Lost in Dreams by Roger Bruner Page B

of small talk.
    “I’ve been helping Papa out at his insurance agency,” Jo said.
    “Oh, yeah?”
So that’s what you do in your spare time. And you didn’t think I’d be interested in knowing that?
    “Two or three days a week. Sometimes more.”
    Aleesha’s opinion of Jo would probably shoot up a couple of notches when she learned that. She thought Jo was lazy, and defending her was a struggle because I often felt the same way. I usually blamed her inactivity on her mama’s “smother love,” though. Mrs. Snelling was afraid something would happen to Jo if she went anywhere to do anything worthwhile. She never seemed to consider the possibility of that something being good—either for Jo or for someone else.
    “It isn’t a real job, though. Papa would be glad to enlarge his agency to
Snelling & Snelling
when the time comes—”
    “But I want Betsy Jo to do what God wants—and what will give her the greatest satisfaction.”
    I wondered if Mrs. Snelling would be happier keeping Jo safely behind a desk—or maybe inside a safety deposit box—than letting her take chances by following God’s leading.
    “Anyhow,” Jo continued, “I asked to help Papa so I can get my feet wet. You know? Even unpaid work experience looks good on a résumé when a girl has never held a job.”
    That kept us talking for a while about how a young adult
    can’t get a job without experience or experience without a job. When the conversation lulled, Dad reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the familiar two-sheet printout.
    “Josh, I want you to hear something. This e-mail came from Rob White, Kim’s supervisor in Mexico. Settle back. It’s not short.”
    The two men laughed, but Jo and I just looked at each other. What was so funny about that? Must have been a man thing.
    “It’s worth hearing, though,” he added.
    We’d told Jo last night not to say anything to her parents about this mission trip. She was to pray about it and let Dad deal with her parents.
    I watched Mr. Josh’s face while Dad read the message aloud. I didn’t need to be a genius or a body language expert to see how much the idea excited him. He was grinning and nodding so enthusiastically by the time Dad reached the end that I half expected him to ask to go, too.
    He didn’t say anything, but I could picture those clichéd wheels spinning off their axle. Dad allowed him another minute of silence.
    “Josh, I want to take Jo—uh, Betsy Jo—with us during the holidays. We’ll be gone a couple of weeks, but she’ll be strictly supervised, and we’ll keep her safe.”
    I hoped he would add,
“No Mexican drug wars that far north of Sacramento”
for Mrs. Snelling’s sake, but he didn’t.
    “She should have gone to Mexico,” Mr. Josh said. “I told Michelle repeatedly that Betsy Jo would be safe, but she wouldn’t listen. She doesn’t … listen.”
    If he was trying to hide his resentment toward his wife, he was doing a lousy job of it, to use a word I intensely dislike. Were he and Mrs. Snelling having marital problems? I’d never thought about whether they seemed happy together, yet I suddenly realized how blessed we were to have this
    conversation in Michelle Snelling’s absence.
    Dad remained silent. I think we both knew Mr. Josh had left some important things unsaid. Things he probably needed to talk about with someone.
    I looked at Jo, and she wore a more miserable hangdog look than I’d ever seen before. Which was she more worried about—her papa’s feelings about the trip or her parents’ marriage?
    “Betsy Jo …” He looked at his daughter. “Jo? I like that.” She smiled. “Do you want to go on this project?” From his tone of voice, I could tell he just wanted to hear her say it.
    She threw her arms around him and kissed him. I was almost in tears.
    “We’ll pay her way,” Dad said.
    “Thanks, Scott, but no. We’ll pay. That won’t make up for keeping her from going to Mexico, but it’ll make me feel