Lost in Dreams

by Roger Bruner

  “We have quite a drive ahead of us,” Rob said. “We start on I-80—I forget if it’s marked north or east, but we’re actually going northeast—and then we head north on 395 for a good little way.”

  Dad shook his head. That information apparently meant

  nothing to him. “I’m glad you’re driving,” he said.

  “Oh, but I’m not.” He pulled out his cell phone—actually, the satellite phone he’d bought in San Diego—and punched in a speed dial number. “Graham O’Reilly is chauffeuring us today.”

  “Graham O’Reilly?” I said. “Is he one of the kids on the project team?”

  Rob chuckled a couple of times and then started laughing harder. Every time I thought he’d finished, he started all over again. “Graham is a few years older than me, and I don’t think he feels like a kid anymore. He doesn’t act anything like one, as you’ll soon discover.”

  Okay.

  “He isn’t on the team. Not exactly. In fact, the four of you and I are it.”

  “Wha …?”

  “Huh?” Aleesha and I said almost simultaneously.

  “We had a good-sized crew for two weeks, and they got almost everything done. They went home a couple of days ago. We didn’t want you to come for nothing, though, so I had them leave you the painting. Inside and out.” He let that sink in. “And I’ve saved a special job for you, Kimmy.” He winked at me. “My crew failed me in one way and one way only.” And there he stopped.

  Come on, Rob. Spit it out before I die of curiosity.

  Rob couldn’t have missed the impatience on my face. “They failed to clean up their mess, and there’s a mess of it. Anyone for litter cleanup? Kimmy?”

  Everyone else laughed, but I felt my face glowing. I don’t know why. The litter cleanup campaign in Santa María had been a major success. Although I’d only been able to use one arm, Anjelita and her little friends, other team members, and even the older villagers all pitched in.

  At least my cast was off now and I could use both hands and both arms, although my right arm was still a little tender and a lot weak. During my bout with fatigue, I hadn’t needed to use it much, and when I did, it balked like a rubber band that’s stretching almost to the breaking point.

  “Don’t worry, Kimmy,” Rob said. “We’re all pitching in. We won’t paint until we’re done with cleanup. We have wheelbarrows and dumpsters, and you won’t have to worry about what lies underneath.”

  Thank You, Lord.

  “You have—what’s her name again? Anjelita?—little Anjelita’s necklace on, I see. It’s beautiful.”

  “I practically never take it off,” I told him. “It helps keep my memories of Anjelita alive.” I was always extra careful not to lose or damage it. Since the tornado hadn’t hurt it much, though, I doubted that I could.

  By that time, we’d arrived at Passenger Pickup. Within two minutes, a large, blue passenger van with Wash Me written in the dust on the side panel stopped in front of us, and an old fellow got out and opened the back for our luggage. I didn’t see his face until Rob introduced us.

  A few years older than you, Rob? This guy looks ancient. Or maybe even older than that.

  “Folks, this is Graham O’Reilly.”

  Mr. O’Reilly nodded just enough to avoid appearing rude. He looked like he would’ve preferred to remain anonymous.

  “Graham’s a real quiet fellow, so don’t be offended if he seems to ignore you. He probably will. He’s a good man, though, and he works hard at what he does.”

  Uh, okay. But was Mr. O’Reilly … was Graham a Christian? I needed someone to share my witness with to make this project an evangelistic mission trip.

  “Luggage in?” Rob said.

  “Check.”

  I could barely hear Graham’s voice. That was the first word I’d heard him speak, so I didn’t have much to go by, but he sounded like he was almost afraid of the sound of his own voice. Strange.

  “Passengers aboard?”

  “One-two-three-four back here,” Dad said. “You and Graham make six. Check.”

  “Everyone buckled in?”

  A chorus of “checks” echoed back.

  “Let’s head on out, Graham.”

  “Hey, Rob,” Jo yelled to the front seat.

  “Yo?” Boy, did a California response like that sound strange coming from somebody Rob’s age.

  “How did Graham get to Passenger Pickup so quickly?”

  “He parked in the free cell phone lot.”

  That answer hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. Why couldn’t Mom have made it to the cell phone lot at Hartsfield International instead of having that accident? And why ask myself that when I was the one who kept her from getting there?

  I happened to glance at the driver’s inside rearview mirror and saw Graham staring back at me. I could tell from his expression that he’d noticed my guilty look.

  Noticed and recognized it.

  chapter twenty-three

  I can’t say that the Welcoming Arms Christian Hostel reminded me of Santa María even in its degree of isolation. After all, we were still in the United States, not Mexico. The van had chugged its way up rugged mountain terrain rather than gliding across land that was pond-surface flat.

  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?

  chapter twenty-four

  Supper 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 d
id 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.”