Lost in Dreams (39 page)

I groaned. Why in the world would Jo want Aleesha and me to listen to her and her mother have a shouting match over the phone?

I was jealous of Graham now. He’d gone to his room as soon as we got back and was probably already sound asleep. Rob and Dad were in their unit, undoubtedly unwinding from the evening’s activities. Maybe discussing Dad’s plans, too. Rob might not have had any seminary training, but he was one practical and insightful Christian. And he had the additional advantage of being older than Dad.

We could’ve called Mrs. Snelling from our room, but it was next door to Graham’s. No matter how good he’d gotten at ignoring three teenage girls and their lively, endless noise-making, we didn’t want to chance disturbing him with a phone call like this.

The living room was still too close, despite having a carpet that would have muffled the voices slightly. The kitchen and dining area were far enough away, but the tiled floor and variety of hard surfaces would probably have amplified the conversation.

We took a vote. No matter how much Jo detested the cold, outdoors won.

As long as we made our call outside the opposite side of the U from Rob’s unit, nobody would hear us. I didn’t know about Aleesha, but I hoped the just-above-freezing temperature would make Jo cut her conversation short. Graham’s spare coat was warm, but not like my skunky down jacket.

Huh. Nobody had complained about my scent at the prison that evening. Too polite to, maybe. But I could still smell it.

If the cold wasn’t enough reason to go back inside soon, the trip-and-a-half up and down Tabletop Mountain and the round-trip walk to the prison made my whole body ache more than I want to remember or try to describe. Not even learning to walk in high heels had been this painful.

If I had to stand up longer than a couple of minutes, my muscles would probably just say
“We quit”
and let me slither to the ground and freeze to death. I hoped Dad could get a refund on my unused ticket.

“It’s ringing. Be quiet, you two.”

Aleesha and I hadn’t said a word since we came outdoors. Jo must’ve heard our teeth chattering, and I wasn’t about to quit just so she could hear better. I couldn’t.

“Hello?” Michelle Snelling sounded as sleepy as I felt.

Jo didn’t say anything.

“Hello? This is Michelle Snelling. Who’s calling, please?”

At least she was still using her married name. Of course she was. She’d still be a Snelling until she and Jo’s papa got the divorce. I quit thinking about that and started wondering why

she hadn’t recognized Jo’s name and number on her caller ID.

You are so dumb, Kim. Jo is using Rob’s satellite phone, not her own cell phone. You’d expect Mrs. Snelling to recognize Rob’s number?

“Mama, it … it’s Jo.”

Mrs. Snelling was quiet for a moment.

“Jo?” I could almost hear her scratching her head in confusion.

“Yes, Jo.” Silence. Two loud yawns. Silence again.

Would I recognize my daughter’s voice at first in the middle of the night if I’d been sound asleep for a number of hours? Yeah. I hope so, anyhow. But wouldn’t introducing herself by a nickname I’d never heard before confuse me? Probably.

“Jo? Betsy Jo?” She sounded more alert now. And much more excited.

“Yes … ma’am.”

“Are you all right? Is anything wrong? Where are you? Do you need help?”

Random questions kept rolling out like pebbles from my tote bag, and Jo didn’t interrupt her to answer any of them.

I heard a sleepy male voice mumble something in the background. Oh? She was there with him? Of course she was. That’s why she’d left Mr. Snelling.

End of questions. Jo’s turn. “Mama, I’m still in California—”

“When are you coming home? This week has gone so slowly, and I don’t know if I can stand having you gone for another seven days.”

Hmm. Jo’s whereabouts hadn’t surprised Mrs. Snelling, and she knew about the timing, so her soon-to-be-ex-husband must have had a chance to tell her about the trip. And she’d probably let him have it for allowing Jo to come.

“Tomorrow, Mama. We finished up early.”

“I’m so glad.” Mrs. Snelling sounded completely awake now. “I love you, sweetie, and I’ve missed you terribly.”

Do you actually believe that, Jo? If I were you, I’d probably say something evil like, “You mean you’ve noticed I’ve been gone?” or “You loved me so much you moved out on Papa and me?”

But she didn’t. “I love you, too …”

Wow. I’m not sure I could have said that if I’d been in Jo’s position. Aleesha moved closer to me. Her hand was just inches from my face. Maybe to cover my mouth if she needed to.

“Have you had a good time?” Mrs. Snelling asked. “No, I mean has your work gone well?”

“Wonderful. Thanks. Especially the worship services we’ve been doing at the prison across the road.”

“I’m sure those women appreciated your coming.”

“Uh, it’s a men’s prison, Mama.”

Dead silence. “I’m sure the men appreciated your ministry.”

Come on, Jo. I dare you to say something about Alfredo
.

“We saw a number of insiders make first-time decisions.” Jo’s tone was a little, uh, maybe not curt, but slightly brittle. At least she was polite.
Good on you, girlfriend. “
It’s been far too wonderful to try telling you about on the phone. Especially at this time of night.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing every detail when you get home.”

That’s when I would have said,
“And where should I look for you when I get home?”

I heard the male voice in the background again, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Betsy Jo … Jo—what a cute nickname. I like it. Somebody here wants to talk to you.”

I could picture her handing the phone over to her young, scantily clad, uh, friend. What I couldn’t imagine was why.

“Hey, Jo!”

“Papa! What are you doing there? Uh, I mean Mama. I … I don’t know what I mean.”

“Jo, your mama’s come back home.”

I could hear Mrs. Snelling in the background. “Where I belong. And am I ever glad to be home. Leaving your papa and pretending to move in with a younger man was the most stupid thing I’ve
ever
done.”

Aleesha grabbed my arm and yanked me in the direction of Graham’s apartment. Time to let Jo talk with her parents in private. The last thing I heard before we got out of earshot was, “I love you, Papa. And I love you, too, Mama. And I miss both of you so much.”

I
was dead tired from going to bed so late, and my legs, feet, stomach, and back—plus body parts I couldn’t even identify—were so sore I could barely wiggle, but nothing could keep me from getting up to watch one last sunrise with Graham.

When the colors finally showed, he turned to me and said, “Sunrise good.” I knew he was just teasing by pretending to revert to guilt-speak.

“Sunrise very good,” I replied.

We stood there together for probably twenty minutes. He put an arm over my shoulder, and I wrapped mine around his waist. We stood together as two beanpoles taking up the space of one average-sized human being.

I whispered in his ear, “I love you, Grandpa.”

Graham couldn’t come to the airport with us. The power company was going to do its long-awaited hookup that morning, and furniture for the units was scheduled for delivery that afternoon. He’d spend the next few days setting the rooms up in preparation for the building inspection later that week. Once the hostel passed inspection, Graham would receive an occupancy permit. He already had a backlog of people waiting for reservations.

During the van ride to Sacramento, Dad renewed a long-forgotten discussion.

“We still need to decide about a place to live, Kim. We talked about an apartment or a condo.”

“It’d be crazy to
buy
something since you’ll probably move elsewhere after you finish seminary.”

“You won’t be living at home forever, either.” He steadied his eyes in a mock stern look. “And that’s an order.”

I laughed. “I don’t know what my future holds, but I can’t wait to go back to Santa María, and I want to be able to speak the language next time. The most perfect Spanish possible.”

“I know that’s right,” he said, punching Aleesha playfully in the shoulder while still addressing me. “We don’t have to move out of the house unless you want to.”

“I’m in no rush.”

“Folks,” Rob said, “would you like some advice from a building trade professional? Not to mention someone who’s done a lot of moving …”

“Go for it, Rob,” I said at the same instant Dad said, “We’re listening.”

“Selling a house is like looking for work. Best time to do it is when you don’t need to.”

“Hmm?” Okay, but I didn’t have experience looking for work. Just in avoiding one kind in favor of another.

“So you think we should …?” Dad’s voice tapered off.

“With the housing market the way it is now, I’d put that house on the market as soon as possible. Price it reasonably and then don’t compromise. If somebody makes an offer tomorrow, great. If it takes two years, okay. Better to start a two-year wait now than in two years, when having an unsold house might be more of a liability.”

“And if we sell it before I move out of town …?”

“Get an apartment … with a month-to-month lease, if you’d like.” Rob was so smart.

We didn’t let him hang around the airport with us. He was going home for a long stay. He hadn’t seen his wife in weeks,

and he missed the grandkids, too.

“What’s that saying Jewish folks use in parting?” he asked. “‘Next year in Jerusalem’?”

“That’s it.” He shook Dad’s hand and then hugged each of us girls in turn. “See you next year … in Jerusalem. Or somewhere.” Then he turned to me and added, “And you’ll be fluent in Spanish by then, won’t you?”

“I learn. I speak. Do good.”

Rob was still laughing his head off the last time I looked back.

Rob’s question about Spanish really made me hungry to get going on my studies. I could probably get into the local community college for the spring semester even at this late date, but I wanted to start studying sooner than that. My guilt and its various side effects had kept me off-course far too long.

I’d brought
Don Quixote
in my carry-on luggage. As if I’d be capable of reading it. I was dying to try, though. It symbolized what I wanted to accomplish. Maybe that’s why keeping it close by seemed important.

I barely noticed Dad slip away from our gate and walk toward a small cluster of shops. I looked up when he came back, though. He was holding something behind his back. A chocolate chip muffin, maybe? I salivated and reached out with both hands.

“Not so fast, baby girl. Close your eyes.” Even though it had taken eighteen years to become his baby girl, it still felt great. I closed my eyes, and he put a plastic bag in my hands.
A dozen muffins wouldn’t weigh this much
. I barely managed to keep Dad’s present from falling. I opened my eyes. What? A bookstore bag?

I must’ve hugged the daylights out of him for his thoughtfulness as the best dad ever. Who would have thought he’d buy me a Spanish grammar book and a Spanish/English dictionary—a big one—on the way home? I started picking out random words from
Don Quixote
, pronouncing them aloud, and then looking them up. Half an hour later, I put the Cervantes novel down and got out a clean sheet of paper.

Dad grinned. “You planning to write your translation of
Don Quixote
down?”

“Nope. Gonna try translating something into Spanish, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Sure,” I said as I winked at him. “The words to ‘Victory in Jesus.’”

H
eading home from the Welcoming Arms Christian Hostel couldn’t have differed more from leaving Santa María. I’d left the northeastern California mountains by van rather than a flat portion of northwestern Mexico by bus. I was waiting to fly out of the Sacramento airport rather than San Diego International, and I was with Dad, Jo, and Aleesha and not by myself. I wasn’t carrying, dragging, or kicking a leaking tote bag of pebbles, and I didn’t sprawl out of control at my departure gate.