Lost in Dreams (21 page)

“So how do I beat this guilt?” I asked. I faked a smile and feigned lightheartedness. “Share some of your street smarts on the subject, and I’ll pay double your normal rates.”

I didn’t fool Aleesha any more than I fooled myself. She knew better than to take my cheerfulness at face value.

She didn’t usually wait for an invitation to dispense free advice, but she’d apparently been holding back a sermon this

time. I just hadn’t realized it.

“Girl,” she said, “you’ve come to the right place.”

“To the source of all street wisdom?”

I didn’t expect anything substantial or earth shattering. Not now. If Aleesha had known how to get rid of my guilt, she would’ve told me the cure long before now. If anything, she’d made a conscious effort to keep reminding me of it.

“Uh-uh, girl. God is the source of all wisdom—period—and He doesn’t take kindly to competitors. Not even when they’re ultra-talented drama and theater majors who specialize in my kind of modesty.”

I cackled. Aleesha wasn’t conceited. Not really. But sometimes I had to remind myself of that. She was just, uh, extremely conscious of how special she was and not the least shy about making sure other people knew it, too.

“I meant Red Cedar is the right place for you to be. I don’t think God brought you here just to help complete this hostel.”

I nodded and uh-huh-ed before responding. “He must have meant for me—for all of us—to touch lives in the prison ministry, too.”

“I’m not disagreeing, but I believe God has plans for helping you deal with that Season of Pebbles you’re going through. You’ve been suffering grief. Guilt. Fatigue. Nightmares. Now don’t go getting paranoid and start looking for a new problem under every rock in your path. Fact is, though, more pebbles may lie in your path, and God may not plan to lead you to victory quite yet. But maybe it’ll happen here.”

My sigh could have started a tsunami. “I sometimes think God decided to go bowling and positioned me as the headpin.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

I thought I did, but Aleesha seemed determined to set my thinking straight—fast.

She shook her head. I could tell from her expression that

the thoughts boiling in her brain were about to steam their way out to me. Although I wasn’t in a mood to be preached to, maybe God could use one of Aleesha’s sermons to alter my view of the circumstances.

“So maybe it’s the devil who’s bowling,” I said. “Aren’t you going to remind me that a father doesn’t give his children bad gifts? And neither does God.”

“He’s the giver of every good and perfect gift,” Aleesha said with the power and conviction she’d undoubtedly used in preaching to our teammates in Santa María. “And nothing bad comes from Him. Our hope is in Him. Remember what the apostle Paul said? Everything eventually works for good to believers who stay in the center of God’s will. That’s the Aleesha Jefferson translation of Romans 8:28.”

I nodded enthusiastically. I’d drawn encouragement from that verse in the past, but I needed to believe it even more now. I couldn’t let my guilt drive me over the edge. And yet could I stop it?

W
orking with Jo that afternoon might not have provided any useful insights—we rarely spoke, in fact—but we got a lot done. At first, I was afraid my fatigue might return, but I didn’t dwell on it. Aleesha’s little sermon had warned me not to give in to the power of suggestion.

Nonetheless, after the first twenty minutes of strenuous effort, I was huffing and puffing, ready to collapse. Rob had told me to take a break whenever I needed one and not to worry about it. Although I knew he was right, I felt funny about it.

But I did it anyhow. Seated with my back against a wall, I lifted a bottle of cold water to my lips.

I watched Jo for a couple of minutes while she worked around me. No wonder I already felt worn out. I’d been trying to march to her beat, but she wasn’t marching. She was running so fast nobody could have kept up. Not even Anjelita.

I’d never thought of Jo as a high-voltage gal. If anything, I’d considered her a tad lazy. But that word didn’t fit her now. Had she somehow “caught” the energy I’d lost? As silly as it sounded, that was the best explanation I could come up with.

When I got up again, I felt better. I did what I should have done all along: I worked at my own pace. That not only kept me productive for the next three hours without pooping out, it also gave me a chance to observe my old friend more closely.

Why and how had she become this proverbial house on fire?

I got my first clue when I looked at her mouth. Maybe I wasn’t good at interpreting body language, but my vision was

20/20—corrected with contacts—and I could see her gritting her teeth.

What did that signify, though? Determination? Maybe. I’d have to ask Aleesha the next time she and I were alone.

Even if I was right, though, why was Jo so determined? We weren’t on a do-or-die schedule like completing the villagers’ houses before the start of the rainy season.

And we weren’t competing with Rob, Dad, and Aleesha, either. I didn’t count Graham in the noncompetition because he didn’t participate in construction activities. Even if he had, he took his time doing everything—not just in responding to repeated efforts to get him to talk.

Then I noticed Jo’s eyes. The expression “shooting daggers” came to mind. She looked like she wanted to mutilate and destroy every piece of trash she picked up. She
threw
unused nails into the galvanized bucket, knocking it over several times.

I don’t know where she got the momentum to do that. What had sounded like single gunshots when I dropped nails in the bucket resembled semiautomatic fire the way she propelled them. I made a point of looking at the bucket when Rob came by to empty it. It would never hold a liquid again.

And the usable leftover materials? By the time Jo dragged a piece of perfectly good plywood to the wheelbarrow in the doorway, she splintered the sides and knocked two corners off three times out of four.

Halfway through the afternoon, she began muttering. I thought she was talking to me, but she wasn’t even looking in my direction. I maneuvered a little closer without being overly conspicuous.

She kept her volume low, but I could pick out an occasional word. Like
mother, rotten
, and
deserted
. Before long, her muttering turned into a growl of sorts. I never saw her

take a breath, but the growls continued incessantly—like an emergency siren.

I wanted to help her, but …

“Jo?” She turned to look at me, but she didn’t stop moving. After watching her purposely throw a couple of good tools into the trash pile, I almost chickened out of saying anything.

“Yeah?”

Hmm. Not the most receptive response she could have given. Especially since it contained more than a small hint of hostility.

She must have seen me draw back defensively. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not in the best of moods.”

I wasn’t about to tease her by saying,
“I could tell.”
I could have done that with Aleesha under similar circumstances, but never with Jo. I was just glad I wasn’t the one who’d upset her.

Lord, do I take a chance?

I could almost hear an audible voice saying,
“Go for it, Kim.”
“You want to talk about it, Jo?”

She threw a hammer across the room.
Oh, my!
Rob was not going to appreciate having to repair that wall.

I took that as her answer and didn’t say anything else to her that afternoon.

Lord?

The little voice spoke again.
“I never said she’d talk with you. But making the effort was part of My plan. Obeying Me is always the right thing for you to do. “

The next time I listened to that little voice—at least in relation to Jo—I was going to ask for a suit of body armor. Nope, bad idea. It might be bulletproof, but that wouldn’t make it Jo-proof. She’d find a way to put holes in it, too, just like she’d done with the nail bucket.

Rob walked in around 4:45. “Suppertime, girls.” He grinned. “Unless you prefer to keep working.”

To my amazement, Jo dropped the piece of two-by-four she had in her hands, smiled at Rob, and then beat him to the door. She must have finished working out her anger—at least for the moment. But would it—like my nightmares—come back to haunt her some other time?

Rob looked at the hole in the wall, and he squinted at me. I shrugged and shook my head as if I hadn’t seen it and didn’t know anything about it.

But he didn’t buy it. I hadn’t expected him to.

I
hated the idea of tattling on Jo, but when her attitude—her anger—made her purposely damage the very property we’d come to put the finishing touches on, I wondered if I had a choice.

I crossed my fingers behind my back the way a little kid might do when lying. “Rob, would you believe I tripped and fell against the wall?”

“You, Kim? I know you’re a klutz, but you’d need a wrecking ball to do that kind of damage.” He wasn’t smiling.

So I explained. I had to. I talked as fast as I could so Jo wouldn’t notice our delay in coming to supper and think we were talking about her.

During the time she’d been so enraged, she probably wouldn’t have cared. But now … how could I be sure what mood she was in or how quickly it would change?

Before entering Graham’s apartment, Rob asked me to keep a close eye on Jo. I would’ve done that, anyhow.

I wanted to do some serious praying before the evening worship service, though. How could I …? Sure, why not?

“Jo, want to walk down Red Cedar Lane with me instead of riding in the van?” I gave a slight head shake to Aleesha.
No, I don’t want you to come
. “When we first got here, you said you wouldn’t mind a walk like that. It’s a great place to do some silent praying.” Not that I expected Jo to be talkative. “Besides, Graham doesn’t think it’s a safe—or at least not an appropriate—place for a gal to walk by herself.”

Jo looked at me. With caution, maybe. Not fear. Wasn’t one

just a more advanced state of the other, though?

“He’s wrong, of course, but he’ll never let me hear the end of it if I don’t take somebody with me this time.”

Jo started cackling. “Our Graham?”

“Maybe not in so many words.” Jo laughed even harder. “The man has a voice, you know. He just about talked my ear off this morning while we were watching the sunrise.” Having a little fun at Graham’s expense wouldn’t hurt anything, especially if he didn’t know I was doing it.

“Sure, I’ll walk with you, but I don’t feel much like talking.”

“Fine. I was serious about praying.”

So we headed across the two-lane road after asking Rob to watch for us along the way. I had an extra-good prayer time—silent for Jo’s sake—and she didn’t say one word until the first prison building came into sight.

Then she slushed into melted gelatin.

“Kim, I felt so useless last night.” That was the last thing I would have expected to hear Jo say. “I can’t sing solos or do drama. Reading the Scripture doesn’t take any talent. I’m no good at this prison ministry thing.”

I hugged her. “Girl, the way you were loving on those guys …” Uh, maybe not the most appropriate way to describe Jo’s interaction with a bunch of male prisoners who’ve been deprived of female companionship for a while. “The way you were talking with them … and listening was special. Listening is so important.”

“You think?”

“I know.” I was preparing to fake it, but the Holy Spirit came to my rescue before I got tongue-tied and tangled up in my explanation. “Do you think those fellows enjoy being locked up?”

“You even have to ask?” She started giggling.

“But they’re Christians, aren’t they? The ones who came

to our service, anyhow.” “They claim to be.”

Duh. I’d forgotten that some of them might be pretending.

“So, when they can’t be with their families, who do they most likely want to hang with? Who would they be most comfortable with?”

She didn’t have to think long. “Other Christians, I guess.”

“And who are we—you, me, Dad, Rob, and Aleesha?”

“Other Christians.” Her smile was radiant. “And they’re probably confident we don’t have any hidden agendas.”

I gave her an attagirl hug. “So what were you thinking about on the way over here?”

“I was practicing Spanish in my head. I haven’t used it since graduation, and I want to be ready for that one guy’s friend this evening.”

“I wish I knew all the Spanish you know.” I paused. “I wish I knew all you’ve forgotten since graduation.”

She giggled. “And I wish my pronunciation sounded as authentic as yours.” She turned her head to look back down the road. “I wonder where the fellows are.”

“Don’t let Aleesha hear you call her a fellow,” I said before bursting out laughing. “She can outman any man I’ve ever met.”

Seen in the glow of my flashlight, Jo’s look of shock fed my sense of humor, but I tried to keep from laughing at her. “She’s not …?”

“No, not that.” And so much for not laughing at Jo. “I meant she believes she can do anything a man can do and do it as well or better.”

Audible relief puffed out. “Aleesha thinks she can father a child?” she asked with a smirk that made me giggle.

I was thankful to hear the old sparkle back. Maybe I’d get mine back sometime, too—for longer than an hour or two at a time.

“No way. And she doesn’t plan to marry till she’s too old to have kids.”

“That’s a thought.”

“Jo, I’ve got to ask you something. Please be honest. How do you feel about ‘people of the darker persuasion,’ as Aleesha sometimes describes herself?”

“Huh? I’ve never thought about it. They’re okay. Some are good, some bad. Just like us people of the ‘lighter persuasion.’”

“So you don’t think of yourself as racially prejudiced?”

“Good gracious, no! Why would you think that?”

She sounded genuinely surprised. And not the least defensive.

“Girlfriend, Aleesha thinks you are.”

Jo’s breathing started to accelerate and grow louder.