CHAPTER 5
Kennedy was used to being surrounded by people. The past decade in Yanji gave her quite a different definition of crowded than most other Americans. Still, her pulse sped up when she entered St. Margaret’s Church for Sunday services. For the past ten years, church had taken place in her parents’ den and consisted of her, her mom and dad, and the few North Korean refugees that lived with them.
A woman in a denim skirt welcomed her at the door, and Kennedy didn’t know if she was supposed to shake the outstretched hand or just accept the bulletin it offered. “Are you a visitor here?” the greeter asked, and Kennedy wondered in a church this size how someone could possibly keep track of who was new and who wasn’t. Was there some kind of glossy look in Kennedy’s eyes that gave it awa
