Lost in Dreams (13 page)

We rode on smooth, paved roads the entire distance, and we could see them winding their way out of sight beyond the hostel and the prison property opposite it. The final, bumpy, dirt road to Santa María—if one could properly label a rutted, overgrown footpath a road—had ended at the village.

The cashiers at the two service stations where we’d stopped both spoke English. Maybe not the most cultivated English I’d ever heard, but without any trace of a Spanish accent. No translator needed there.

Although the two towns closest to the hostel seemed like villages compared to home, they were Atlanta compared to teeny-tiny Santa María, which—to the best of my knowledge—had no neighbors within who knew how many miles. Between the border and the village, I’d looked for road signs to
anywhere
and hadn’t seen even one.

The hostel didn’t have Anjelita, Rosa, or any of the other villagers I’d fallen in love with and read Scripture to. It also didn’t have well over a hundred teenaged team members who’d learned to love and accept one another and to work together.

The hostel just had Rob and Graham, and Rob didn’t live in this part of California. I had no idea where Graham called home.

I wasn’t sure what his function was, either. Although he was wiry—probably stronger than he looked—I couldn’t imagine him helping with the heaviest part of the construction. Besides, Rob had said Graham wasn’t exactly part of the team.

He hadn’t exaggerated Graham’s quietness. If Graham and I ever chanced to hold a conversation, I knew which one of us would do most of the talking.

Maybe all of it.

The hostel wasn’t the huge multistory structure I’d envisioned. Rob and his volunteers had apparently worked from “paper napkin plans” similar to the one he’d drawn up for Santa María. But instead of building individual cottages, he’d combined a number of them—I couldn’t tell how many—in a U-shaped, motel-style, single story structure with the open end of the U facing the highway. When I peeked inside one of the units, the trash made me flash back to Santa María.

The hostel had a similar rustic feeling. Santa María had been too far from civilization to have electricity or plumbing. The hostel had plumbing, Rob said, but no electricity. Not yet. The local power company hadn’t come out to make the necessary connections.

My mind wandered for a split second. Why not just run an ultralong extension cord across the road from the prison? I giggled at my silliness. The prison buildings were set pretty far back from the two-lane road, so the extension cord would undoubtedly have to be longer than anything I’d ever seen. And someone would surely protest the secular State of California’s providing even temporary power to a religious project. One final giggle gurgled to the top like a lone bubble.

Rob looked at me. The twinkle in his eyes said,
“Our little Kimmy hasn’t changed a bit. “

Our job, he explained while showing us around, was

to paint the hostel inside and out and to prepare it for an occupancy-licensing inspection.

“Very impressive,” Dad said after completing the tour. “People visiting the prison can’t complain about the distance they have to go. Looks like the facility’s right across the road. They can walk.”

“If they want to,” Rob said, “but that entrance road you see is probably a mile, mile-and-a-half long.”

“I wouldn’t mind walking that,” Jo said.

“Hope don’t. Either way.”

Huh? Had Graham actually spoken? And why had he said that? Strange words in strangely incomplete sentences from someone I already considered the ultimate in strangeness. Maybe “the ultimate mystery” would describe him more accurately.

“One good thing about this location,” Rob said. “Buses come by here five days a week—one in each direction. Some days that’s just about all the traffic this road sees. That and people who work at the prison.”

“So visitors won’t
need
a car once the hostel opens …” My words were more of an observation than a question.

“We expect more visitors because of that,” Rob said. “Warden Jenkins is highly supportive of the hostel. His church is one of the sponsors.”

“You’re not giving up your day job to manage this place, are you?” Dad asked. Rob returned Dad’s grin.

“I’ve retired so I can do volunteer construction full-time. That’s what I felt God calling me to do.”

Murmurs of approval all around. “And my dear wife is glad to have me out of her hair for several weeks at a time.” Exuberant clapping and cheering. “When she doesn’t come with me, that is. Sometimes she does.”

“As for management, that’s what Graham is here for. He’ll evaluate the applications—it would be frustrating to give one

of these spaces to someone who doesn’t need it. Especially if that kept someone needier from getting in. He’ll also collect the token amount we charge—ten dollars a night—and keep an eye on things for us. We don’t want to padlock the microwaves and little refrigerators in place, but we’re realistic. Some of the visitors probably deserve to be in
there.”
He nodded toward the road. “Not over here.”

Nobody spoke. I thought about the biblical account of Adam and Eve and the fall of man. Even after two thousand years of Christianity, mankind’s depravity seemed to keep spiraling downward. Maybe that’s why I took personal evangelism so seriously.

I couldn’t save the world, and I couldn’t return mankind to the Garden of Eden’s pristine condition. The Fall had resulted in death and decay, and I couldn’t reverse that, either. But maybe I could save a few individuals from hell, give them hope for the future, and help them live a more meaningful earthly life.

Nothing was more important to try doing.

“So where are we sleeping?” I said. Although the answer was obvious, I wanted to make it official.

“We have a dozen units here,” Rob said. “All unheated. I’ve settled into one of them, but the rest are up for grabs. Everyone can have his own.”

Aleesha stared at him with a reproving look.

“Or
her
own.”

Aleesha’s face relaxed into a smile.

“Its own.” He stuck out his tongue at her, and she smirked. “Personally,” I said, “with a prison this close by, I’d just as soon have a roommate.” “Me, too,” Jo said.

“Me, three.” Aleesha’s affirmation completed the vote. “Hmm. You can probably cram three sleeping bags into one unit, but you’ll have to clean the litter out first. Not that you’re

in any danger, of course. There’s a reason for the lack of trees here and across the road. No place for escapees to hide.”

I shivered. I couldn’t speak for Jo and Aleesha, but Rob’s reassurance didn’t make me feel a bit better. Now, if he’d explained that Red Cedar Correctional Center—at least the state had named it after my favorite wood—had never had a breakout, I might have felt slightly better.

If he noticed my reaction, he didn’t say anything about it.

“I know teenage girls. I’ve raised a couple of them myself.”

Aleesha gave him
the look
again.

“With some major help from my dear wife Patricia, of course.”

“Otherwise, they would have been motherless from the time they weren’t conceived,” Aleesha pointed out. She loved picking on Rob and sounded like she’d practiced some since summer.

“Almost suppertime,” Rob said.

What? We don’t have electricity. Are you going to feed us like you did in Santa María? Cans and packages of prepared food?
My stomach shuddered at the thought.

“Kimmy”—Rob must have seen my look of despair—”don’t worry. I didn’t forget the beef jerky.”

My eyes brightened, but Dad shot me a strange look. Had I failed to tell him about falling in love with jerky in Mexico? I mouthed back,
“I’ll explain later.”

“Seriously, though, we keep a generator running—”

“I don’t hear anything,” Jo said. Up till then, she’d been standing around looking bored. Or maybe just tired. I was. And there I was, making excuses for her again. It seemed different now, though.

“Smart girl,” Rob said. Jo beamed. “I brought a small solar-powered generator that makes no noise whatsoever. So we won’t have to totally relive the powerlessness of our Santa María experience. It—”

“We had the power of the Holy Spirit, though,” Aleesha said with a grin.

“Be good, girl,” I said. “You know what the man means.”

Rob smiled before trying again. “It won’t power the whole hostel, but it’s big enough to power Graham’s place. He has a full-sized stove and refrigerator. I’ll leave the generator as his backup.”

Full-sized? I must have twisted my face in surprise.

“Kimmy, you wouldn’t expect our resident manager to live in the same kind of room the visitors occupy, would you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve seen the shape of the hostel. Graham has a good-sized apartment—the whole bottom of the U, in fact.”

Oh, of course.

“He deserves it.”

Oh? And what makes this strange old man so deserving?

S
upper was great. Graham deserved that full-sized oven, anyhow. He’d put a huge pan of lasagna in to bake as soon as we arrived at the hostel, and it tasted as wonderful as it smelled. We all had seconds. Little piggy me had thirds. I was still making up for those months I didn’t feel like eating, even though I’d already regained the lost pounds.

After supper, we settled as comfortably in Graham’s little living room as six adults could do. Unlike the visitor units, his place was already tidy, furnished, and homey-looking.

Not only had he cleaned the construction rubbish out of his apartment, but he’d also already given it one coat of paint. That amazed me, for I hadn’t changed my opinion about his having limited strength. Driving to the airport that day instead of being free to give his place a second coat of paint must have frustrated him, though, if what appeared to be frequent frowns of resentment were any indication. Then again, maybe he just didn’t like us.

Because Graham would receive little actual income for managing the Welcoming Arms—the sponsoring churches had provided the name as well as the funds for construction materials—Rob had set aside a reasonable-yet-still-modest amount of money for decorating and furnishing the apartment to Graham’s taste. Everything looked and smelled brand-new but Graham himself.

I couldn’t understand why someone that close to the end of his earthly life—someone who’d made it a lot further than Mom, anyhow—hadn’t accumulated any furniture of his own.

Or much of anything else, apparently.

He did have an excellent collection of books, though. Many of them were Christian fiction. They looked well worn. So did the Bibles and commentaries that filled a shelf of their own. Okay, so he was probably already a believer and not in need of evangelizing, but I’d still make sure.

He didn’t have a TV, and that seemed odd. But why should I be surprised? I hadn’t turned on the television since Mom’s death. When I’d been alert enough to do anything but fall asleep again, I read and listened to music.

A man like Graham living alone had to have a cat, though. Sure enough, I found a litter box in the bathroom.

As I was exiting—the bathroom, not the litter box—a cat barely out of kittenhood scooted between my legs and made for her facilities. As mysterious as Graham was, I wasn’t surprised that his cat was midnight black.

Because of the time difference between coasts, it was still early. At the hostel, that was. But we the newly arrived were already yawning and stretching because it was bedtime at home, and we’d had a long day of travel.

“I’m sorry to have to keep you folks up past your bedtime,” Rob said, “but we need to have a team meeting. I’ll keep it as brief as possible.”

“That means we’ll be done by midnight if we can just keep Rob from praying,” I said before Aleesha could make a similar dig.

“Does that mean you’d like to start us off in prayer, Kimmy?” “Sure.”

I took a deep breath before praying for our health and strength, God’s guidance in completing our task, the inmates in the prison, and the friends and family members who would be staying here. I prayed for a good night’s sleep, and I actually refrained from giggling when I prayed for God to keep us

awake long enough to complete the meeting.

My amen came less than two minutes after I started praying. Others echoed mine. I could have been wrong, but I thought I heard Graham’s voice.

“First order of business,” Rob said. “We don’t have the same sense of urgency in finishing the hostel we had in building Santa María’s cottages. Nobody’s going to be any worse off than before if we don’t finish while you’re here.”

“How long has the prison been here?” Dad said.

“Many years. And this hostel has been needed that long, too.”

Dad mmm-ed.

“All that to say—”

“We told you he was long-winded.”

Aleesha got her licks in that time, and we all laughed. Everyone but Jo. I hoped she was just tired. She didn’t seem to be getting into the spirit of things. I hoped she didn’t regret coming.

“Hmm,” Rob said. “I forget where I was. I’ll have to start over.”

We laughed, hissed, and booed. Even Graham’s frown curled slightly upward. Not into a real smile, but close. Kind of.

Jo’s expression remained closer to a frown, though.

“Okay, folks, short version. Breakfast is at seven thirty. A hot meal—with real coffee. We’ll have a prayer and devotional time after that and then start cleaning out the construction rubbish at a reasonable rate of speed. Think you can handle that, Kimmy?”

I nodded. It sounded like Rob was trying to make things as easy on me as possible. Of course, he didn’t know how much better I was doing. Not counting the nightmare on the plane, that was. He would probably have been even more considerate if he’d known about that. He was the kind of man who’d do

anything to keep me from suffering a relapse. “You okay, Jo?” Rob said.

Hmm. So I wasn’t the only one to notice her apparent disinterest.

“I guess.” She might have meant for her words to sound positive, but her tone of voice distinctly said,
“No, and don’t bother asking.”
That shocked me.