Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“She really is beautiful,” Carmen said.
“Yeah, she is.” I waved at Sutton, and she returned the gesture, heading back into the water.
“She’s also unhappy.” Carmen lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head, her forehead scrunching as she watched Sutton.
“I know.” I lowered my camera so I could see her with my own eyes instead of through the lens.
Sutton hunted for shells. It was the wrong time of day for it, but I wasn’t about to interrupt the first peaceful moment I’d seen her have in the past couple of weeks.
“Is she homesick?” Carmen asked. “It can be hard for some of the kids to adjust. It’s why most of us only travel a year at a time. Not everyone is cut out for this kind of life.”
“I think she misses Colorado.” I sucked in a lungful of salty, oxygenated air and felt a pang of longing for the sharp, crisp scent of the snow. Maybe I was the one who missed Colorado and our small mountain town.
I knew we both missed Weston.
Sutton asked about him every few days at first, and I would gently remind her that adults have problems kids aren’t responsible for, but that I knew he cared about her and I bet he missed her just as much as she missed him. Slowly, her inquiries dropped to about once a week.
I held it together every single day for her, but when the night came, all bets were off. I’d cried myself to sleep too many times to count. And it didn’t matter that I could list off all the reasons we shouldn’t be together. I was well aware he’d violated my trust by submitting that photo, and I was still pissed. I knew he was reckless with every part of him except his heart. I even knew the probability of him ever letting me in enough to love me was somewhere between zero and negative one.
But I also knew he’d been the catalyst for me taking control of my life and my career. He’d unknowingly made this very moment possible. He was the reason Sutton’s confidence had shot sky high, and the reason I had received at least a dozen offers for contract photography work. He was the reason the local gallery in Penny Ridge had requested four pictures for display after the curator had seen my win for World Geographic. That moment alone had been better than winning the internship.
Weston had completely altered my comfort zone and made me better for it. I simply hadn’t managed to do the same for him.
God, I missed him.
“You said you’ve been dreaming of this program since you were eighteen,” Carmen said.
That was among the dozen things I’d awkwardly blurted during our first meeting in Paraguay. “Yes. It was all I wanted.”
She nodded, watching her son. “When I was eighteen, I wanted to be a war correspondent.”
“You what?” My gaze snapped toward her. Carmen was known for her nature photography, period.
“I know, right?” She laughed, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “But at eighteen, I wanted the drama and the tragedy. I wanted to shoot the moments of pain and anguish so everyone could see just how cruel we are to each other.”
“What changed?” The two different specialties were worlds apart.
“Me.” She shrugged. “After a few years of documenting misery, I realized I wanted to showcase the beauty in the world instead.” Her gaze found mine. “The dreams we have at eighteen aren’t the same dreams we have at forty, or thirty”—she arched a brow—“or twenty-nine. We change. We evolve. Imagine how boring our lives would be if we didn’t.”
“What did you do when your dream changed?” I asked Carmen.
“I corrected course to my new goal.” She offered me a knowing smile. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting that dreams change, that plans change, that our tastes change. There’s only something wrong if we don’t admit it. And I only say this because while you’re an excellent, talented photographer, Callie, your daughter isn’t the only one who is unhappy.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat that had been lodged there since our first week in Paraguay. Logically, this was the right choice. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn nature photography from the best in the business.
But there was part of me that wouldn’t stop internally screaming that all of this was wrong. I was slowly realizing I didn’t want to be a nature photographer. Carmen had simply seen it through my photographs before I’d allowed myself to admit it.
I’d been happy, not just with Weston, but taking pictures of extreme athletes at Madigan. Once I’d stopped shaking, I’d loved hanging off the side of the helicopter to capture the perfect shot. I’d loved the thrill of watching through the lens, like I was the one on that slope.
To be honest, I couldn’t even imagine which nature shots had been good enough from Peru to publish. There wasn’t any passion in those pictures, no heart-stopping imagery. Holding the file, I turned my back against the wind and slid the papers out, noting which pictures were mentioned.