It helped that Maggie and Vern stole most of thenew couplespotlight. We let them, and they were disgusting about it, earning enough attention that no one made noise about Gale and me.
Except Jazz, but his attitude and mouth had turned him into an outcast.
“We aren’t spending the night, Mom. I’ll be home this afternoon.”
“Will Gale be here for dinner?”
“Maybe. I’ll ask him if he wants to stay. We were going to go to his place.”
“Again? I’ll make lasagna.”
“In this heat? Why not barbecue something?”
She acquiesced as a knock sounded at the front of the house. “I’ve got to run.”
I pecked a kiss on her cheek and headed for the door as she called out, “When are you camping?”
“Day after tomorrow. I’ll be there for your appointment. I promise.”
She didn’t like the idea of me sleeping on the ground and drinkingcamping water, never mind how far I would be from a hospital, but she had managed to bite her tongue… mostly.
I still hadn’t pulled together enough money to get new tires for the car, so we were taking Gale’s Jeep to Oklahoma City that morning. One night at home, a quick appointment with Mom, and we were hitting the road that following day and heading northeast to spend a week at a national park. Gale planned to teach me the art of photography and introduce me to Dickens. He promised I would likeOliver Twist. I was more excited about the former.
I opened the front door and was greeted by a smug Gale, who thrust a white envelope into my hands.
I quirked a brow. “Shit. Have I been served? What did I do?”
“Open it.”
“What is it?”
“Open it.” His giddiness was contagious.
The envelope had already been torn along the seam, so I parted the edges and plucked a folded piece of paper from within. I eyed Gale, who hadn’t stopped grinning, and unfolded the page.
It took me less than a minute to realize what it was. A letter fromWeathermagazine’s chief editor. “No way. They approved your piece.”
“Yep. The Storm Whisperer is going to print for the November issue. A four-page spread.”
“Oh my god. You said half a page would be a dream.”
“I know. They like you for some reason.”
I dragged Gale into my arms and squeezed. “I’m so proud of you.”
Things were headed in the right direction. Gale had found something he was passionate about, and he was making a name for himself.
The more exposure he got with his photography, the larger his résumé, and the more people noticed him. He’d sold a few photographs from recent chases to other magazines and private art collectors, ones who planned to display them in series and show them off to fellow art enthusiasts.
An art studio in Houston had contacted Gale the previous week, asking if he would consider a show in the fall. A lot of it had to do with the nature of his photographs. He’d collected quite a portfolio of intense storm pictures, active funnels, and close-up shots of tornadoes and their destruction over the past few months. Gale had a knack for capturing moments that came alive in print.
“We should go,” he said. “We don’t want to be late.”
“We should celebrate.”
“I purchased some celebratory drinks for our camping trip.”
“Ohhh. Excellent.” Away from home, I wasn’t opposed to having a drink like a normal twenty-four-year-old, and I was looking forward to witnessing an inebriated Gale.
