were practically family. There was nothing more to it. Even so, she was annoyed by Derek’s attention, his comment about the baboons, and at herself for responding to his ridiculousness.
She got up, shone her torch into the cavernous opening of the lapa and followed the light around the raised fire-pit and the large stone and hardwood table, benches and counters. The fire iron stood against the wall alongside a row of tree stumps, which had been sawed and smoothed into simple seats. Ignoring how sooty the heavy rod made her hand, Clare took it, laid it alongside her mattress, climbed back into the bag and stared at the sky again.
She wanted to sleep and felt weary enough to do so, but her mind was restless. Her anxiety, she told herself, was unwarranted. Too bad. It had taken hold. Clare willed herself to think about her grandmother again and recall something interesting, soothing, distracting that she had taught her. When that didn’t work, she closed her eyes and tried to picture, section by section, the route the group had followed to reach the hut. But, as if harnessed to a powerful pulley somewhere else in her brain, her thoughts dragged up visions of the food she’d consumed that day instead.