A Broken Kind of Beautiful by Katie Ganshert Read Free Book Online Page B

our campaign. Just think how much money we’ll raise for the art program. Sara will be thrilled.”
    His aunt knew exactly what words to use to distill his rising doubt. “Do I need to find hair and makeup people?”
    “I’ve got it all arranged, honey. You just need to worry about the vision.”
    Right, the vision. Something on which he used to thrive. But it hadbeen almost two years, and the only vision he’d explored during that time was helping Sara acclimate to her new normal. Now, all of a sudden, he needed to adopt Joan’s vision. Well, what if he couldn’t? Perhaps, in his attempt to bury his passion, he’d lost his gift. There was a very real possibility that Davis wasn’t good anymore.
    “I’m convinced this is going to be brilliant. Remember, Sunday morning you’re to meet Candace for the private tour of the plantation, and if you could get me the storyboard by Tuesday, that would be great.”
    The waitress reappeared, holding three plates of food. She set them down one by one. Joan picked up her fork and stabbed some greens. “Until then, it looks like there’s only one thing for you to do.”
    He cleared his throat. “What’s that?”
    “Get out that camera and practice.”

    Davis sat in the middle of his living room, surrounded by the items he’d brought up from his basement storage closet. He pulled his Mamiya 645 from its case and grazed the digital back with his fingers. He’d bought the camera as a gift to himself, right before the Vogue photo shoot. He’d only used it that one time. He set it down and reached for the Nikon D2X—the cool weight familiar in his hands. How many fashion shows had he shot with that camera? He pulled the strap over his head and toyed with the zoom.
    Leaving the camera dangling around his neck, he scooted himself around to examine the other odds and ends surrounding him. Firewire cable. Various attachable lenses. The Broncolor Impact and different-sized lighting stands. A minitripod, gaffer tape, elastic bands, polarizers to fit his lenses. Davis had worried he wouldn’t remember what everything was or how to use it all. He worried that two years might be too long. He ran his hand over the silky surface of a diffusion screen.
    He’d worried for nothing.
    Letting out a deep breath, he repacked the small items inside his gadget box, then folded up the light stands and umbrellas and slid them carefully into the carrying case. He put everything away until all that remained was the Nikon hanging around his neck—fully charged, black and smooth, resting against his chest. He walked to his sliding patio door and stepped out onto the third-story balcony.
    His apartment complex overlooked Bay View Golf Course to the right, nature trails to the left, and a creek that divided them. In the distance, the sun dipped closer to the horizon, throwing sparkles over the creek and outlining a heron in pinks and oranges. Davis brought the camera to his eye and peered through the viewfinder. He pressed the shutter. His heart did a funny sort of pirouette as the camera captured the image.
    He inhaled the humid evening air. How many times had his father taken him hiking or mountain climbing when they lived in Telluride? How many times had they walked mountain trails, searching for the right moment to capture God’s creation? They’d seen so many wonders on those walks—elk, mountain goats, a bright-purple flower growing up from a patch of snow. A million and one sunsets and sunrises, all captured and cataloged in his memory.
    Dad used to say that God gift-wrapped His creation for the world. But in the hustle and bustle of day-to-day living, people didn’t stop to unwrap the gift.
    “That’s why it’s up to you to keep your eyes open, Davis. All the time, keep those eyes open. Search for those moments.” Dad wasn’t exceptionally talented with the camera. His passion for the craft stood out more than his mastery, which is why he worked maintenance. Making a living off