“Oh no . . .”
My hand covers my mouth as heat prickles behind my eyes.
“Oh honey, maybe it’s for the best. You could use a gap year. You’ve almost killed yourself over the last few years.” Her face falls the second the words leave her mouth.
Mom’s hands close over mine still holding my mug.
The stone in my throat is a direct contradiction to what she’s trying so hard to make me see.
This isn’t the end of my career.
This isn’t the end of my art or my voice.
“You can use this year to find your feet again. Do something out in the wild for a while. Just think of the pictures you’ll capture.” Brad gives me an empathetic look.
“Maybe. But how will I get by without an actual paying job...” My forehead hits the dining table as a groan rips through my throat.
“Well, if you’re after something paid, I have an option for you. But it’s a traveling gig.” Brad messes up my hair.
I pop my head up.
“What is it?”
He gives me a hopeful smile.
“PBR needs a new circuit photographer. Pays pretty well, and you’ll see most of the country while you’re at it.”
Rodeo.
“Absolutely not.” The words are as harsh as I intended them to be.
How could he even suggest it?
“Maggie, think of the people you’ll meet and the opportunities that might come your way.” Mom sips her coffee.
“How could you say that? Rodeo is the reason we lost Dad.”
I glance at Brad, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.
“That was decades ago, hon. And no one said you should run off into the sunset with a rodeo man.”
I roll my eyes. Like that would ever happen.
“Well, what do I do for accommodation? I am not sleeping in my tiny car.”
Mom perks up. “I have just the thing.”
Next thing I know, I’m standing in the doorway of the double bay barn. Its doors are swung open, revealing the old VW vanMom used to drive when she was my age.How is that even possible...
“Take a week or so to get her running,” Brad starts, pulling the tarp from the old van. “But she’ll take you anywhere you want to go. These old buses are sturdy, and it’s like a tiny home on wheels.”
I fold my arms as I narrow my gaze at him. “You’re serious.”
“As a coronary, Mags.”
I sigh and push up a smile.Watch out, rodeo, here comes the most skeptical photographer with the biggest baggage the circuit has ever seen.
