The Photographer Read Free Page A

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
    â€œMegan, wake up!” Someone shook Megan. She grabbed the arm. “Megan, you’re dreaming. Wake up.” It was her father.
    â€œOh, Dad.” Megan tried to shake off the dream. It was so real. She still felt the heat of the flames coming toward her.
    â€œWant 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.
    â€œIn 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?”
    â€œI—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.
    â€œMegan.” 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?”
    â€œIt 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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œHey, come help me finish dinner. Maybe you’re hungry.”
    â€œI’m always hungry, Dad. You know that. I take after you. Mom home?”
    â€œAny 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.
    â€œTough 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.
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œLots of compliments and some ideas for enlargements. I guess I’ll enter the art museum’s show after all.”
    â€œGreat. 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.”
    â€œThat’s what you get for being so beautiful and talented.” Mr. Davidson smiled at his wife.
    â€œLook, 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