“Africa hot,” she muttered, mopping her sweaty brow. Morning was barely out of bed and the thermometer was already doh-si-doh-ing around ninety degrees. Having lived in Kenya for twenty years, Stella knew what she was talking about when she described summer in Texas, when one scorching month melts into another like butter over a blow torch.
I sighed, brushed a strand of damp hair out of my eyes and wondered how my family and I wound up in the baking heat of the Texas Hill Country. How long could we last?
Excerpted from Lone Star Summer, a memoir. Stay tuned for more.