Fly Away Home by Vanessa Del Fabbro Read Free Book Online Page A

no need to say another word because the woman spoke enough for both of them. She told Monica all about Houston, about the school Sipho would be attending, the curriculum, sporting activities—Monica didn’t have a chance to tell her that these wouldn’t be necessary for Sipho—and about the church the family attended.
    â€œHe won’t object to coming to church with us, will he?” Nancy asked.
    â€œOh, no,” said Monica. “Actually, next year he’s going to be a Sunday school teacher at our church.”
    Monica could only conclude that, aside from the sporting activities, Sipho’s life would follow much the same pattern in the United States that it did in South Africa.
    The conversation lasted for almost twenty minutes. Nancy did most of the talking. Monica didn’t mind, since the purpose of the call was to learn about Sipho’s host family. When the two women finally said goodbye, Monica was as reassured as possible for a mother whose son was about to travel thousands of miles away from home.
    Sipho was hanging around the doorway to her bedroom when she got off the telephone.
    â€œWhat did she say?” he asked.
    â€œPhew, a lot. But she sounds nice. And you might not approve, but you will be thoroughly supervised.”
    â€œWhat about her son?”
    â€œHe plays a lot of sports.”
    â€œOh.” Sipho sounded disappointed.
    â€œBut he has other interests. Debating, charity work. Actually, I don’t know when he has time to eat, with all his activities. And you don’t have to join in with anything you don’t want to.”
    She hoped that he would understand that this piece of advice applied to more than extracurricular activities.
    â€œDid she say if I needed warm clothes?”
    Monica laughed. “By the sound of it, Houston might have a shorter and milder winter than we have here on the West Coast. But school uniforms aren’t required like here so you need some extra clothes.”
    â€œCan you just pick them out?”
    Sipho hated shopping. He’d be content if she bought him five identical pairs of pants with five identical shirts. Mandla, on the other hand, always wanted to choose his own clothes. When he was little, he’d refuse to wear anything decorated with tractors, cars or sports logos. The design had to be plain, the fabric soft and nonirritating against his sensitive skin.
    Monica had already decided to take off Thursday to help Sipho get ready, and she bargained on getting him to miss school that day. She put the idea to him now.
    â€œI suppose so,” he said. “But it will only take ten minutes to throw some clothes into a suitcase.”
    Most children she knew, Mandla included, would jump at the chance to miss school, but Sipho was a dedicated student. To him, schoolwork was not a chore but a long task to complete before he could do what he really wanted, which was study medicine.
    Monica thought that she and Sipho could spend most of the day engaged in their favorite activity: walking, either up the koppies or along the beach. Sipho was an informative companion on these walks. He could name every bird, animal and sea creature that came into view, as well as their diet, habitat and method of reproduction.
    â€œThanks for letting me go,” said Sipho. “I know you don’t really want to.”
    Monica gave him a weak smile. “You’ll understand one day when you have children of your own.”
    â€œWhat would my mother have done?”
    The question did not take Monica off guard as it had when Sipho first started asking it, when he became a teenager. For years, his own memories of his mother had been enough, but then it seemed to Monica that he had begun to worry that they were becoming hazy, and so he’d started drawing her into this game of hypothetical parenting. She had never sought to eclipse Ella’s memory, so she went along with it, even when she wasn’t quite