The Photographer (2 page)

“Slow down, Megan,” said Mrs. Kloverstrom. “Especially if you want us to help you choose photos for the competition.”

Megan slowed deliberately but said nothing else until the show was over and three of her photos were selected as best.

“Good show, Megan.” Robert boxed up Megan's slides. “I envy your getting to travel so much.”

“Your pictures of Colorado are outstanding, Robert. A photographer doesn't have to go far from home.”

“Thanks, Megan. I keep reminding myself of that, but I do want to travel someday. Maybe be a correspondent for some newspaper or magazine. Want a ride?” Robert offered as they left the empty school building and headed for the parking lot.

“No. Derrick said he'd drop me off. Thanks.” The strange feeling Megan had about Derrick at lunch was gone. She knew she must have picked up on Cynthia's dislike for Derrick.

Derrick walked on the other side of Megan. He hadn't said a word the whole meeting or during refreshment time, except for the offer of a ride. He didn't have to say much, though, as far as Megan was concerned. His photos spoke for him. While Megan considered herself and Robert good photographers, Derrick was exceptional. His work was already professional quality. Often when Megan got an excellent picture, she knew it was an accident. She figured from what she had seen so far Derrick did nothing by accident.

Each year Boulder High's Photography Club kicked off the year with a contest. Arriving on the scene in September, Derrick had walked away with first place. Megan came in second, but when she'd seen Derrick's entries, she couldn't complain. One was of an incredibly attractive girl—from his last school, he'd said. His art had enhanced her beauty. Two were ordinary neighborhood scenes made extraordinary by Derrick's eye and camera angle. The fourth was a color photo of clouds. Megan had felt she could reach out and touch their softened texture.

“Do you two want to go to Denver some Saturday soon?” Robert asked, closing the passenger door on Derrick's van and leaning on the open window. “We can photograph some industrial sights for the black-and-white category. I'll drive.”

“Good idea,” Megan answered for herself and Derrick. She hoped that if she hung around Derrick, she could learn from him. And he'd already mentioned he wanted some new photos for the art museum's upcoming contest. Robert stepped back, smiled, and waved when Megan answered.

Pulling out of the school parking lot, Derrick swerved his old Ford van to miss a pothole. He was draped over the steering wheel like a question mark, surveying the road and manhandling the van. Megan hadn't driven it, but she guessed it took the skill and manpower of its owner to nurse it along, not to mention his mechanical genius to keep it running.

When Derrick had relaxed a bit and headed for their subdivision, Megan teased him. “Wow, you're really talkative today, Derrick. Asking me if I wanted a ride home took three words.”

Derrick grinned in his funny way, raising the corners of his lips about an eighth of an inch. “Good show.”

“Thanks. I think I'll enlarge that picture of us on elephants crossing the river in Tiger Tops. The fog makes the picture mysterious.” Megan thought out loud, knowing Derrick probably wouldn't answer. Being with Derrick wasn't like being with Cynthia, or even Robert; she and Derrick weren't surrounded by a comfortable silence. So she chattered, a habit she disliked in others. She wanted to ask him about Cynthia, but she didn't have the nerve.

He seemed terribly absentminded, in the fashion of real genius. Like now. Even with her talking, it was obvious his mind was a million miles away. He was probably thinking about a photo he wanted to take. Sometimes Megan thought the word
obsessed
would be a good tag for Derrick. It had taken very little time around him to realize that his work obsessed him. He had his own darkroom and said he spent a lot of time there.

“Isn't Bunny Browne the dumbest blond you ever knew?” Megan attempted to lure Derrick into a frivolous conversation. She'd tried it before, just to see if she could. “She's that cliché personified.”

No luck. The funny smile again. No comment.

“Makes me glad I got brains instead of beauty.” Megan wasn't fishing for a compliment. She knew she wasn't beautiful. Only her dark red hair saved her from being a real disaster. Her figure was what some would call pleasingly plump, and she didn't care. She had no desire to become prom queen or win a beauty contest. She had developed her artistic talents instead. She also knew that Derrick wouldn't lie and tell her she was attractive to make her feel better. She knew him that well. She sighed. Maybe he picked up on her feelings.

“I like you, Megan.” Derrick stopped the van at her house.

“Wow! The famous photographer Derrick Ames likes me! Wow!” Megan laughed as she lifted the two boxes of slides and climbed off the high seat onto the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride, Derrick.”

“Thanks for being such an inspiration,” Derrick said in response.

“I've inspired you?” Megan asked. “To do what?”

“You've reminded me of how talented I really am.” Derrick grinned and pulled away from the curb.

Megan watched him leave, feeling again the magnetic pull Derrick had on her. He was talented, and his pointing it out, even in teasing, didn't bother her at all. She grinned and shook her head. Derrick was something else. She had mixed emotions about him sometimes, but she was glad he had come to Boulder High. He was a fascinating person.

Megan turned the front doorknob. Locked. Even though she was late getting home, neither her mom nor her dad was there. She could get some homework done. Quickly she fished her key from her purse and let herself in. As soon as she stepped inside, however, she felt a dizziness and a fatigue overtake her. Maybe she'd been more nervous about showing her slides than she'd realized. Or her restless nights were catching up with her. She decided to take a quick nap and do homework after dinner.

Her legs turned to jelly halfway up the stairs. It was all she could do to reach her bed. What was the matter with her? She felt as if she had no control of her body at all. Losing sleep shouldn't make her feel this awful. If she could just sleep without dreaming for a night or two, even an hour or two, she knew she'd feel better.

Collapsing on her peach-flowered spread, she hugged her stuffed killer whale, the worn toy she'd had since a childhood visit to Sea World. Almost immediately she was asleep.

She smelled the smoke then. But she couldn't move. The fire surged toward her. She tugged and pulled, but she couldn't get away. There was no escaping it. Clouds of smoke surrounded her. Hungry flames snapped and crackled. She twisted her wrists until they were filled with pain. She screamed and screamed, “I must get out. I must!”

Chapter 3

“Megan, wake up!” Someone shook Megan. She grabbed the arm. “Megan, you're dreaming. Wake up.” It was her father.

“Oh, Dad.” Megan tried to shake off the dream. It was so real. She still felt the heat of the flames coming toward her.

“Want to tell me about it?” Mr. Davidson sat on the bed beside Megan.

Megan pulled herself to a sitting position. She felt worse than before she lay down, and she hadn't slept long. “Do you ever think about the plane wreck, Dad?” Megan asked.

“In India?” It seemed to take her dad a minute to realize what Megan was talking about. “Was that what you were dreaming about? We all got out okay, honey. Why would you continue to worry about it?”

“I—I don't know. I thought I was trapped. The flames were coming closer. I was so hot and there was smoke …” Megan's voice trailed off.

“Megan.” Mr. Davidson ran his hand over Megan's hair and took her hand. “Megan, honey, the plane didn't catch on fire. Remember everyone saying what a blessing it was that it didn't?”

“It must have.” Megan rubbed her eyes. “I was trapped and so scared.” She started to cry softly.

Mr. Davidson put his palm on Megan's forehead.

“I'm not sick. I was—I was dreaming.” Should she tell her dad about dreaming every time she fell asleep lately? But what could he do? Send her to a doctor, or worse, a psychiatrist? Give her a lecture about stress, or even suggest she cut down on her activities? She didn't want that. And she didn't want to worry him or her mother. “It was just a dream,” she said, getting to her feet.

“Hey, come help me finish dinner. Maybe you're hungry.”

“I'm always hungry, Dad. You know that. I take after you. Mom home?”

“Any minute. Come on. She left a roast in the Crockpot. We just need to make a salad and nuke some vegetables.”

Mrs. Davidson burst into the kitchen just as they were dishing up dinner. She sighed, kicked off her shoes, and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Tough day?” Megan asked.

Even tired, her mother was gorgeous. Her outfit was hardly wrinkled, her makeup and hair perfect. She was such a contrast to Megan and her father. Megan had pulled on jeans and Mr. Davidson was in rumpled corduroys.

A model for products aimed at adults, Mrs. Davidson traveled the metro area wearing new fashions and furs, posing in kitchens, country-club settings, on the golf course, or at some glamorous job setting. Quite often she showed up on television, talking about the car of the future or the perfume that set middle-aged men's hearts pounding.

“I did three sessions. I can't believe I'm so crazy. But they wanted me. It's hard to say no. But, how was your photo show, Megan?”

“Lots of compliments and some ideas for enlargements. I guess I'll enter the art museum's show after all.”

“Great. Hey, thanks for finishing dinner.” Mom sat at the table and let Megan wait on her. “I'll do dishes. And then soak my feet. I'm exhausted. I may stay home tomorrow.”

“That's what you get for being so beautiful and talented.” Mr. Davidson smiled at his wife.

“Look, it takes no talent to stand in front of a camera all day. Just strength. Lots of it.” Mrs. Davidson helped herself to salad and vegetables and a small portion of meat.

Megan laughed. Her mother would probably do three more jobs tomorrow. She was some kind of superwoman. “Maybe you're really tired because you're losing your soul.” Megan reminded her mother about the gypsy's belief about their cameras. Since she couldn't forget about the episode, she might as well talk about it. Sometimes that helped.

“No, your mother's getting paid, remember,” Megan's dad said.

They laughed and talked, and Megan pushed her dreams, more recently becoming nightmares, aside. She'd had dreams before where she kept trying to get to school. Or she was entering a contest and kept searching for a photo she'd lost. Your usual stress dreams. She was just physically tired. She wasn't as good at working under stress as her mother. With homework, a newspaper deadline every week, photos due on the annual, she was almost too busy. She had a right to be tired.

Megan helped her mom with dishes so they could both get out of the kitchen in a hurry. “Do you ever think of the plane crash, Mom?”

As her father had done, Megan's mother looked at Megan for a minute, her face blank. “Oh, no, Megan. I had to remember what you were talking about. Now that my arm has healed, it's history. You aren't worried about it, are you? Goodness, no reason for that.”

Mrs. Davidson had broken her arm when their twin-engine Otter had crashed, returning from their hop to Tiger Tops in Nepal. Megan and her dad had escaped with only bruises. But even as Megan talked to her mother, she wondered why her mother and father had been able to forget the event that was starting to haunt her. Why couldn't she forget it?

As if her mother had read her mind, she said, “Sometimes, when something bad happens, Megan, we push it away and refuse to deal with it. Maybe you didn't deal with the crash at the time, and you have to think about it now.”

“You may be right, Mom. I've been dreaming about it. It happened so fast, I don't even remember being scared. But I feel scared now. Isn't that strange?”

“Sounds as if you have a bad attack of what-might-have-happened. Brought back by looking at your slides, I'd bet. We survived. Think that over and let it go.” Megan's mom hugged her close for a minute. Megan hugged back, grateful for parents who didn't laugh at her fears.

“You're pretty smart—for a mother,” Megan said teasingly, and joined her mother's soft laughter.

She stopped to kiss her dad when dishes were done.

“Want to watch TV?” he asked. “There's a dance concert on Channel 6.”

“No, I have to study, and I want to go to bed early. Newspaper staff meeting in the morning, remember?” Megan hurried up the stairs.

Before she started her chemistry problems, she reached for the phone.

“Don't do that,” Cynthia said.

“Do what?”

“Answer the phone before it rings. It gives me the creeps.”

Megan hadn't realized she'd answered before the phone rang. “Oh, it was good timing, Cynthia. I was just going to call you before I got involved with chemistry. I'm afraid the only chemistry I'm really interested in is the reaction of chemicals on film.”

“How about male and female? Gus just called me. He's coming over to take me for a Coke. Sounds serious.” Cynthia laughed.

“What did I tell you? He's been planning an apology all day. Don't be too hard on him.”

“I will at first, but I'll give in. Now I really can tell Derrick I can't go with him. Everyone knows the Homecoming Queen goes with the football captain. Did Robert ask to take you to the dance at the Photo Club meeting today?”

“No. What makes you think he will? We'll both take pictures at the game and the dance. He wouldn't even consider that either of us needs a date.”

“I think he likes you, Megan, more than you realize. Maybe even more than he realizes. It's obvious.”